“So, I will be unaccompanied on the journey to London?” Maeve’s reputation had never been one of her concerns, but chiefly because it had never been under threat previously.
Silverton’s lips thinned. “I have every reason to protect your good name. And every reason to want our union to be sanctified. Here.” He drew out the money, which he had promised for her father, and passed it over to Maeve. “You will drop this off into his hands, and then we will continue on the road.”
“I will keep my word.” Maeve looked up at him. Despite her resolve, she did not feel quite so certain. To steel herself, she reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her dry lips against his cheek. It was meant to be a fleeting sign of agreement in her mind. But so much for her good intentions because, as soon as her mouth touched his skin, that spark of awareness that occurred earlier happened again. It burnt through her senses, whilst the feel of his whiskers rasped against her lips. She tried to move away, but Silverton was quicker. His hands reached out, and he grasped her elbows, keeping her close. His grip tightened through the material of her gown, nipping against the flesh of her arms.
Unable to resist, Maeve raised her eyes to look up into Silverton’s face. He was only an inch from her. She could see aspects of his face that hinted at other emotions—lines that lightly crinkled the corner of his eyes—from tension she assumed. The strong shape of his nose, of the sort that was aquiline and aristocratic and hinted at being haughty. She was so close to him that she could smell the whisky he’d downed earlier, and it was as if the notes of that previously consumed alcohol fizzed in the air between them. Finally, her gaze dropped and landed on his mouth, as if she had been drawn in without being able to resist. Her earlier chaste kiss had come within inches of those lips, brushing against his skin and part of his beard. The hair on his face obscured a large chunk of his face but could not hide those plump, well-made lips.
Without realising it, Maeve released a small sigh. She was picturing, no, she was willing him to kiss her, she realised in shock. As if the earlier touch of his skin was beating through her, and she was crying out for more. She swayed, despite his hold on her.
She was not wanton. She never had been so before. Never been so with Dr. Copeland; why was it with this viscount, she felt so moved?
With a rather sad realisation, Maeve acknowledged that aside from the occasional embrace from her sister, her father, and a few of the lonely schoolchildren in Ashford, no one ever hugged her or held her. Despite her engagement, Dr. Copeland never tried to kiss her.
I am lonely, she told herself,and eager for some kind of intimacy.
It was easy to think that, to have it neatly explained and wrapped away, but it wasn’t the truth. The truth was far more complicated and tied inexplicably to the looming, dark-haired man so close to her now.
He hadn’t moved away. Perhaps he was shocked by her actions. Appalled by how unladylike Maeve was acting.
“I—” No words occurred to her.
Silverton released her elbow and, with his free hand, lifted her chin and tilted Maeve’s face up, so she was forced to look into his eyes. His hand shifted over her skin and then rested on the underside of her chin. A hundred darts of awareness broke out in its wake until his fingertip brushed over her bottom lip. Maeve would have given all the money she had, as well as the amount promised to her father, to be able to break away from Silverton’s gaze. It was so fierce and penetrating that she feared he would perceive too much about her.
Run, her mind screamed at her, but Maeve stayed still.
With this reassurance strengthening her resolve, Maeve’s mouth curved slightly at the corners. She fixed him with a warm look. The reaction from Silverton was immediate. His face contracted, his nostrils flared a little at the corners, and she felt for the first time that, perhaps, his façade of a gruff, austere nobleman was not as secure as he would like.
His grip broke, and he stepped away from her, breaking their eye contact and putting her letter to Helen on the table for collection.
“Are you quite certain, Miss Walsh?” he asked. “I would not blame you if you wished to reconsider. It was rather medieval of me.”
“I could run now with the money in my pocket. But I gave you my word.” She could, she did not think he would block her way. There was an uncertainty lingering in his features, which made her think he was regretting it or feeling guilty. “I promised you I would be your wife.” Still, he did not answer her, and Maeve was growing concerned he would break off the arrangement after she had come to her own resolution. “It is a business agreement,” she said decidedly. “If we are honest with each other, then it will be well. We are both suited to such things. I have been a woman of the world. These situations may be uncommon to us, but they are hardly rarities in general society.”
“Ever practical.” His comment jarred against Maeve, but for reasons she could not quite explain. “Come then, we should be leaving. The horses will be getting restless.” He moved to the side door, and Maeve followed him out and down into the stable yard.
A fine carriage was waiting for them and any of the servants that existed around Silver Hall.
Silverton left Maeve standing as he moved forward and had a brief exchange with what seemed to be the driver. A lone servant was running to and fro, filling the carriage up.
“Miss Walsh.” Silverton was before her, offering his arm once more. She noticed that he had donned gloves for the journey. In the dying light of the afternoon, she could see the paleness of Silverton’s skin more keenly now. He was drawn and tired, but this seemed to pull into focus the very masculine hauteur that heightened his appeal. He may have looked more unwell now they were outside, but the slight vulnerability stirred a desire in Maeve to wrap herself closer to him, as if she could shield him from the terrors he was facing.
“Maeve. Please call me that.” She had said it was a business arrangement, but it didn’t mean she wanted every aspect to be so formal.
“I will try to remember.” He took her arm and led her to the carriage door.
As she climbed up the steps and inside, Maeve glanced back at Silver Hall and saw an older woman watching the scene most intently from the second-floor window. It wasn’t Mrs. Bowen’s friendly observance. No, there was something chilly and calculating in the look. It was only the briefest of glances, but she was certain it was Silverton’s mother. A lady he had no desire for Maeve to meet. A shiver passed down her back, and the certainty she had assured Silverton of previously suddenly felt a lot less secure. What, precisely, was she marrying into?
CHAPTER5
Silverton was in the seat opposite Miss Walsh—even in his mind he was not quite comfortable calling her Maeve—and had positioned himself to look straight out of the carriage window. Why he seemed so disinclined to use her name was beyond him. ButMaeveconjured all sorts of temptations he was not comfortable with. Which had him asking what the hell was wrong with him? What in God’s name was going through his head that would make him act so? It was not in Silverton’s character, not remotely. Could his actions be attributed to his recent diagnosis and the stress of a death sentence?
The vehicle was moving briskly, and thankfully, the roads were quiet, which meant now that they had left Staplehurst behind them they were making good time. They had paid a brief visit to Mr. Walsh and told him the falsehood about their visit to London and the presence of Silverton’s mother inside the carriage. With that done, they had immediately departed. Guilt stirred through Silverton at lying to his old colleague, but he continued, regardless. When they had left Walsh’s cottage, they had taken Miss Walsh’s already packed valise with them, providing the woman with some of her feminine necessities.
Miss Walsh had not seemed daunted or changed by her brief visit home; she was gazing contently at her lap. Her expression was prim and gave nothing to hint at what her thoughts were in that fraught moment, the one just after she had kissed his cheek. The only unusual thing about her was her lack of a bonnet.
I really should have not thrown it in the fire. Now, I am constantly reminded of her bright, glimmering curls.
Looking up suddenly, Miss Walsh caught Silverton gazing at her and gave him an enquiring look. Hastily as if he were a schoolboy, Silverton looked away and immediately regretted it. That gentle little sigh of hers from earlier was torturing him still.
