“I can be soft.”
“You are tired of pretending, and you pretend for me. I wonder… how far you will go.”
“As far as I must.” He needed to touch her, to hold more of her than merely her hand.
Another sigh as she stirred, bowed her head, and rested her cheek against his chest, mumbling, “So far you regret it one day? So far you regret… me?”
Control snapped in two like a twig beneath a carriage wheel. He lifted her chin with his hand and bowed his head until their lips almost touched.
An almost kiss hot with promise. She held quite still, not even breathing.
“Never.” But would she regret him, regret the worry over his discomfort at every single event? He must prove to her. Proving came before the kiss. He stepped away, dragging his unwilling arms away from her to fold them behind his back. “Shall we return inside?”
She stepped into the pool of light from the open ballroom doors, her face upturned as she studied him for one long moment.
“Is there something you wish to say?” he asked. The invitation.
“No. Not yet.”
When she returned to the milling throng where she belonged so much more than he did, Rowan followed. Because he always would. Unless she came to her senses and sent him away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In an hour’s time, a cleaver would sever Isabella’s life. Before, she’d always lived with her twin, shared almost everything. After, they would not even share the same surname. What Isabella ate to break her fast, Imogen would not know. What gown she chose for the day, Isabella would only discover if she saw her.
She saw her now, though, standing before the cheval glass in their bedchamber and regarding her reflection with cool curiosity.
“You are stunning,” Isabella said from her perch in the window seat.
The corner of Imogen’s lip quirked up. “I always find compliments toward one another amusing.”
“Because they are compliments to ourselves as well. Yes, I know. But today is different.” Imogen was a bride, and Isabella was not. Imogen seemed not simply content but happy to become Viscountess Helston. And Isabella ached with a pain almost sorrowful for a single kiss her suitor denied her. She did not want to think of Rowan. She’d not invited him to the wedding. She’d been waiting for the kiss, and it had never come. “Thurston, I see, pleases you.”
“He is quite dear to me.” Imogen joined her in the window seat and, careless of creases to her gown, pulled her legs up to her bellybeneath her skirts, mirroring Isabella’s posture. “We will rub along perfectly. I am eager to experience Italy. He will sketch, and I will read, and if necessary, when we return, we will begin the process of creating an heir.”
“A… friendship, then? But… you have kissed him.”
“Yes, a friendship, and yes, I have. It would not be a perfect arrangement if we repulsed one another on a physical level. I do want to enjoy the making of an heir. But…” Imogen dropped her chin to her knees. “I told Thurston we cannot kiss again.”
She’d used her secret-telling voice, low and serious.
Isabella leaned closer and used her secret-listening ears, all the way open and tuned to the softest whisper. “Why? Was it horrid?”
Imogen shook her head, the tiniest little earthquake. “Quite the opposite. My heart thumped in my chest. Itthumped. Is, that’s never happened before. But as long as we do not kiss, it will not happen again.”
Isabella nodded, suppressing her smile. Imogen’s heart had thumped. That’s all Isabella needed. “I’m sure it was an anomaly. The excitement of your first kiss. It was your first… wasn’t it?”
Imogen nodded. “I apologize. For not speaking with you about him. I did not think you would understand. That I do not want love. I do not need it. You’d become worried, and I’d become frustrated and”—she sighed—“we are not the same, you know.”
“I know. I apologize, too. Iwouldhave nagged you about Thurston had I known. You’re quite right about that. I would have insisted you wait with me for love, but… I want you to be happy. And if this arrangement brings you joy, then I am filled with joy as well.” Isabella wrapped her arms around her legs and grasped her sister’s hands, squeezed.
“Thank you.” Imogen gently kicked Isabella’s shin. “You are not, though. Happy.”
“Rowan has not kissed me!” She knew the words were a grumble, eating up and spitting out all her frustration.
Imogen laughed, then hid her mouth in her skirts. “You should have invited him today. Perhaps witnessing the wedding would have inspired him.”
“I was waiting for him to kiss me.” He’d kissed her first before. He’d never before hesitated to show her how he felt. “Perhaps he does not wish to kiss me now. The last fortnight has not been easy for him. He was right. About not receiving a warm welcome. Outside of our circle, he’s received no welcome at all, let alone a warm one.”
