Amber eyes, not ice blue. Roxbury’s eyes had been blue.
Oh, God.
Her trembling hands flew to her mouth. She felt them shaking against her lips as she traced the skin where only a moment before Ethan’s mouth had been on hers. What was she doing?
Her hands formed a steeple over her nose and mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could disappear before she died of humiliation. What had she done? How could she have mistaken him for Roxbury?
“Please leave.” Her voice was muffled behind her hands. She was mad—suffering from hysteria. She’d thought it all behind her.
She’d been wrong.
“Please leave,” she said again. Her voice was almost a moan.
“Very well.” His tone was cautious. “Let’s go inside.”
She opened her eyes. He was standing in front of the fireplace where they’d sat on a blanket and shared a meal only minutes before. For the moment, he allowed her space, but she could see the way his fingers flexed, as though he fought the urge to bridge the widening gap between them and take her in his arms. Oh, how she wanted him to hold her again. Kiss her again. Make everything better. It hadn’t been a dream. He’d really been kissing her. And she’d ruined everything.
She felt the sharp sting of fresh tears and bit the inside of her cheek to stave them off. Her body shook from fright and shame, and still her lips felt warm from the touch of his mouth.
She watched him step forward and then hesitate, battling to keep his distance, but she knew it wasn’t because he had the desire to enfold her in his arms. He acted on instinct, the instinct one human being had to comfort another. He didn’t want her. How could he, after the way she’d just behaved?
“Francesca, come inside.”
“Please just leave me alone.”
“No.” He took step toward her, and she had to fight the instinctive urge to shy away. “I’ll leave you alone when you’re safe.Inside.”
She put her fingers to her aching temples and began to massage. A moment later, she heard him pull the lone chair from beside the fire to the table. “Sit down.”
“Why?” She looked up, suspicious.
His mouth turned down in a frown, but she watched as he bit back the words he’d been about to say. Clearly he was not used to having his directives questioned. “Because we need to talk.”
“Please go.” She felt the drain of the past few hours and was afraid if he didn’t go soon she’d humiliate herself again, dissolving into yet another flood of tears. Her voice dropped. “I’m mortified enough as it is.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve had a perfectly normal reaction.”
She blinked. “I have?”
“Yes.” He put his hands on the back of the chair. “It’s completely understandable.”
“It is?”
How couldheunderstand it?Shebarely understood, and Winterbourne didn’t even know about Roxbury. No one knew the real reason she’d broken off her engagement to the earl, though she had the feeling her father suspected.
“It’s my fault.”
Francesca gaped.
“After the attack last night—” His gaze darted to her face. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Understanding, quick as an afternoon summer shower, washed over her. “No,” she began. “It’s not—”
She stopped herself just in time. What had she been thinking? To correct his misassumption would mean revealing how pitiful and stupid she’d been in allowing Roxbury to treat her as he had. Winterbourne would lose what little respect he had for her. He would scorn her, and though he might never say it aloud, she would see the derision in his eyes. And suddenly it seemed she could bear anyone’s contempt but his.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. She didn’t like leaving him feeling to blame, but she couldn’t see any other way. “Please go.”
She saw his jaw tense, and he snatched the chair from under the table. “Sit down,” he growled.
