She had an inkling. Did not wish to find out for certain she was right.
But how to get rid of him?
“You miss your father terribly, don’t you?” His question made her flinch. Unexpected, a little like a prick to the skin when sewing. It drew the smallest drop of blood.
“I do.” But he would be proud of what she would accomplish at Hawthorne.
“Is your retreat here a means of grieving?”
“Perhaps. A little.” More accurate to say it was a way to honor him, to keep his ideas alive despite his death.
“Cannot you grieve in London?”
“No.” She stood to leave. “It grows dark. I’ll show you upstairs.”
“I’ve been here before. I can find my way.”
From her new vantage point at the door she saw only the back of his angled wingback chair, his long leg sticking out straight before the dark and empty fireplace. “Several rooms on the first floor have beds, though I cannot vouch for the cleanliness of the mattress ticks. I’ve not gotten so far as that yet.”
“Why are you doing this all alone?” His voice rose, low and flat.
“Not alone. I have Polly, my maid.”
“Where is she?”
“She went to the village for supplies. No doubt she will remain away until the rain clears. She is friends with the innkeeper’s wife.”
Silence, for an uncomfortable length of time. Then: “You’d have more than Polly in London. You could have a lover…”
“You?” She laughed. “Youdo not want me.”
“Someone else. Not me.” His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion and impossible to read.
How odd to converse with a man without seeing his face. How…horridto hear a man you’d been lusting over tell you to take another man as a lover. “No, thank you. Good evening, Felix. Do not let me know if you need anything. Feel free to leave tomorrow before I wake. No need to take your leave, either.”
When he didn’t answer, she left. Up the stairs and into her own room, where she paced and paced, her footsteps an added percussive rhythm to the rain against the window. She’d forgotten to tell him to avoid the second room on the right. With her luck, he’d stumble into her bedchamber after she was asleep and throw himself into bed with her.
A shiver raced through her, settling in the warm space between her legs. What if he put his thigh there, pressing his muscle where she ached? What if he put his hands on her breast, flicking her nipples into taut beads? What if he set his lipsagainst her own, licking the seam of them until she opened? Her limbs were heavy with longing, and she fell onto her bed in a heap of unsatisfied desire.
He must leave. And she must do anything she could to get him to go. Discomfort might do it. A pampered viscount would surely run screaming after one night on a nasty tick near a broken window during a storm.
Or…
What if she simply told him.Felix, I need to remain here because I plan to make this house a refuge for women who have nowhere else to go.
What would he say? She knew him so little after a decade apart. Except that he was one of those annoying knight-in-shining-armor men.Oh, yes.Now she knew. A man who rode into battle for a woman would never let a wife run a house like that. Too dangerous. She could never tell him.
Friends. Spouses. Strangers.
They would never be more than that.
She possessed no other way to repulse him, then. And she must discover it because he did not repulse her at all. She wished he’d kissed her ten years ago, wished he’d kissed her on their wedding day, wished he’d kissed her today beside the ladder. She’d sensed he might. His gaze had dropped to her lips, goingas foggyas the air around them. Then he’d released her.
Naturally. She sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes. Then she laughed because if she really wanted to get rid of him…
She sat bolt upright.
If she really wished to get rid of him, all she had to do was seduce him. Try to. And watch him run away as if she’d set his hair on fire.
