He very nearly retreated. It was obvious he had upset her.
Instead he moved closer to her, gently taking her hand in his when she refused to look his way. She tensed but didn’t pull away.
“If there is anything I am certain of,” he said, low and intense, “it is that you are not a fool.” When she remained silent, he asked, gently, “Who was the man who hurt you, Bronwyn?”
Her eyes were wide and pained when she looked up at him, pulling her hand from his grasp this time. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” The words slipped out without him meaning for them to, stunning him. Why did it matter so damn much to him who had hurt her before? They were not to become emotionally entangled, remember?
But no matter that stark fact, he found it did matter, very much.
“Who was he, Bronwyn?” he repeated quietly.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who he was,” she whispered. “It’s in the past.”
“The past can still hurt,” he found himself saying, achingly aware of just how large an understatement that was.
Her lips twisted wryly. “Yes, I suppose it can.” She looked back up at him before heaving a defeated sigh. “I was seventeen, in London for the first time and preparing for my debut. My parents had the idea that they could ingratiate themselves into society early and garner more invitations during the season, thus ensuring my popularity.” She winced. “But they were not exactly welcome in thoseexaltedcircles, and they wound up offending more people than not.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the basket in front of her, her fingers nervously picking at the wood panels. “With all of that embarrassment and strife, I was shocked when one particular man began showering me with attention. He seemed so kind, so interested in what I had to say. And I began to fall in love with him. No,” she corrected herself harshly, “Ididfall in love with him, head over heels. Or, at least I fell in love with who I thought he was, who he presented himself to be. And how could I not? It was like a fairy tale. I had been ignored all my life. And here was this handsome, elegant man paying attention tome. When he arrived at our town house, we all believed he was about to ask for my hand. In actuality, his intentions were quite cruel. He had wished to teach my parents a lesson, you see. To show them they did not belong in the higher circles of society, and that they would never belong.”
She straightened. “I fear my reaction was not…gracious. I dumped a pot of tea over his head. He threatened to spread it about that I had been loose with my favors, that I was an uncultured hoyden, and that they would make certain we were never welcome in society. My parents agreed to quit London for good, banished, rather than be the subject of a scandal.”
While he knew she had been hurt, he’d had no idea the person responsible had been so cruel. He ached to demand she tell him who the blackguard was; if he was a noble in London, there was a good chance the man had crossed paths with him at Brimstone.
But no, she had every right to keep the bastard’s identity a secret. He had to respect her privacy.
In his battle with himself, however, Bronwyn must have taken his silence as disapproval. She sent a brittle smile his way. “But enough of that. Now then,” she continued, standing and shaking out her skirts, “the light is beginning to wane. If we are to make it back to Caulnedy before nightfall, we had best leave. I’ve no wish to stumble through the woods in the dark.”
He stood as well. But when she would have reached for the blanket to fold it up and pack it away, he stalled her with a hand on her arm.
“I am very glad you dumped that tea over his head.”
The cautious look that had made her features appear frozen melted and she gave him a small, shy smile before turning back to the task at hand.
Within minutes they had finished packing up and were headed back toward Caulnedy, something Ash found he was loath to do. He wished he could stay here with her forever, cut off from the ugliness of the world, in a bubble of contentment. The more he got to know Bronwyn, the more he admired her, and wanted her to find success and happiness. It was something that should have had alarm bells peeling away in his head. He did not get close to people, after all, and certainly never welcomed affection. Yet holding her hand as they ascended the shale-stepped path, all he could think of was how he never wanted this time with her to end.
Chapter 13
The last thing Bronwyn wanted—or expected—upon their return to Caulnedy after the exquisite trip to the Elven Pools was to see a familiar carriage in the front drive. Her boots skidded to a stop on the gravel drive and she dropped Ash’s hand. Dear God, she had been married a mere two days; did her parents have no sense of decency?
That question, as rhetorical as it had been, was answered moments later when the front door opened and the elder Pickerings appeared. They were talking animatedly with Mr. Hugo, their voices carrying in the late afternoon air.
Ash, who had stopped beside her and was looking at her quizzically, gave a start. “Your parents are here?” he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
“I’m so very sorry,” she moaned.
Before he could answer—God knew what he would say—her mother’s voice carried to them.
“Oh, but please do let the duke and duchess know we have been to call.” She gave the butler a condescending smile. “I’m certain our dear daughter will be beside herself to know she missed us.”
“Indeed,” her father chimed in, his narrow chest puffing up with his importance. “She is ever so attached to us, you know. I daresay you shall be seeing much of us about Caulnedy in the years to come.”
Dear God.
Bronwyn swallowed hard. “Perhaps if we move fast enough we might duck into the side garden before they see us,” she whispered.
Ash, who held the picnic basket in front of him like some sort of shield, nodded quickly. “I agree.”