That made him smile, which helped her thought processes even less.
She narrowed her eyes. “If you want me to tell you all, soon, then you’ll allow me a little peace so I can get my thoughts in order. I’m going to my room—I’ll tell you when I’m prepared to divulge what I’ve learned.”
Head rising, she stepped out, intending to sweep past him. The trailing skirt of her habit trapped her ankle.
“Oh!” She tripped, fell.
He swooped, caught her to him, drew her upright. Steadied her within his arms.
Her lungs seized. She looked up, met his eyes.
Felt, as she had years ago, as she always did when in his arms, fragile, vulnerable…intensely feminine.
Felt again, after so many years, the unmistakable flare of attraction, of heat, of flagrant desire.
Her gaze dropped to his lips; her own throbbed, then ached. Whatever else the years had changed, this—their private madness—remained.
Her heart raced, pounded. She hadn’t anticipated that he would still want her. Lifting her eyes to his, she confirmed he did. She’d seen desire burn in his eyes before; she knew how it affected him.
He wasn’t trying to hide what he felt. She watched the shades shift in those glorious dark eyes, watched him fight the urge to kiss her. Breath bated, helpless to assist, she waited, tense and tensing, eyes locked with his, for one crazed instant not sure what she wanted…
He won the battle. Sanity returned, and she breathed shallowly again as his hold on her gradually, very gradually, eased.
Setting her on her feet
, he stepped back. His eyes, dark and still burning, locked with hers. “Don’t leave it too long.”
A breeze ruffled the trees, sent a shower of petals swirling down around them. She searched his eyes. His tone had been harsh. She wished she had the courage to ask what he was referring to—divulging her secrets, or…
Deciding that in this case discretion was indeed the better part of valor, she gathered her skirts and walked back to the house.
CHAPTER 3
SWEEPING INTO THE ABBEY’S DRAWING ROOM AT SEVEN o’clock, just ahead of Filchett, she fixed Charles, watching her from before the massive fireplace, with a narrow-eyed glare, then stepped aside to allow Filchett to announce that dinner was served.
Unperturbed, Charles nodded to Filchett and came to take her hand.
Steeling herself, she surrendered it, but didn’t bother to curtsy. As he laid her fingers on his sleeve and turned her to the door, she stated with what she felt was commendable restraint, “I would have been quite happy with a tray in my room.”
“I, however, would not.”
She bit her tongue, elevated her nose. She knew better than to waste breath arguing with him.
Half an hour after she’d regained her room, a maid had tapped on her door and inquired whether she would like a bath. She’d agreed; a long, relaxing soak was just what she’d needed. The steam had risen, wreathing about her; her thoughts had circled, constantly returning to the crucial question. Could she trust Charles, the Charles who now was?
She still wasn’t sure, but now understood she couldn’t—wasn’t going to be allowed to—put him off for much longer. Witness this dinner he’d jockeyed her into.
When the maid, Dorrie, had returned to inquire which gown she wanted laid out, she’d replied she intended to have dinner in her chamber. Dorrie’s eyes had grown round. “Oh, no, miss! The master’s told Mrs. Slattery you’ll dine with him.”
An exchange of notes had followed, culminating in one from Charles informing her she would indeed be dining with him—where was up to her.
She’d opted for the safety of the dining parlor, the smaller salon the family used when not entertaining. He sat her at one end of the table, then walked to the carved chair at its head. The table was shorter than usual—every last leaf had been removed—yet there was still eight feet of gleaming mahogany separating them. Nothing to overly exercise her.
Reaching for the wineglass Filchett had just filled, she smiled her thanks as the butler stepped back, and reminded herself that dinner alone with Charles didn’t mean they’d actually be alone.
A gust of wind splattered rain across the window. It had been pouring for the last twenty minutes. At least Nicholas wouldn’t be scouting about tonight; she wasn’t missing anything.
As soon as the first course was served, Charles signaled Filchett, who, along with the footmen, withdrew.