“This just doesn’t seem the…proper place.”
“It seems proper enough to me.”
“It’s a darkened hallway. In the middle of the night.”
“Do you have a better locale in mind?”
She looked from one side of the hallway to the other quickly, then reached out and grabbed his arm and pulled him quickly into her bedchamber, closing the door behind them. They both paused for a moment, equally shocked by her rash behavior.
He spoke first, saying slowly, “Well, I’m fairly certain this isn’t the proper place.”
She blushed. “It’s well lit. That makes it more proper than the hallway.” She hoped that sounding like she knew the rules would cover up the fact that he was absolutely right.
“And the fact that it’s your bedchamber?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Really.” The word came out in a slow drawl. “Why do I have a feeling that if any one of your family members wandered in, they might feel differently?”
She held up her hand, effectively stopping him from saying anything more. “Either way. You’re here now.”
“So I am.”
“I’ll try to be quick.”
“No need. I wouldn’t like to be caught leaving this particular room. Suffice to say, I’m here for an hour or so, until your brothers have almost certainly retired themselves.” He moved farther into the room and sat on a pink ruffled stool. Alex couldn’t help but chuckle at the picture he made. Looking down at his seat, he joined her in laughter, saying, “Not exactly the portrait of lordliness?”
She covered her smile and shook her head. “Not exactly.”
He leaned back and looked at her frankly. “I miss you, Alex.”
Her breath caught at his words. “I was supposed to say something to you.”
“You waited too long. I decided to speak first.”
Alex sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, facing him. “All right, then. You go first.”
“Happily.” He paused briefly, and then plunged forward. “I miss you. Everything about you. Since that night at your house, at your mother’s dinner, I’ve mucked up everything. I’ve lost a handle on how to be near you…how to speak with you.”
“You appear to be doing quite well presently,” Alex pointed out, teasingly.
He smiled. “Minx. I owe you a tremendous apology. In attempting to better understand everything that has happened in the last few months, I somehow lost my way with you. What can I do to find it again?”
Her heart began to pound as she detected the earnestness in his tone. She didn’t know what to say. Earlier in the evening, she had wanted to force him to hear her thoughts on Lucian, but now she couldn’t bring herself to draw his uncle into the conversation. She didn’t want to risk his closing himself to her again.
She worried her lower lip, wondering if she shouldn’t just forgo the topic with him. But what of her resolution in the carriage? What of her commitment to being honest and open with him to test the mettle of what they may or may not have together? She had sworn to herself that she’d speak to him about everything. Vowed that she would make him understand.
She didn’t have to. He spoke before she could find her voice. “The things you were trying to tell me about my uncle…I should have listened.”
Her eyes flew to his in disbelief. “Really?”
“I did not treat you fairly. I would have listened to your brothers if they had come to me with such a story.” He smiled, continuing, “Perhaps not believed them, but listened nonetheless.”
He rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her. “I would like to make it up to you now. If you’d still like to discuss it.”
She took a deep breath, looking into his clear grey eyes, and realized that choice had been removed from the situation. She was going to have to take the risk she’d promised herself she’d take.
“I would still like to discuss it,” she said quietly.
“I am listening.”
And so she told him everything, trying to be calm and relay facts rather than suspicions. She again recounted the conversation she overheard, again relayed what she had witnessed in the corridor beyond the orangery and in the garden outside his study, and then, steeling herself for his anger, told him about the trickery with Bingham, their reconnaissance of the Blackmoor House study when they knew he’d be away, her encounter with Lucian, and, finally, the note they’d found from the late earl.
He had remained silent, though his spine had grown straighter as she recounted her tale. When she was finished, he had only one question. “Do you have the note with you?”
She did, of course, and rose from the bed to find it in her trunk, which had arrived with them that evening, still tucked inside A History of Essex. She handed the book and note over together, not knowing what more to say.
Opening the parchment, his face was stony as he read the words of his father—words that seemed as though they’d come from beyond the grave. Alex winced, knowing what pain they must be causing him. He held still for a long moment, then looked up at her with a question in his eyes. “What name is at stake?”
“We could only believe that he was referencing the Sewell name. The Blackmoor line,” she said carefully, uncertain of his thoughts.
He nodded, looking back at the letter. “And the book? A History of Essex? Every household in the county must own a copy.”
“We don’t know. There must be something particular to this copy. Do you remember your father ever speaking of it?”
“It seems proper enough to me.”
“It’s a darkened hallway. In the middle of the night.”
“Do you have a better locale in mind?”
She looked from one side of the hallway to the other quickly, then reached out and grabbed his arm and pulled him quickly into her bedchamber, closing the door behind them. They both paused for a moment, equally shocked by her rash behavior.
He spoke first, saying slowly, “Well, I’m fairly certain this isn’t the proper place.”
She blushed. “It’s well lit. That makes it more proper than the hallway.” She hoped that sounding like she knew the rules would cover up the fact that he was absolutely right.
“And the fact that it’s your bedchamber?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Really.” The word came out in a slow drawl. “Why do I have a feeling that if any one of your family members wandered in, they might feel differently?”
She held up her hand, effectively stopping him from saying anything more. “Either way. You’re here now.”
“So I am.”
“I’ll try to be quick.”
“No need. I wouldn’t like to be caught leaving this particular room. Suffice to say, I’m here for an hour or so, until your brothers have almost certainly retired themselves.” He moved farther into the room and sat on a pink ruffled stool. Alex couldn’t help but chuckle at the picture he made. Looking down at his seat, he joined her in laughter, saying, “Not exactly the portrait of lordliness?”
She covered her smile and shook her head. “Not exactly.”
He leaned back and looked at her frankly. “I miss you, Alex.”
Her breath caught at his words. “I was supposed to say something to you.”
“You waited too long. I decided to speak first.”
Alex sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, facing him. “All right, then. You go first.”
“Happily.” He paused briefly, and then plunged forward. “I miss you. Everything about you. Since that night at your house, at your mother’s dinner, I’ve mucked up everything. I’ve lost a handle on how to be near you…how to speak with you.”
“You appear to be doing quite well presently,” Alex pointed out, teasingly.
He smiled. “Minx. I owe you a tremendous apology. In attempting to better understand everything that has happened in the last few months, I somehow lost my way with you. What can I do to find it again?”
Her heart began to pound as she detected the earnestness in his tone. She didn’t know what to say. Earlier in the evening, she had wanted to force him to hear her thoughts on Lucian, but now she couldn’t bring herself to draw his uncle into the conversation. She didn’t want to risk his closing himself to her again.
She worried her lower lip, wondering if she shouldn’t just forgo the topic with him. But what of her resolution in the carriage? What of her commitment to being honest and open with him to test the mettle of what they may or may not have together? She had sworn to herself that she’d speak to him about everything. Vowed that she would make him understand.
She didn’t have to. He spoke before she could find her voice. “The things you were trying to tell me about my uncle…I should have listened.”
Her eyes flew to his in disbelief. “Really?”
“I did not treat you fairly. I would have listened to your brothers if they had come to me with such a story.” He smiled, continuing, “Perhaps not believed them, but listened nonetheless.”
He rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her. “I would like to make it up to you now. If you’d still like to discuss it.”
She took a deep breath, looking into his clear grey eyes, and realized that choice had been removed from the situation. She was going to have to take the risk she’d promised herself she’d take.
“I would still like to discuss it,” she said quietly.
“I am listening.”
And so she told him everything, trying to be calm and relay facts rather than suspicions. She again recounted the conversation she overheard, again relayed what she had witnessed in the corridor beyond the orangery and in the garden outside his study, and then, steeling herself for his anger, told him about the trickery with Bingham, their reconnaissance of the Blackmoor House study when they knew he’d be away, her encounter with Lucian, and, finally, the note they’d found from the late earl.
He had remained silent, though his spine had grown straighter as she recounted her tale. When she was finished, he had only one question. “Do you have the note with you?”
She did, of course, and rose from the bed to find it in her trunk, which had arrived with them that evening, still tucked inside A History of Essex. She handed the book and note over together, not knowing what more to say.
Opening the parchment, his face was stony as he read the words of his father—words that seemed as though they’d come from beyond the grave. Alex winced, knowing what pain they must be causing him. He held still for a long moment, then looked up at her with a question in his eyes. “What name is at stake?”
“We could only believe that he was referencing the Sewell name. The Blackmoor line,” she said carefully, uncertain of his thoughts.
He nodded, looking back at the letter. “And the book? A History of Essex? Every household in the county must own a copy.”
“We don’t know. There must be something particular to this copy. Do you remember your father ever speaking of it?”
