Chapter 12 #3
“I do, although I dislike allowing it to dictate where I may go even more,” Augusta said. “You may join us if you wish, although I know you do not enjoy balls, and I do not expect you to attend merely on my account.”
Ronan studied her. “You have decided that I will refuse.”
“I have heard your opinion of society, propriety, crowded rooms, and people who speak without meaning anything, so I think the conclusion is reasonable.”
“You are going with Charity?”
“Yes, and Duncan will be there.”
Ronan looked down at Sarah, then towards the fire.
“I will consider it,” he said.
Augusta stared at him. “Which sounds suspiciously like a duke’s method of avoiding a direct answer.”
As she shifted to reach for her teacup, Ronan adjusted his position, and his leg brushed against hers.
The contact was slight, although Augusta felt it as sharply as though he had touched her with his hand.
She became still as Ronan’s leg remained against hers, warm through the layers of fabric, while the space between them suddenly seemed much smaller than it had a moment before. Her palms began to grow damp, and her attention moved again to the open collar of his shirt.
She tried to look at Sarah instead, although that only made her more aware of Ronan’s arm around the child and the quiet strength in his body.
What was wrong with her?
“Augusta?” Ronan asked.
She looked at him too quickly. “Yes?”
“Are you well?”
“Perfectly.”
“You do not look well.”
“I am only warm.”
Ronan glanced towards the fire.
“You said I would not freeze, although perhaps you have placed us too close to it.”
“The fire is not the problem.”
He frowned. “What is?”
“Nothing.”
Ronan shifted Sarah carefully against one arm, then lifted his free hand towards Augusta. She had no time to move before the back of his fingers touched her forehead.
Augusta’s entire body went rigid.
His hand was cool against her heated skin, and his face was suddenly much closer, while his leg remained pressed lightly to hers.
“You are warm,” he said. “Are you feeling ill?”
“No,” Augusta replied, and her voice emerged higher than usual. “I am not ill.”
“You are flushed.” Ronan moved his hand from her forehead to her cheek, as though comparing the temperature.
Augusta’s breath caught.
“You are certain you are not sick?” he asked.
“Entirely certain,” Augusta said, pulling back more abruptly than she intended. “It has simply grown late, and Sarah should be taken to bed, while we should both retire as well.”
Ronan looked towards the clock.
“It is not especially late.”
Augusta began gathering the books, although her hands were unsteady and she placed one volume on top of another with more force than necessary.
Ronan watched her, “You are behaving strangely.”
“I am tired, and you shouldn’t focus so much on my mannerisms anyway. It could just be that I am having a strange night.”
Augusta rose too quickly, and the movement nearly caused her to step on the edge of her skirt. She steadied herself, then turned towards the bell pull.
“I will ask the nurse to take Sarah upstairs,” she said. “You should remain where you are until someone can help you stand.”
“I do not require help.”
Ronan continued watching her with quiet suspicion, and Augusta could feel the heat in her face deepening under his attention.
When the nurse arrived, Ronan allowed Sarah to be lifted from his arms, although the child stirred and murmured before settling against the woman’s shoulder.
“Good night,” Sarah whispered without opening her eyes.
Ronan’s expression softened again.
“Good night,” he replied.
Augusta followed the nurse to the door, then turned back.
Ronan had reached for his cane and was preparing to rise, while the open collar of his shirt revealed the same distracting glimpse of skin.
Her pulse quickened all over again.
“Good night, Ronan,” she said.
He paused.
“Augusta. You are still blushing.”
She stared at him. “I am fairly certain that you are seeing things, or it might be the fire that is casting a glow.”
“You said…”
“Good night.” Augusta left before he could finish.
She walked quickly through the corridor, although dignity prevented her from running, and only when she reached her bedchamber did she close the door and lean back against it.
Her heart was still racing, while her palms remained damp and her skin seemed to remember the touch of his hand against her forehead.
Nothing was wrong with her.
That was the problem.
She had spent the evening watching Ronan smile, listening to him make Sarah laugh, and noticing every inch of skin revealed by one open fastening. Then his leg had touched hers, and she had reacted as though the contact meant something far more intimate than an accident on the carpet.
Augusta pressed both hands to her burning cheeks.
She was attracted to her husband.
The realization should not have shocked her, since Ronan was handsome and they were married, yet knowing it in the abstract was nothing like feeling it with every frantic beat of her heart.
Augusta closed her eyes. There would be no sleep for her for a very long time.