Page 34 of His Beauty
Instinctively, Bonnie followed his gaze up the front steps of the keep. Lyon stood there, looking magnificent in his kilt and boots and jacket. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and Bonnie wasn’t at all sure how she’d be able to walk away from him.
Stifling a sigh, she turned away, stepping toward the light carriage Lysander had driven over from his estate. He was seated on the bench, looking awkward as hell as he glanced between her and his oldest brother. When she lifted the wooden case to him—the case which held her precious work and the sketches Lyon had made for her—he suddenly seemed to remember his duty and leaned sideways to take it from her.
There. That was out of the way and out of her hands, and only one thing remained…
When she turned back to the front steps, Keith was gone, but Lyon had suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a mere arm’s length from her. Had he rushed down because he’d thought she was leaving without a word to him?
Why was he wearing that worried expression?
This was his decision, was it not?
She took a deep breath and stepped toward him. He actually stepped back, but then seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped himself. His scowl deepened as he moved forward again.
And she tried not to be hurt, butreally? He was scowling ather, as if this were somehow her fault?
Surely she’d made it clear she’d enjoyed their time together.
Well, she didn’t want him to remember her as a weeping weakling, even if that’s what she felt like right now, so she lifted her chin and tried a small smile.
It didn’t work, but at least she wastrying, and that was important.
“Goodbye, Lyon,” she said softly.
And somehow, impossibly, his scowldeepened. Good heavens, he was angry, wasn’t he?
She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. Thanks to the weather, she wore her winter coat and gloves, but he was wearing only his informal jacket. Still, that was three layers of material between her skin and his.
So why could she feel his heat so clearly, so perfectly?
His opposite hand rose, reaching for her cheek, but froze, inches away. She found herself already leaning toward his hand, his touch, craving the feel of his skin against hers, one last time.
But nay.Hedidn’t want that.
His nostrils flared as she watched the inner battle warring behind his eyes. Then he dropped his hand and stepped back, away from her touch.
“Goodbye, Bonnie.” His voice was harsh, gruff, and so much like the Lyon she’d met when she first arrived—before he’d shared so much with her, before he’dkissedher—that her eyes filled with tears.
Trying to hide them, she turned and reached blindly for the carriage, and managed to hoist herself inside without any help. She focused on struggling to pull the blanket over her lap, and only vaguely heard Lysander cluck the team into motion.
And then she was leaving the courtyard, and Oliphant Castle, behind her. She curled her fingers around the edges of the seat to ground herself and to hold herself steady.
To keep herself from turning around and seeing the man she loved letting her go.
CHAPTER 8
“Look, some of us have actual work to do! I do not need you to hang over my shoulder and criticize me!” Bonnie threw down her pen and glared up at her stepsister, who was standing with her hands on her hips beside the small desk in the room Bonnie had taken.
Ember shrugged. “Today is my day away from work. When Tiffany said I needed to come because you were moping, I knew it must be serious.”
“I am not moping,” Bonnie moped.
With a groan, Tiffany lowered herself into one of the chairs beside the window; the sun reflecting on the snow making the light bright enough to need to squint when Bonnie glanced at her.
“I am working as well. It is not my fault you cannot see it. It is difficult work, making the next viscount.”
Bonnie met Ember’s eyes, and from the way her sister’s lips were pressed together, it was clear she was trying hardnot to laugh as well. Although Tiffany’s gently rounded belly was barely visible, she was absolutely milking this “being pregnant” thing as much as possible.
“Hand me my tea, would you, Ember dear?”
