Chapter 15 #2
She’d played this scene over and over again in her dreams. Though she’d told herself it would never happen, still she’d allowed herself to imagine a moment when their paths crossed.
She’d imagined him regretful, begging her forgiveness.
She’d imagined him forceful, sweeping her into his arms. She’d imagined him courtly, promising his undying love. But she’d never imagined him angry.
What right did he have to be angry with her?
For that matter, what was he doing here, on Harcrest lands?
After so much time had passed? Arabella had written several weeks ago that he’d been recovered enough from his wounds to leave his bed.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dinsmore,” she said stiffly, “but I believe it is I who should be asking you what it is you are doing down there.”
“Trying to save your damned neck. Now take my hand and come off that wall.”
“My neck, as you can plainly see, is fine.” She lifted her chin to demonstrate the veracity of her words. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Dinsmore, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine without your assistance.”
Lord, but she was a stubborn chit! And Lord knew how late he was going to be for his meeting with her brother.
He resisted the urge to check his watch and glance down at his stockings, which, from the feel of them, were sodden at least to his calves.
Keeping his eyes level on Elizabeth, he forced his voice to do the same.
“You are being foolish. Now take my hand.”
“The last time I took your hand I was being foolish. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Ah yes, I can see.” He couldn’t restrain the sarcasm that crept into his words. “Walking on the wall of a bridge blindfolded, where the slightest misstep will send you to death, is so very sensible.”
“At least the pain will be brief.”
He deserved that, he supposed, but still her words cut. “Perhaps,” he said, more calmly than he felt, “but then again, you might simply be dreadfully injured. Shatter a limb. Be forced to live on, crippled and in constant pain.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the rocks that thrust up sharply through rushing water.
“Let me help you down, Elizabeth.”
She was perfectly able to get down on her own.
Usually, she’d sit and sort of scoot off.
But she didn’t want James to see her in such an undignified position.
And she didn’t want to take his hand. She didn’t know why.
After all, he had touched her in far more intimate places than her fingertips.
She shivered at the memory. Perhaps that was it—she thought they’d shared something special, and here he was, calm as you please, speaking to her as if she were a recalcitrant child.
“I do believe you’ve helped me down quite enough,” she said sharply.
James caught her emphasis on the word down.
So, she blamed him for her come down, did she?
And even though he held himself responsible, or perhaps because she did, his temper began to flare.
“You went willingly into the library, Elizabeth. I didn’t force you.
If you’ll recall, I didn’t force anything that night… ”
He was right, of course, about that night and even about the way she was behaving now. It was humiliating. She’d been humiliated so often of late, she ought to be immune. But she wasn’t, especially in front of him. She closed her eyes, and took the only course left open to her. She jumped.
“Elizabeth…no!” James dove forward, arms outstretched, but he’d been taken unawares, and she was beyond his reach.
The soles of her slippers skidded across the damp grass and she fell with a resounding thump upon her bum roll. Devil take it all, she couldn’t seem to do anything right these days! She peered up through her lashes at James. While he hadn’t laughed, the corner of his mouth was definitely twitching.
She retrieved the sash that she’d used as a blindfold. “Don’t you dare attempt to draw some moralistic parallel between slipping and paying the price. I’ve heard more than enough of that…”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” Without asking her permission this time, he reached down, grasped her hand, and pulled her to her feet. They stood for a moment, close enough to kiss. His head bent down to hers. “Morals seldom do.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She felt James release her hand.
“Like you,” he said softly, “I have learned a great many things since that night in the library. In different ways, we both have paid dearly.”
Her eyes were open now, and they were drawn to his scar. “Your face…” She reached out as if to touch him, but he moved back. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “If only I could have set things right…”
He shook his head. “Moreham was right to challenge me as he did. If things had been reversed, and he had dishonored Anne…” His words trailed off.
Things had been reversed, and he hadn’t challenged Rafe to a duel.
Instead he’d lent himself to Anne’s schemes for revenge.
He was despicable. “This scar is no more than I deserve.”
“No—”
“For what it’s worth, Elizabeth”—he raised his hand to prevent her from saying anything more—“I’m sorry for everything that has happened to you.” But not for touching you. I will never regret that single sweet moment.
She didn’t know what she wanted him to say, but she knew it was something more than this…weak apology. She began to wrap her sash around her waist, tying it so tightly it felt uncomfortable. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Would words set things right?”
It wasn’t the question she’d been expecting. “You’re quite right,” she snapped. “Mere words would never suffice.”
Pain glimmered like a lost coin in the depths of his blue eyes.
“You really should be on your way,” she added, plucking a straw hat from where she’d left it hanging on the branch of a tree. “Surely you must realize that if my brother were to discover you here with me, he would shoot you like a pheasant and with considerably less regret.”
She turned, gathered up her skirts, and, as if she were retiring from a ballroom floor, made her way slowly and regally across the meadow toward the manicured lawns of Moreham Hall.