The Dress of the Season by Kate Noble Page B

blinked at him, shocked. “It was not your fault people died, Harris.”
    “Really? I’m the one who insisted that John stay.” He met her eyes, bleary, pained. “I begged him. To come and help my parents. Long after everyone else had given up hope. And he did and they died, and then he went home and died himself.”
    The sound of their breaths and the crackle and pop of the fire were the only sounds in the room.
    “He’s gone because of me. Your family, all gone.”
    “I never knew you thought that,” she answered quietly, after some time, her eyes on her hands. “You never talk about John. Your best friend. For some time I thought . . . I thought you blamed him for not saving your parents.” She looked up at him again. “And that was why you couldn’t stand to be around me. But that’s not it, is it?”
    Her stare was so unyielding, so intense, he was certain that Felicity saw right through him, past the defenses he’d worked so tirelessly to build, to his very core. To his weakness.
    “You’re afraid.”
    Those simple words hung in the air, like dust in sunbeams—always there, seen only now that light shone upon them. Harris felt his back go up, defensive against the truth.
    “Of what am I afraid? Of you?”
    “Yes. Somewhat. Of getting close to me. Likely of getting close to anyone. Because you could lose them.” She shook her head. “Austere Osterley.”
    “And you are the exact opposite,” he countered, bitterness flooding his mouth—hating it, but unable to stop it. “You flit from one experience to the next trying to find brightness and life and anyone that can distract from what is now gone. Without anyone else here, your ‘picking’ on me transformed. You’ve been
flirting
with me for the past week, trying to distract yourself from being back here.” Cruelness marred his brow. “You think I don’t see things the way they are?”
    She regarded him so sadly, he thought his heart might break from it. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to apologize for his words. But no—if she was going to pinpoint the truth, so was he.
    “Yes, I have been flirting with you. But not—not
solely
—to distract myself. I can face my memories. I did today.” She took two steps closer to him, anger and ache mixed up in her eyes. “I flirted with you because when I did, miraculously, Austere Osterley dropped away and you became Harris again. And I . . . I have missed Harris. I needed him. For four long years.”
    She took yet another step, closing the gap between him. “You brought me here, intending to shut me away . . . not because I wore a dress. But because you are afraid of me.”
    “No,” he tried, willing himself to believe it. “Not true.”
    “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” her voice became a low, husky whisper. “You don’t have to be afraid to want me.” He couldn’t look at her then. Couldn’t let his body take in what she was saying. Her breath hitched and he knew that what she said next took all her courage. “What if . . . what if I wanted you, too? Would that be so wrong? Why couldn’t we be happy together?”
    “We cannot.” He said numbly, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch that long curl of hair that ran down over her shoulder. “I am your guardian. You are my ward. Nothing more. I won’t risk your reputation.”
    “Wards and guardians have come together before,” she countered. “That is the weakest of excuses and you well know it.”
    “Regardless.” He cleared his throat. “It is . . . cleaner that way.”
    Her chin came up. “Then why did you kiss me?”
    “I . . . shouldn’t have. It was a mistake on my part. You are meant to live a life of gaiety and happiness, married off to some poor sod who will treasure you and keep you comfortable. I cannot.”
    She flinched, as if struck. Tears began to threaten the corners of her eyes. She stepped back, putting space between them. It left him bereft. “If you truly believed