“He adores them,” she said, “but I haven’t a knife.”
“We do not need one.” Casually, he took the red apple between his hands and twisted until the apple cracked in two
Juice dripped down along his fingers and then onto the floor, and when he handed her half an apple, the juice-drenched fingers brushed against her. She’d removed her gloves earlier, the better to be able to pet Ambrose’s muzzle.
She turned, then, not wanting to show him that she was quite impressed by the sheer strength he possessed, and fed the apple to her horse. While Ambrose crunched down on his favorite snack, Eammon stepped beside her and fed the other half to Hector, who likewise chowed down.
While Ambrose licked the juice off Charity’s hand, she glanced up at Eammon, who was casually licking his fingers to remove any leftover juice.
She knew his presence should not make her feel as warm as it did but there was no denying that she felt decidedly hot. Perhaps, she thought it was a heat in a stable.
No, it is not. It is more than that. It is him. His presence. But why? Why must my body betray me and react to him simply because he is handsome?
He looked at her, and she looked at him, and for a brief moment, neither spoke. Finally, he cleared his throat, reached into his trousers, and pulled out the carrots he had been holding, handing them to her.
“I brought these as well. I assume you will spend some time here with Ambrose.” His voice was deep and there was a thickness to it she had not heard before.
“Yes, I’d like to be here a while. Perhaps walk with him outside,” she replied, and he nodded.
“And so you shall.”
She thought he would leave then, but he did not. Instead, he lingered and buried his hands in his pockets in a casual manner. “I wondered if perhaps this evening we could dine together?”
Her lips parted, and she realized she must look rather foolish; the power of speech eluded her completely. She hadn’t expected to entertain the concept of dining together, now or ever. Yet, she had to admit, she was not as opposed to the idea as she had initially thought.
“Very well,” she said, and to her great relief, he nodded in agreement and walked away.
CHAPTER17
Eammon
“So, you have made your peace with her then?” Thomas asked later that afternoon as they sat in the study together, going over paperwork for their business. He had recounted what had occurred, how he had caught her in his study, leading to their visit to the stables. As expected, Thomas read more into the situation than was actually there.
“I would hardly say we have made our peace. We were cordial. She has agreed to dine with me, which is just as well because, as you know, the servants talk, and rumors spread. When that happens, people in town will start saying that the Duke of Leith and his wife don’t dine together, and wonder what else is wrong. They might suspect. And then, we have a scandal.”
“Well, yes, but given how contentious she was before—at least, from what you’ve said—that is a significant improvement in just 48 hours.” Thomas took the ornate wooden box in which Eammon kept his comfits and dropped one into his mouth as he tilted back his head. Thomas had always had a theatrical way about him.
“I dare say that getting her horse for her has done wonders to make her more courteous. Still, I must tread carefully. I cannot risk her discovering my secret.” Eammon said, snatching the box and taking out a comfit as well. The peppermint stung as he let it dissolve in his mouth, while Thomas bit down on his, creating a most unpleasant sound.
“Do you not think it would be easier if you told her?” Thomas asked, crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms. “She is your wife.”
“She is my wife out of convenience, not out of love. I do not owe her any explanations. I needed her, and though she doesn’t know it, she needed me.” He shrugged, not sure why Thomas had even suggested such a thing.
“And yet you are tied together for life now. Surely it would be better if she knew the truth,” Thomas insisted. “So she is not blindsided if someone else should tell her first.”
“Somebody else?” he replied, bristling. “Who would say something to her? Who would know other than immediate family? None of my family would say a word. Among all my cousins, you’re the only one who knows the truth anyway, and none of my uncles would utter a peep.”
He was absolutely certain of this. In fact, the only people left alive who knew his secret were his aunt and uncles: Arabella, Harry, Edwin, Hannah, Emma, Evan, and Louisa. Even his mother’s younger sisters did not know. Besides Thomas, none of his cousins had uncovered the truth; they had all been fed the lie and believed it.
“I mean to say there will be people who shall continue to prod and investigate. You know that has always been the case?—”
“Even now, there have been rumors. Some have thought me illegitimate, not because they suspected that my father made up my entire lineage, but because they were upset that my father had supposedly once married a Catholic woman and fathered a Catholic child. It did not matter that I was raised Anglican since I arrived here.” He sighed and ground his teeth. It had been vexing to have such stories on his back his entire life because people insisted on being small-minded.
“That is how people are,” Thomas conceded.
“People suspected me of being a secret Catholic. Although now, when Catholics can sit in the House of Lords, that has been a thorn in my side even though it is not true. Imagine what would happen if they found out that not one but both my parents were not only Catholic but also Irish and common.”
“The ladies would clutch their pearls and call for their long packed away fainting couches,” Thomas said with a chuckle.
