Chapter Two #2
But he shook his head, and his surprise seemed genuine.
For some reason, she found it suddenly difficult to meet his warm, still-smiling gaze.
Caught up in the humour of his tales, she had almost forgotten that she was dining alone with a uniquely attractive young man.
But she was aware of him now. Far too aware.
Had he made her laugh to seduce her? It was a novel approach, but she found it difficult to attribute such calculation to him. The chief entertainment of his stories had been his own joy in each new character, each new situation.
A pity. I would not mind being seduced by such a man...
Yes, I would! I am known here, and I am a bare fifteen miles from Sark Park...
“Is something troubling you?”
His question took her by complete surprise. She pushed her half-eaten cherry pie away from her and let her eyelids droop.
“Good Lord, no,” she drawled. “Very little ever troubles me.”
But she must have let down her guard. Foolish, for she had always recognized the perception in his gaze—and kindness that was not, for some reason, unbearable.
“I shall not pry,” he said with oddly charming diffidence, “but I would count it an honour to help you in any way I can.”
“Quite the knight in shining armour,” she said. “If only this damsel were distressed. Sadly, she is merely charmed.”
“Is she?” he said wistfully.
Startled, she stared at him. Desire without demand, gentle and arousing...
Fortunately, the innkeeper’s wife led the servants in just then to clear the table, leaving them only with the remains of their wine. While making idle conversation, Tabitha let an exciting idea wind around her mind and take root.
It was not impossible. She didn’t think she had ever encountered kindness in a man before, certainly not in an attractive young man.
In him, it was allied with discretion and those smiling, observant eyes.
.. Those long, slender fingers now idly twisting the stem of his glass would be gentle on her skin, and so very pleasurable. ..
The door closed behind the inn servants, and she stopped talking. She had no idea what she had been saying anyway.
He set his glass down on the table and took her hand. Lightning fizzed through her veins.
He said, “I think you have been sad for a long time. I wish I could make you happy.”
Oh God, what had he seen? And did it really matter?
For the first time, it didn’t. Not with him.
“I am happier than I was,” she managed.
“Now you are flattering me.”
She searched his eyes and almost laughed. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“How devastating you are.”
A crease twitched on his brow and vanished. His head dipped toward her, and she swayed nearer, her heart drumming.
But his head bowed lower to where their clasped hands rested on the table, and he kissed her fingers before releasing them. “I promised. No importuning, no seducing.”
She sighed. “There he is again, that honourable, shining knight.”
“I am not the man you think me.”
“Why, what have you done?” she asked flippantly.
“Nothing.” The inexplicable hint of bitterness in his voice confused her.
“Perhaps you should take the opportunities life offers before they are withdrawn.”
He understood her. It was in the rueful quirk of his lips. “There is the grasping of opportunity, and there is taking advantage.”
She laughed. “My dear sir, no one has ever taken advantage of me.”
“I wish that were true. But then, I wish a lot of things. I am your friend, you know, and I hope you will be able to forgive me.”
“I am more likely to forget you,” she said.
She couldn’t tell if it hurt him or not. It struck her that he was too good at hiding his feelings, no doubt through practice. He rose to his feet.
“May I escort you to your room?”
“I do not wish to go just yet.”
“Then I thank you for your hospitality and bid you goodnight.” He bowed to her.
She inclined her head in return, half-careless, half-mocking. It was her armour, carefully fashioned and almost impenetrable. But he could not know that, and she sensed his hurt, a hurt he did not deserve.
“Mr. De’Ath?”
He paused.
“I won’t really forget you,” she said.
There was a pause. “Nor I you,” he replied. “Whatever happens.”
She turned quickly to the door, but he had already gone.
“Whatever happens.” What a curious thing to say.
***
JACK FELT EVERY STEP groan beneath his feet as he made his lonely way to bed.
Since leaving Isley Place he had positively rejoiced in that alone-ness, no doctor’s tonic to swallow, no valet fussing around him, no one looking in on him in the middle of the night to make sure he hadn’t expired in his sleep.
For some reason, the beautiful woman in the parlour had wanted him.
God knew he wanted her and with the kind of desire he had never known before, fierce and urgent yes, but with an added spice he could only call adoration.
And he had the oddest feeling that making love to her would be the most exquisite adventure he would ever know.
Entering his room, he lit the lamp from the candle in his hand and went to stare sightlessly out of the window.
Although their parting was trivial in the grand scheme of things, right now, it felt like loss, like tragedy.
Not for the absence of one night in her bed, but for the impossibility of something he foolishly called love.
And the happiness he would have striven to bring her.
But if she ever found it, it could not be with him.
For he knew who Tabitha was: the Dowager Countess of Sark, stepmother to Lady Lily, the girl he was bound to marry. And that would always keep them apart.
In fact, he could not even call on Lily just yet, because she was going to a party. He would wait another two or three weeks, he thought with relief. Which gave him time to recover before he had to meet Tabitha again as a stranger.
He picked up the newly-bought map from the table and spread it out on his bed. Where could he go next?