The word kissing from Lord Bolton’s mouth gave her a pleasant thrill.
“Thank you,” she said. “It is not the finest of the bunch. Lady Wilde has done an excellent job.”
He looked at her quizzically, and she wished she could ask him outright if he desired her. Lady Wilde was a far easier option than herself and far more moneyed than she. An unpleasant thought occurred to her. Perhaps Lord Bolton was showing her attention to make Lady Wilde jealous. She had heard of men and women of her acquaintance employing such tactics. She hoped it was not true.
She met his warm gaze with a smile of her own. His face was shadowed in the dim light from the window and the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones were highlighted. He looked startlingly handsome and more serious than she was used to seeing him.
“Did you not wish to make a bough yourself?” she asked.
“Indeed not; I should be very loathe to take the attention away from the creativity of the ladies. My talents do not lie in making things. I am far better with a good book or a deck of cards than I am at beauty.”
His eyes lingered on her face for some moments after that,and Clarissa was not entirely certain he was still speaking of the beauty of the boughs.
“Lord Bolton,” her mother said as she came up behind them. “The house is looking most festive, is it not? Your aunt has outdone herself again, it seems.”
Lord Bolton turned politely to her mother and nodded. “She has always loved this season, and it is evident in the love and care she shows to the house. Where is your own bough, my lady?”
“Ah, just above the top step of the stairway. You shall see it when you ascend. I was very pleased with it, although I think I used too much ivy. I have never liked that plant. And what did you think of my daughter’s efforts?”
Her mother’s eyes flicked to Clarissa; their meaning obvious. It was humiliating to watch so evident a display.
“Very beautiful indeed; I have always favoured silver in decorations of that nature. It has been placed at the optimum area of the house.”
“She has always been a very creative girl,” her mother continued, as though Clarissa were not standing beside her.
Clarissa could not bear to watch such a display. She longed to remain in Lord Bolton’s affable company but did not wish to watch her mother disgrace herself. Lady Crompton was desperate to regain her social standing, and Lord Bolton would be her ticket toward such a conclusion.
Clarissa was mortified at her mother’s blatant cajoling as she continued to list her abilities. Her mother had never complimented her daughter so much in the space of only a few minutes. Clarissa could feel herself shutting down as she watched them. She hated everything to do with this blatant persuasion, and she could only hope Lord Bolton could overlook it.
Her palms were sweating, her jaw tense as her mothercontinued without pausing for breath.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nicholas was acutely aware of Clarissa’s silence. Her face was a picture of conflict as she listened to her mother. Nicholas did not like to see the concern and pain that chased one another across her countenance as she twisted her hands before her in indignation.
Her mother was still speaking, but Nicholas had ceased listening some time ago. As he was about to speak directly to Miss Crompton to attempt to pull her out of her melancholy, he saw his aunt approaching.
“I would speak with you about our next activity, Miss Crompton,” Eleanor said, offering her arm. Clarissa took it without question. As the two women moved away, his aunt gave Nicholas a stern look.
His stomach dropped as he thought of all she had told him about his intentions. She believed him to lack honour with Clarissa. And is she not correct? He thought. I have no intention of staying in England for any great length of time. This is foolish.
Then why am I unable to stay away from her?
Seeing Lord and Lady Wilde approaching as though to speak with him, Nicholas quickly slipped out of a rear door.
He stood in the corridor, trying to gather his thoughts, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. He quickly walked to the library to be in a silent space with his thoughts.
As he closed the door, the hubbub of the voices in the living room faded from hearing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
He walked to the window, and the action of walking felt so useful that he turned back around and walked to the door. After a little while, he was pacing agitatedly between the shelves, walking up and down, lost in thought.
Is my aunt correct? Should I stop spending any significant time with Miss Crompton?
He knew that it would be the best course of action, but somehow, his mind would not agree to it. He could not get her out of his head. When she had entered the breakfast room that morning, he had never seen her look so beautiful. Her kindness to her cousin only confirmed her sweet nature, and he had been entranced as he had watched her walk about the house. She had complimented everyone and been the picture of kindness.
When she had fallen from the steps, he had been at her side almost instantaneously. In truth, he had been watching her for some time. When her foot had slipped, his heart nearly stopped in his chest. When he’d held her in his arms, it beat so incessantly that he was certain the whole company would be able to hear it.
She had looked at him in a way that had stirred hope in his heart. She did not appear as indifferent as she had seemed. It had felt as though something was shared between them at that moment that could not be taken back.
