“I know, Uncle Reggie, dear.” She laid a hand on the old man’s arm. “You’ve always been most attentive in taking me to whatever amusements I fancied. But you see, Lord Hope asked me to this ball, and I want to go with him.”
St. Aubyn shook off her hand rudely. “Is that your choice, then, girl? Him? Because I tell you right now, there’ll be a choice to be made: him or me. You can’t have it both ways.”
Miss Corning’s hand fell to her side, but her gaze was steady and unwavering on her uncle. For the first time, Reynaud realized that there was a kind of strength there beneath her sweet manner. “Perhaps I will have to make a choice someday. But that is not my wish, truly. Can’t you see that?”
“Your wishes don’t come into it, lass. Remember that.” He shook a finger in her face. “And don’t forget who’s kept a roof over your head these nineteen years. If I’d known how ungrateful you’d be for the care I’ve shown you—”
“Enough.” Reynaud stepped toward the man.
“No.” Miss Corning laid her hand on Reynaud’s arm now, but unlike her uncle, he wasn’t going to hurt her feelings by shaking her off.
St. Aubyn eyed her hand, and his lips twisted. Then he turned abruptly and stomped up the stairs.
“He hasn’t the right to talk to you so,” Reynaud growled softly.
“He has every right.” She turned to look at him, but though her gaze was steady, her gray eyes sparkled with tears. “He’s perfectly correct; he has provided a home—and love—for me for nineteen years. And I’ve hurt his feelings.”
Reynaud took her hand and moved it farther up his arm so that he could escort her to the waiting carriage. “Nonetheless, I don’t want him acting toward you the way he just did. Do you need a wrap?”
“I had my maid put a wrap in the carriage, and don’t try to change the subject. It’s not your duty to defend me from my uncle.”
He stopped beside the carriage steps, forcing her to halt as well. “If I choose to defend you from your uncle—or anyone else—I damned well will with or without your permission, madam.”
“Goodness, how very primitive of you,” she said. “Are you going to help me into the carriage, or will you keep me out here, proclaiming your right to safeguard me until I freeze?”
He frowned down at her, but every reply he could think of made him look an ass, so he simply handed her into the carriage without a word. The door was shut behind him, and in a moment the horses started forward.
He looked across at Miss Corning, who’d pulled a thin wrap about her shoulders. “That gown becomes you.”
She smiled, quick and brilliant. “Why, thank you, my lord.”
He cast about for something else to say but couldn’t think of a thing. He was out of practice in the art of light conversation, after all. Most of his discussion of the last seven years had been filled with the topic of food—where there might be game and if there was enough meat to feed Gaho’s small band for the winter.
Miss Corning was the one who broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me about your experiences in the Indian camp?”
He was silent a moment, reluctant to continue the story. It was all in his past anyway. Wasn’t it better forgotten? To bring up starvation and torture, nights of lying awake far from home and family, fearful that he’d never see England again… surely there was no need to make that all come alive again?
“Please?” she whispered, and he caught the scent of English flowers—her scent.
Why did she demand this of him? She didn’t even seem to know herself. And yet he felt compelled to answer her demand.
Even if it meant tearing open a still-fresh wound.
“Later.” The glow from the carriage lantern illuminated her face and shoulders but left the rest of the lady in darkness, giving her an air of mystery. Reynaud felt a stirring low in his belly at the sight. If telling her his wretched story brought her closer, it was well worth it.
He stretched his legs so that they brushed against the voluminous skirts of her gown. “I’ll tell you all about living in an Indian village, about hunting deer and raccoon, and even about the time I battled a full-grown bear.”
“Oh!” Her lovely gray eyes widened in excitement.
He smiled. “But not tonight. There’s too little time before we arrive at my aunt’s house.”
“Oh.” Her lower lip thrust out just a little in a charming pout. He eyed that lip, full and shining in the carriage light. He wanted to bite it.
“You tease me so, my lord,” she said softly, and her voice seemed to catch.
He looked into her eyes, wide and innocent, but with a feminine spark that wasn’t innocent at all. “Do I? And do you like to be teased, Miss Corning?”
Her eyelashes lowered. “I think… Yes, I do like the teasing. As long as it isn’t too prolonged.”