“Then, you must strive to fall in love with the right man.” He should have been questioning her about Miss Swales yet couldn’t help but say, “May I give you some advice?”
Miss Dunn blinked rapidly. It was evident she didn’t welcome a man’s opinion, yet she said, “You may speak freely to me, Mr Ashwood.”
He inclined his head respectfully while wondering how this woman managed to be so readable and so mysteriously seductive at the same time.
“If you can trust a man with your life. If he puts your needs before his own.” Noah cleared his throat, determined to continue. “If his eyes make love to you with a passion that transcends the physical realm, then he is worthy of your esteem.”
She remained silent, yet her penetrating gaze never left him.
Noah took the opportunity to rap on the roof and alert McGuffey of their wish to proceed to Mr Hemming’s establishment on Tavistock Street.
Miss Dunn clutched the seat as the carriage lurched forward. “Your last comment brings to mind your poem, The Journey. The parched nomad drops to his knees before a glistening oasis. He describes the coolness of the water as he imagines it slipping down his throat, the moistness on his lips, yet he is reluctant to thrust his dirty hands into the pool and so doesn’t drink.”
Good God!
Every muscle in his abdomen tightened. Never had anyone spoken intimately about his work. “You mean, why would a man make love to you with his eyes and not his body? Assuming both parties were willing, of cou
rse.”
“Of course.”
“Like the nomad, perhaps he fears the reality will fall short of the dream. Ruin the illusion.”
“Yes,” she mused. “The nomad draws on past disappointment. It’s the reason he would rather die in blissful ignorance.” It was evident she wished to delve into the depths of his soul. “You’ve been hurt. Not just by the selfish actions of your father and uncle, but by a woman.”
Hellfire! How had the conversation turned from him offering advice to tearing open his chest and baring his bruised heart?
“It was a long time ago. A young man’s disappointment.”
It was not the bitter pain of a lover’s rejection, as she might suppose. But a woman had hurt him, had cut deep with her sharp blade, left him to live like a nomad, forever wandering, scared to settle, scared to take the plunge. Perhaps it was another reason he strived to help the weak, fought against injustice.
“It’s not something I wish to discuss,” he continued. “Yet the pain served as inspiration for my creative efforts.”
Not all desires were sexual.
Not all desires were obtainable.
Her blue eyes softened. “Again, we both have reasons to distrust people’s motives,” she said as if hearing his thoughts. “We will be at my publisher’s office soon, and so I should finish telling you what happened to Miss Swales.”
Noah welcomed the change of topic as a miner welcomed fresh air. “I presume Miss Swales succumbed to your brother’s desire to express their love in the physical act.”
“Unfortunately, yes. The lady is with child and has removed to Northumberland to continue her confinement. Though you must not breathe a word of this to anyone outside the Order.”
“You can trust me.” His tone echoed his assurance. “Are you certain your brother hasn’t ventured to Northumberland?”
“Most certain.” She bit down on her bottom lip to stop the sudden tremble. “Howard cares for no one but himself.”
Noah removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Miss Dunn just as the silent tears trickled down her cheek.
“I do not weep for myself, you understand, but for the infant.” She took the silk square and dabbed her cheeks. “My brother added to our family’s humiliation by refusing to marry Clara. I can assure you, there is not a respectable bone in Howard’s body.”
Silence ensued while the lady dried her tears. She offered to return Noah’s handkerchief, but he insisted she keep it.
“If I had a sister and a rogue abused her in such a cruel fashion, I would kill him with my bare hands.” He paused. “Are you certain you want me to find your brother?”
Was Howard Dunn not best left to conduct his nefarious business elsewhere? Assuming he was still alive. A fact that was becoming increasingly doubtful.
“I am not certain of anything, sir, not anymore.”