Romy’s heart beat violently beneath her ribs. Granby was savagely,wildlybeautiful when he smiled.
One large finger reached out to trace the line of her cheek. “I fear you will always find me so. Disagreeable, that is.” His finger trailed over her jaw before moving across her shoulder, lingering on the skin of her chest. The dark eyes caught and held hers, watching her reaction as he touched her, perhaps waiting for her to tell him to stop.
His touch continued along her neckline, pausing briefly to dip below the tiny row of lace, the pad of his finger brushing against the very tip of her nipple.
A small noise came from her throat.
Coal-black lashes fell down to brush his cheeks. “Jesus,” he whispered.
Immediately the finger retreated as if burned by a flame.
“We should go.”
Romy blinked at the cold, icy words. She could practically see the bits of frost gathering around his mouth. Refusing to meet her eyes, he helped her to her feet before bending over to hand her the leather portfolio.
Romy allowed it, though she was wounded by the sudden change in his mood.
When Granby’s gaze finally met hers, the aloof mask was once more firmly in place, a slight scowl tightening his lips. He’d closed himself off without warning so quickly, Romy hadn’t had time to object.
Romy’s fingers reached out, willing the lover of moments before to return, wanting some sort of assurance from him. A declaration that the kiss they’d shared had affected him as much as it had her. But just as quickly, her fingers retreated, knowing instinctivelythisGranby wouldn’t welcome such contact.
“Come. I’ll walk you back.” Granby made no effort to take her hand, as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.
“It isn’t necessary, Your Grace.” Her pulse wobbled as she tried to pull her own emotions back under control. Her anger toward him resurfaced; not for his arrogance or cold manner, for that was never in short supply, but for disregarding her as if she meant nothing. As ifthishad meant nothing.
And Romy was very certain it had. “You needn’t concern yourself. I’m quite capable of finding my own way back. I’ll hardly become lost.” She pointed to the clearly marked path.
“Nonsense. There could be unsavory creatures in these woods, myself among them.” He waved her forward. “Besides, we can have a rather awkward stroll back to The Barrow. You will ask me questions seeking to understand why I kissed you when it’s assumed I’ll offer for Lady Beatrice Howard.”
“Possibly.” She kept her gaze forward, not wanting him to see how much the idea of him marrying Beatrice hurt her, especially now.
“I will refuse to answer you,” he continued in a detached tone, “which, in turn, will stoke your anger and general dislike of me.”
Hewantedher to dislike him. Hate him. It would be better for Granby if she slapped him and announced she’d be leaving tomorrow.
“Why will you refuse to answer me?” she said quietly. “Because it is far easier if I dislike you, isn’t it?”
His lips tightened, but he didn’t look at her. “How perceptive of you, Lady Andromeda.”
Granby said not one more word to her as they traveled through the woods together, the silence so deafening, Romy wanted to scream. Or kick his shin. Anything to shatter the chilling blandness he forced between them.
As they passed the pond, Lord and Lady Carstairs appeared on the path, carrying their fishing poles. Rebecca was flushed, her hair tangled. When her shawl slipped, Romy could see the back of her gown was buttoned incorrectly. Her eyes, full of ill-concealed malice, darted between Romy and Granby.
“Lady Andromeda, what a surprise to see you out walking.” Her lips lit with a sly grin, perhaps hoping for a scrape of gossip she could circulate.
“I walk often,” Romy stated, focused on getting away from all of them as quickly as possible.
“As do I,” Granby intoned. “One of my tenants reported a gypsy encampment in my woods. I thought to seek it out and found Lady Andromeda instead. Sketching.” He nodded to the leather portfolio. “I’ve reminded her to stay closer to the estate.”
Carstairs nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
“How good of you to do so,” Rebecca said, glancing once more at Romy, her eyes searching for any sign of torn lace before focusing on Romy’s swollen lips.
“I checked the pond first.” Granby looked directly at Rebecca until she blushed up to the roots of her hair and took a step closer to her husband. “Best fix your wife’s dress, Carstairs, before you reach the house. You know how guests talk at a house party. Iabhorgossip of any kind.”
His implication was clear. Granby expected them both to not repeat seeing him and Andromeda together. Romy thought Carstairs would comply. The same could not be said of Rebecca, once the shock of Granby’s threat wore off.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Carstairs shot his wife a meaningful glance before bowing, allowing Romy and Granby to pass.
