Chapter Four #3
He dared not permit even the tiniest softening of his resolve.
His vow had been to protect Millie, not claim her for his own.
To even imagine the possibility might collapse the walls he’d built around his desire for her.
The last thing he wanted to do was to compromise the woman who had become both his dream and his torment.
Enough people he cared for were already in peril because of him.
*
As Millie watched Neville disappear with the duke into the duke’s study, a frown pulled down her lips. She would have given anything to be able to press an ear up against the door and listen to the conversation.
But would Cassie agree to allow her to spy on her husband?
Covertly, she studied her sister. Such a suggestion would probably cause Cassie, the gentlest and most proper of her sisters, to expire on the spot. Best to come up with an alternative pastime.
“Cassie?” she queried. “Do you think we could take a turn about the square?”
“It’s winter, Mil. Our neighbors—and Lady Sarah, should she return from the lending library—will think we have lost our minds.”
“Lady Sarah would not care.” The duke’s older sister, though above reproach, was still unmarried and—to Millie’s deep envy—did exactly as she pleased.
“Perhaps. But even so—”
“Please, Cass?” she begged. Her earlier ramble had not provided the respite she’d sought.
And, if she couldn’t hear what was going on between Cassie’s husband and Neville, she must do something to dissipate the heated effects of her infuriating encounter with Harbury’s cousin.
Cassie searched Millie’s face. She must have read Millie’s need, because, finally, she agreed.
“Against my better judgment, I’ll go,” Cassie said as the two of them donned their coats. “But if either of us is stuck in bed for the next fortnight you must accept full blame.”
“You never suffer from catarrh.”
“Not usually, no.” Cassie nodded in thanks to the porter as he opened the door, and then they made their way down the stairs.
“Nor do I.” Millie threaded her arm through Cassie’s and they crossed the street. “The chance of both of us falling ill is about the same as Lord Neville going a whole day without subjecting some unsuspecting young lady to a sermon.”
Cassie made an obligatory censorious tsk, though the corner of her mouth briefly ticked up.
“Actually”—Cassie turned thoughtful—“Lord Neville surprised me today.”
“I, too, found his manner toward Harbury odd.” She feared, in fact, that Neville was, right now, repeating his warnings against Willard. “His manner was so furtive.” She snorted at her own absurdity. “As if someone as perfect as Neville could have something to hide.”
“Oh, I wasn’t referring to his meeting with Harbury.” Cassie waved her hand. “He did say he came to discuss his Uncle Farnsworth. Naturally he and Edward share familial concerns. Political ones, too. Doubtless they’ll go on to discuss some parliamentary issue, too.”
Hearing Cassie call her husband by his Christian name still sounded strange to Millie’s ear. And every time Cassie did so, her voice went irritatingly soft. Although all the Wainwrights, both former and present, referred to the Marquess of Redver as Adrian, only Cassie called Harbury Edward.
“You don’t think they are discussing what happened last night?” Millie ventured.
Cassie looked confused. Then, Millie remembered.
Cassie had just been finishing a waltz when Lord Willard had interrupted Neville’s progress across the dance floor. Likely she hadn’t noticed anything unusual at all about Neville’s behavior at the ball.
“Or,” Millie added a touch too lightly, “some other topic?”
Cassie lifted a brow. “I think you’re the one acting strangely.
Shame on you for remaining alone with him in the library.
” She held up her hand. “No. Don’t even try to protest. I know I’ve been accurately informed.
And, although I cannot think it possible, I have to ask. Did Lord Neville act inappropriately?”
Millie harrumphed. “If you mean to ask me if he treated me like a little sister that must be managed, then yes, he did.”
“You know that was not what I meant.” Cassie glanced askance. “Do you believe Neville thinks of you as a little sister?”
Millie opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative. Something, however, made her stop.
His slow, fiery study of her person in the library had been nothing close to sisterly.
Had Asquith given her such a rousing perusal, she would have known he was doing so in jest. They would have both immediately broken into laughter. But there hadn’t been a hint of humor in Neville’s eyes. His look had been one of hunger alone.
With a furious exhale, she undid the top button of her pelisse.
“Millie?” Cassie prompted.
“Perhaps not sisterly,” she replied darkly. “But I still am certain Neville would never pursue me as a potential wife.”
Cassie sent her a sidelong, suspicious glance.
“Oh, good heavens, Cassie! Don’t be a goose. Lord Neville hates me.”
“Neville? Hate you? I don’t think Neville hates anyone.” Cassie shook her head. “Especially not you.”
Oh, yes, he did! He was forever insisting her behavior was improper.
And what of his reaction to Lord Willard?
She’d wager all her pin money Neville hated him, too. She hesitated, though, to tell Cassie about Neville’s look of deep revulsion when he’d said the viscount’s name.
Why?
Was she protecting Neville’s privately shared distaste? Or, for the sake of her plan, was she attempting to preserve Lord Willard’s reputation in Cassie’s eyes?
“Oh, look,” Cassie gestured toward the house. “Whatever business Neville and Edward had was quickly concluded. See? The staff is bringing round his horse.”
“I suppose it could not be anything of serious concern, then.” Then again, how long would he have needed to drop a hint against Lord Willard in Harbury’s ear?
“Just as I said.” Cassie nodded to herself. “Politicking, most like. Shall we go in?”
“I’m not ready yet,” Millie protested. “Might I stay out a few moments longer?”
Cassie compressed her lips.
“I promise to stay in full view of the house. I’ll only remain outside until Neville leaves. I—I would rather not have to speak with him again.”
“Very well,” Cassie replied reluctantly. “You aren’t likely to meet anyone out here this time of year, and I do know how much you dislike being confined inside.”
“Thank you,” Millie breathed.
“But remember your promise. Stay in full view of the house. And if you see anyone with whom you are unacquainted, come in straightaway.”
“I promise.” Millie held her hand over her heart.
Cassie gave Millie her best big-sister-warning expression and then headed back into the house. But just before Cassie slipped inside, she stopped to have a word with a man dressed in Harbury livery. He glanced in her direction, then bowed.
Millie inclined her head in acknowledgment. Good afternoon, Guard Dog. What harm could she possibly come to in the middle of a Mayfair square on a cold January day?
She paced as far as she thought was fair, given her promise, then turned and retraced her steps. Three times she crossed the square before Neville emerged. She waited, expecting him to shoot her one of his disapproving glances.
He did not.
Instead, he mounted his horse, and then clip-clopped off around the bend, seeming entirely unaware of his surroundings. Or, rather, absorbed in his private cares and concerns. Of which, he’d attempted to suggest she was one.
…is there anything that could be of concern to you and not to me?
She hated how her heart had thumped a little harder when he’d asked her that question. As if he wanted her concerns to be his.
As if he could not conceive of a reason she would not wish for the same.
She’d always assumed Neville’s “concern” was rooted in a sense of superiority. A puffed-up sense of fraternal duty. But Cassie clearly did not think so.
Again, she recalled his heated look. And then, the lone figure in the street last night that may or may not have been Neville….
The fierce expression Neville wore as he singled her out on the Almack’s dance floor….
The bewildered, frightened expression he wore in the Yew maze, just after belatedly grabbing her shoulders and forcing their bodies apart….
Had he been so disgustedly angry because he, too, felt that same rush she’d experienced? The same ephemeral sense of belonging?
Absolutely impossible.
“What a delightful and unexpected surprise.”
She swiveled around, startled. She found herself gazing again into glittering, deep green eyes. Mesmer eyes.
“Lord Willard!”
“Miss Millicent.” He took off his hat and bowed. “I did not think I would have the pleasure again so soon.” He paused dramatically, as if he expected her to mention his failure to call.
She did not.
“Are you sure being out in this weather is wise?” He changed the subject.
She stiffened. “It is brisk, to be sure.”
“I meant no offense.” In sharp contrast to both her tone and the weather, his smile was warm. “I find there is something invigorating about a walk on a brisk, bright day. I am glad that we are of like mind.”
He placed his beaver back on his head, at an angle even more askew than he’d worn it before his bow. Was the effect charming or preposterous?
She decided on preposterous. Something she and Eliza would have mocked before Eliza had become The Marchioness.
“Quite an expression you have there.” He stepped forward and surprised her by brushing a stray curl from her face. “Ah, Miss Millicent, have I roused your censure by being too forward? Your lovely face is the cause. I simply couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”
She stepped back.
He chuckled softly. “You’re not frightened of me, are you?”
“Frightened?” She lifted her chin. “Men don’t frighten me in the least.”
“Don’t they?” Laughter spread to his eyes. “Last night, you danced with charming vigor. And now I’ve discovered you are a like-minded lover of chilly walks. Naturally, you can hold your own. Huzzah to the rare lady of pluck!”