Chapter 3 #3
He sat on the sofa that faced the window on the opposite side of the room and patted the seat next to him. “The wind is a nuisance. It makes your aim go awry when you shoot and slows your carriage when you race. And you can hardly keep your hat on your head once it starts blowing.”
Camilla could tell that there was no heart in his grumbling and came to sit beside him. She crossed her arms and continued to watch the storm.
“Yes, but the wind is magnificent. And when you stand in it, you feel things.” She turned to him inquiringly. “Don’t you think that life can sometimes be dull? That it’s impossible to feel anything at all? In the wind, you come alive.”
He watched her for a moment without answering, and her breath held. Was he thinking of kissing her? Then he grinned and lifted an eyebrow. “Shall we put your theory to the test and go out in it?”
Her pounding heart suffered a pang of disappointment at his shift to a more playful tone, and she strove to hide it.
“I did not say I lacked sense.” Sitting this close to him, she did not dare to keep his gaze and turned forward.
He laughed and crossed one leg easily over the other, close enough that she could feel his warmth.
While in this posture of ease, he slit the seal on his letter and began to read it.
Camilla looked away, torn between pleasure that he felt comfortable enough to read a personal letter at her side and suspicion that the letter came from another woman.
A discreet glance told her that the penmanship was not of a masculine nature.
He sighed loudly and folded up the letter, putting it in his coat pocket. His expression remained sober.
“Disagreeable news, my lord?”
He glanced at her. “You do not need to ‘my lord’ me. Do we not know each other better than that by now? Call me Pembroke like the rest of your family does.” He laughed. “Or Rock, like Miles still does at times.”
He still hadn’t answered her question, and she waited. After a moment, he tapped his fist on the arm of the sofa.
“Not precisely disagreeable. It is from my mother.”
“I see.” Although she didn’t see. She was simply glad it was not from some young lady.
He must not get on well with his mother, she thought, but that was only a guess.
She knew little about his family, other than that his father died when he was a boy, and he had one married sister who had twin boys under the age of five.
“Unsurprisingly, she has expectations of me.” When Camilla stayed silent, he glanced at her and clarified. “She has always been set upon me finding a wife before my thirtieth year and has made no secret of it.”
The way his eyes bore into hers made speech impossible. The fluttering darts of her mind whispered that he meant for her to take on the role, but that was mere foolishness. Only when he looked away again could she breathe—and speak.
“And we’ve established how you feel about the prospect.”
“Yes.”
The rain thundered down outside, and Camilla listened to it, wondering if she should speak her mind once more. Before her mind had fully resolved upon it, her tongue made the decision for her.
“I wonder if I might ask you something.”
“Anything.” He sat, arms folded, seeming perfectly at ease—a contrast to the way her heart beat violently.
“What is it about marriage that frightens you so much?” Although she knew it was the worst of ideas to ask, it was too late to back out now. She watched the rain falling outdoors instead of looking at him, so he might not see that she cared about the answer. She felt his regard.
“Frighten is a strong word,” he said at last. “It is not fear I suffer from, but a dislike of being led by the bit and bridle, which is what entering into matrimony feels like.”
“A feeling for which I sympathize,” Camilla responded, now daring to turn to him with a smile.
“I, for one, should prefer the liberty to choose a path. Or if not that, to be drawn to a path that makes sense by gentle coaxing. It might surprise you to know that few women enjoy being led by ‘bit and bridle,’ as you term it, and as such are not likely to impose such constraints upon a gentleman.”
“The former I can very much believe over the latter,” he replied and dipped his head closer to hers. “But then, you are not like other ladies.”
The rain lessened. A peal of thunder cracked softly in the distance, a sign that the storm had given up the fight.
His words rang out in the empty room, stealing Camilla’s breath again, and she gathered the courage to see if he was looking at her in a way that matched his words.
A sideways glance informed her that he was looking ahead meditatively.
A loud boom echoed in the entryway where the front door was thrown open. This was followed by the squeak of wet boots on the marble, and voices, of which Camilla could only distinguish Joanna’s. Whatever direction their conversation might have turned, the moment was over. Pembroke stood.
“I wonder what’s amiss. Let us go and see.”
“Coming,” Camilla said softly, mustering all of her energy for the one word. What if they had not been interrupted? What would he have said next? And had he brought his eyes back to hers, what then?