Chapter Twelve #3
He stilled, his eyes searching her face and sliding down her body.
“I cannot be anything of importance to you, my lady. I have nothing to offer you. Not freedom from your father’s edicts.
Not the affection you seek. Not the protection from harm you require.
” His smile was bitter. “I should have returned to Thom Manor after services. I was a fool to walk this way. Duncan and my brothers and their wives will be worried for my whereabouts and my return.”
“But…” she began; however, he motioned for her silence.
“I should never have assumed taking certain liberties. Never should have I held your hand as we traveled together. Never kissed you. I had no right. No privilege,” he said in dutiful tones.
“I did not object to either,” she said as tears rushed to her eyes.
“Yet, I should not have taken advantage. Your husband should be the one to claim such liberties,” he said while looking off to the tree line rather than at her.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she did not brush them away. His open refusal of what was happening between them was almost as disturbing as had been that one brief kiss. She repeated what she had said to Lady Annalise. “I could have my uncle demand that you marry me.”
“You do not want that type of marriage,” he declared.
“You want a joining of souls, not simply flesh and blood. Your think our marriage would provide you happiness, but you would grieve for the loss of your family—mother, sister, even your father. I cannot tolerate the idea of bringing harm to your door.”
“I have grown quite weary of the number of people who think I am too young to know my own mind!” she declared before turning back the way she had come. “Good day, my lord!”
Freya stepped out on the main road so she might walk faster. She wished she had never concocted this plan to come under Lord Graham’s attention. How did he think I could ever wish to kiss another after kissing him? her mind asked in frustration.
The sound of carriage wheels behind her had her stepping to the verge of the road.
Freya watched through her tear-filled eyes as an open landau turned in at the gate of Rayland Hall.
The carriage held two elegantly clad ladies.
The one on the forward-facing seat was elderly, likely a grandmother.
The woman did not turn her head to give Freya even a glance of acknowledgment.
The younger, however, turned her head in Freya’s direction, but it was not her upon which the young woman’s eyes fell. Without Freya’s knowledge, Lord Graham had come up behind her. It was he upon whom the younger woman stared.
To Freya’s misery, the woman’s gaze remained on His Lordship and his on her, but worse, the lady was the most beautiful woman Freya had ever beheld. Perhaps more beautiful than Lady Emma Orson, if that were possible.
Freya turned to look upon Lord Graham, who held himself so perfectly still that one would think him a statue.
Her stomach soured. Freya did not have to be a genius to know that Lord Aaran Graham had once held the dark-headed, violet-eyed woman in great favor.
Freya attempted not to know complete devastation, but she was not strong enough to disguise her emotions.
“Who is she?” she whispered, not even realizing she had said the words aloud until they were spoken.
“Lady Rhonda Hightower,” Lord Graham answered. “After services today, Boyde told me that his mother and Lord Rayland were in negotiations with Lady Rhonda’s grandmother for a marriage between my brother and the lady.”
Having to know the truth, Freya continued to study Lord Graham. She knew him inherently honest, and he would not present her a falsehood. “What does the lady mean to you? Even I know that Lady Rayland does nothing that is not designed to bring you harm.”
“I once asked permission to propose to Lady Rhonda,” he said softly, “a year or so before her father passed. However, as it is with your father, Lady Rhonda’s relations would not align their family with my father’s bastard son. Now that they are all out of mourning, they seek a mate for the lady.”
“I now understand why you could not consider a mousy red-headed girl who is sprinkled with freckles. You aspire to something higher. Someone more sophisticated. Someone who can advance your place in society with her position and connections. I wish you had explained things. Had spoken of your aspirations. You should have said you sought a woman of Lady Emma’s nature and stature, not ‘a walking piece of kindness like Lady Annalise,’ as you have termed me.
” She fought back her tears. “I have promised Miss Whitchurch that I will attend her wedding. Afterwards, I shall ask my uncle if he will return me to London where I shall await my parents and know their thoughts on my future.”
She swallowed hard. “If and when you speak of this indiscretion, please do not laugh at my na?veté. Schoolgirl hopes can seem that way. Pardon me, my dearest Lord Graham, for embarrassing and inconveniencing you.”
Freya turned away, and like it or not, and she did not like it, she caught her skirt and scurried away as fast as she could run. She required distance between reason and her broken heart.