Chapter 11 #2
“…although he had to say, purely for the sake of candor, that my pretense of virtue had left him feeling slightly ill-used. For being no stranger to women’s tricks, and having long prided himself on resisting all our little stratagems, was he now to turn round and cast himself into my trap?
In fact, given this new window into my character, he felt it might be prudent to reassess our suitability for one another… ”
Jonathan ground his teeth.
“…yet after a little reflection, he believed he knew his own mind, and despite his very natural reservations—and in view of my compelling attractions—in short, I’d left him no choice but to circumvent my modesty by proposing on the spot.”
She paused, probably to catch her breath.
What was your answer? Jonathan yelled in his head.
It took everything he had to clench his jaw shut till she went on.
She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, in reciting these words I’ve realized the man who uttered them is a pompous worm.
I must have noticed it when he said them—indeed, thinking back now, I remember feeling nettled—but I suppose I was only half-listening to his speech, since during the whole of it he was… ”
She trailed off, rubbing her furrowed brow.
He was…what? On the sharpest of tenterhooks, his mouth dry and his jaw aching, Jonathan wondered what could possibly be coming next.
Having already rattled her with his forward behavior, disparaged her character with insinuations, and solicited her hand in perhaps the most insulting terms imaginable, to what further heights of boorishness could Milstead have aspired?
“Forgive me,” she repeated haltingly, “I’m finding this difficult to explain.
For I was about to relate my outrage that during the whole of Lord Milstead’s speech, in defiance of his supposed apologies, he still had me trapped under the blanket.
But as it happens…that is false. For in fact he never touched me, excepting the briefest of contact to stay my hand when he first realized I was shifting it.
After that, I could have removed it at any time. ”
At last she looked up. And over at him.
His breath caught.
Determined to be supportive—as a friend—he somehow managed to lock his gaze on hers with a steadiness he didn’t feel.
“But I left the blanket there,” she mused, looking up to the thatched ceiling.
Her tone had turned speculative, as though she might be talking to herself.
“Though I itched to have the dratted thing off me, though I felt excruciatingly aware of and all but tortured by it, I let it be. Why did I do that? And why did I let him rattle on and on, instead of interrupting? And why didn’t I refuse his offer? ”
This was too much for even Jonathan’s self-command, and a breathless query forced its way out. “You are engaged?”
“No.” She looked back to him. “I begged time to consider my answer.”
He breathed a secret sigh of relief.
“But I ought to have dismissed him outright, for in truth there’s nothing to consider.
If I cannot bring myself to share a blanket with the man, how could I share my life with him?
” A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of her.
“And I don’t know why I lied. I’ve never been one to hold my tongue.
Even with how I’ve changed since last Christmas”—a flicker in her gaze told Jonathan she meant since you left—“still, I don’t know why I shrank from him. I cannot understand myself.”
Jonathan could understand her; at least, he thought he might. For she had indeed changed. Noah had written of these changes, and Jonathan had noticed nearly as soon as he’d stepped foot in the castle.
Dampened spirits, a new restraint. A sparkle missing from her eyes.
And for those changes he blamed himself. If he’d wondered whether his actions had crushed her, now he had his answer.
And the confirmation crushed him.
The full knowledge of what he’d wrought—the damage to her tender and beautiful soul—was a heavy weight upon his own.
But worse yet, he could see how he’d paved the way for men like Milstead to inflict further damage.
For Jonathan suspected the old Claire of being far too robust to interest such men: too lively for entertaining their tedious advances, too self-assured for their perseverance to whittle away her defenses.
She would have tired of the pompous worm long before he got her in that sleigh.
And he’d have never got the chance to trample her down with his insidious tactics and diminishing words.
Jonathan had given him that chance. With his pigheaded mistakes, he had trampled her first.
And for that he would never forgive himself.
The sight of Claire—magnificent, formidable Claire—now huddled on the edge of the low stone basin, questioning her own reason, could not but trigger an avalanche of self-reproach. He had done this to her. And he must fix it.
But how?
What could he do or say to make her whole again?
Almost as soon as he’d asked the question, his efforts to answer it were thwarted—by the sudden appearance of the pompous worm himself.