Page 12 of Betting on a Duke
“Forgive me,” he said, his body tensing in preparation for facing her. When he did, he almost stumbled. Their eyes met—hers still a warm brown, but guarded and more worldly. No longer the innocent eyes he remembered. He briefly looked her up and down, realizing she had changed very little in seven years. Would she think he looked the same? Perhaps on the outside, but never on the inside. “You look beautiful.” Pink shaded her cheeks. He’d always loved making her blush.
“Thank you. You look much the same.” Her hands fiddled withher fan, opening and closing it. Her eyes were cast down, and her body shifted from one foot to the other. Eventually, she calmed, lifted her head, and looked deep into his eyes. It was now his turn to squirm under her scrutiny. “After I was widowed, I kept hoping you would visit me.”
Oh, how he’d wanted to. During her year of mourning, he didn’t dare; over the past year, though, he fought with himself about doing just that. But when she was rumored to be involved with Mr. James Caldwell, he gave up on the illusion that they would ever be together. No sense lying to her. “I thought about it many times. But I didn’t want to interfere with your relationship with Caldwell.”
He observed her body language and facial expressions, hoping she would reveal some of her secrets. Because he had no doubt she possessed some. Deep, dark secrets. She gave away nothing. “Caldwell and I were friends and nothing more. He is happily married now.”
“There were rumors.”
“Humph. There are always rumors. Some are true. Some are false. Those rumors were false.”
“Did you know your father is here tonight?”
Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes widened, and she groaned as she shook her head from side to side. “No. But truthfully, I knew he would be here. Nobody misses the Westport Ball since it’s the official opening of the Season, especially not someone seeking a young bride.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Thinking about my father replacing my mother with some young debutante disgusts me.”
“Many older titled men marry young ladies solely for the purpose of producing a male heir. Usually, the bride’s family is happy to overlook the age difference if it means marrying into the family of a wealthy, titled lord.” Her face flicked to his, and the anguish he glimpsed in her eyes and on her face made his insides tighten at the thought of speaking such callous words. “My apologies,” he hurried to say. “That was rude and uncalled for.”
“You must hate me!” she exclaimed.
He inhaled and exhaled to steady himself for the conversation that was about to begin. “I could never hate you. It’s not in my power to do so.”
