She searched his face, wondering if he only told her what she wanted to hear. She touched her locket and moved away from him. His hand slowly fell back to the bench.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They were silent for a few minutes, their bodies jostling gently to the same rhythm. It was strangely intimate, riding with this man, when she’d done the same thing with others hundreds of times.
“I did run into Mr. Rowlandson in the taproom,” he admitted.
“Run into?Did you knock him to the ground?”
“I wanted to. And it would have been so easy. But I simply warned him to be on his best behavior since he was your brother’s guest in town. And I might have implied that I would develop a relationship with the innkeeper, who would keep me abreast of any abuse of his servants.”
She slowly smiled at him. “I appreciate your restraint.”
“You’re welcome. I am capable of it, when necessary. Life here is not the same as on a battlefield.”
He studied her from beneath lowered eyelids, his focus once again making her feel like she was the reason for everything he did. Even with daylight streaming in the windows, it was as if they were alone, with darkness enveloping them, hiding them.
“I know you are confused about this marriage between us,” he began in almost a conversational tone, letting their shoulders touch. “How do you expect to make a decision?”
She couldn’t seem to think, so captivated was she by the mysterious depths of his brown eyes. “I ... imagine by coming to know you better, interacting as we’ve been doing these few days.”
“Interacting,” he said dubiously. “Last night was our first time interacting alone.”
“That is not true,” she insisted.
“Alone with you in your bedroom, as a husband should be. I put my hands on you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Though she tried to look away, he touched her chin, tilting her face back up to his.
“We should feel something about each other when we touch,” he said softly. “Indifference would be the mark of people who do not suit. I don’t feel indifferent, Cecilia, and I don’t think you do, either.”
“That is not a reason for marriage.” Her mouth felt so dry she licked her lips, then gave a little start when his eyes seemed to heat.
“Money is your reason for marriage,” he said.
“Yours is duty,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think I want to be a man’s duty? Neither is a motive for a lasting relationship.”
“There are many who would disagree, of course, but you aren’t the type of woman who would settle for those motives. And duty was never my only motive. So can you not explore other reasons to be married? Or are you afraid to?”
She stiffened. “I am not afraid of you.”
“I think you might be afraid offeelingsomething for me.”
They stared at each other, and she didn’t know how to respond, she who was gifted at handling every difficult situation. She had to look up to meet his eyes, and he seemed to loom over her. For just a moment, she wanted him to kiss her.
Hastily, she turned away and looked out the window. “Believe what you want, Lord Blackthorne, but wishing won’t make it so.”
Michael had pushed too hard with Cecilia, and that had been a mistake, he thought that evening as he watched her dine. She had to be slowly brought along in their marriage, like a new recruit.
In India, he’d remained outside British society, not taking advantage of the dances or dinner parties. He was focused on his regiment. But now he made no secret of his admiration of her fine figure, of the gentle, ladylike ways she comported herself. Staring at his wife made him realize he’d forgotten the softness of a graceful woman, the way just being with her made him ignore everything bad in his life. He frowned and glanced down at his plate. He wasn’t a man who needed to forget the decisions he’d made, the deaths he’d caused. It bothered him that suddenly hewantedto forget.
But he couldn’t stop looking at her whenever they were together. And tonight he could be even more obvious, for they dined alone. She’d retreated to her study after returning from Enfield. Although he could have followed her there, he’d given her some time alone to regroup. She was the kind of woman who preferred to show the world only her strengths and hide her vulnerabilities and emotions.
Part of what would soften her was if he could help her brother, so he let her prattle on about London Society, as if either one of them cared, then interrupted at last.
“Forgive me, but I must cut this meal short.”
The footmen had only just begun serving some kind of tart, and now they froze, looking to Cecilia.
