and when they parted again, her words shot out to pierce him like arrows. “It was your idea. Not mine.”
He let that pass for now, although it was a blatant lie. “So why did you go with me?”
Her eyes shone brightly now with that stifled temper as more oozed out, freeing itself from her hold. “I thought it would be an adventure.”
“And then you changed your mind and left me.” He shook his head. “Brave Lady Bossy-Breeches got scared.”
Again her lips gathered in a tight pout, as if she was done with the conversation.
Well, he was not.
“Always giving out advice, aren’t you, woman? Never like to think you might have been wrong, even once in your life, eh?”
She ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. Made it shine. Suddenly she said, “Yes. I made a mistake.”
Rafe stopped rocking on his heels. At the suddenness of her confession, his pulse became irregular, too rapid. “Now you’re sorry you left me?”
“No. My folly was agreeing to marry you in the first place when you are so far beneath me.”
At those brutal words, his heart stumbled, like a horse changing its mind at the last minute before a looming hedge and leaving him to fly over it alone.
“Molly is the one for you.” Adjusting the veil over her eyes, she walked to the door. “And Molly will come back. This is a temporary problem, nothing more.”
Thus she left him standing in his kitchen, alone again.
***
Dear God and all the saints in heaven! She’d just let Rafe Hartley kiss her on the mouth.
That kiss with Rafe had started a very strange sensation inside her, not unlike being caught out in a storm—a thrilling sort of anxiety that went spinning and bouncing through her until she couldn’t catch her breath. It made her think of her fiancé. Not because it reminded her of him, unfortunately, but because his kisses had never felt like that. She’d been waiting a long time to have her desires met in that regard, but her fiancé was every bit the gentleman he should be and never did more than kiss her lightly on the cheek or hand.
Tomorrow, when she returned, she would bring his stepmother along. It was the proper thing to do, even if she could, strictly speaking, handle him herself without assistance. Lady Mercy Danforthe had an irreproachable reputation, and it must remain unbesmirched. So what if Rafe made her admit, out loud, that she once made a mistake? The error in judgment occurred when she was only seventeen. He was two entire years older and should have known better. She hadn’t realized, until he held her against the stair rail and she succumbed to his forceful kiss, how much of a danger he was. Still.
Mercy ruefully pondered the difference in his attitude toward her when she was dressed in the guise of old Lady Blunt. He was much sweeter to her when she wore that gray wig, a thick layer of face powder, and heavy black widow’s weeds. When he thought she was that bent, frail old lady, his mysterious “benefactress,” he was quite receptive to her advice. Truly it was astonishing, the change in Rafe Hartley, when she stood before him as herself and he hadn’t one solitary pleasant thing to say to her. But then her own words today had lacked considerable finesse, because he got her in such a temper.
You are so far beneath me. Oh dear. Another thing she probably should not have said to him. She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but sometimes the truth was harsh, and it was always necessary. And she had, in that moment after his kiss, been in a state of panic that made her less than tactful. For both their sakes, it was important to remember their places in life. No good could ever come of forgetting the proper order of things. Thus leads the way to chaos.
Driving the curricle back toward Morecroft, she was soon slowing the horses until they moved in an ambling walk rather than the usual brisk trot she favored.
What if he did go to Merryweather’s tavern, drink too much, and stumble home through the
He let that pass for now, although it was a blatant lie. “So why did you go with me?”
Her eyes shone brightly now with that stifled temper as more oozed out, freeing itself from her hold. “I thought it would be an adventure.”
“And then you changed your mind and left me.” He shook his head. “Brave Lady Bossy-Breeches got scared.”
Again her lips gathered in a tight pout, as if she was done with the conversation.
Well, he was not.
“Always giving out advice, aren’t you, woman? Never like to think you might have been wrong, even once in your life, eh?”
She ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. Made it shine. Suddenly she said, “Yes. I made a mistake.”
Rafe stopped rocking on his heels. At the suddenness of her confession, his pulse became irregular, too rapid. “Now you’re sorry you left me?”
“No. My folly was agreeing to marry you in the first place when you are so far beneath me.”
At those brutal words, his heart stumbled, like a horse changing its mind at the last minute before a looming hedge and leaving him to fly over it alone.
“Molly is the one for you.” Adjusting the veil over her eyes, she walked to the door. “And Molly will come back. This is a temporary problem, nothing more.”
Thus she left him standing in his kitchen, alone again.
***
Dear God and all the saints in heaven! She’d just let Rafe Hartley kiss her on the mouth.
That kiss with Rafe had started a very strange sensation inside her, not unlike being caught out in a storm—a thrilling sort of anxiety that went spinning and bouncing through her until she couldn’t catch her breath. It made her think of her fiancé. Not because it reminded her of him, unfortunately, but because his kisses had never felt like that. She’d been waiting a long time to have her desires met in that regard, but her fiancé was every bit the gentleman he should be and never did more than kiss her lightly on the cheek or hand.
Tomorrow, when she returned, she would bring his stepmother along. It was the proper thing to do, even if she could, strictly speaking, handle him herself without assistance. Lady Mercy Danforthe had an irreproachable reputation, and it must remain unbesmirched. So what if Rafe made her admit, out loud, that she once made a mistake? The error in judgment occurred when she was only seventeen. He was two entire years older and should have known better. She hadn’t realized, until he held her against the stair rail and she succumbed to his forceful kiss, how much of a danger he was. Still.
Mercy ruefully pondered the difference in his attitude toward her when she was dressed in the guise of old Lady Blunt. He was much sweeter to her when she wore that gray wig, a thick layer of face powder, and heavy black widow’s weeds. When he thought she was that bent, frail old lady, his mysterious “benefactress,” he was quite receptive to her advice. Truly it was astonishing, the change in Rafe Hartley, when she stood before him as herself and he hadn’t one solitary pleasant thing to say to her. But then her own words today had lacked considerable finesse, because he got her in such a temper.
You are so far beneath me. Oh dear. Another thing she probably should not have said to him. She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but sometimes the truth was harsh, and it was always necessary. And she had, in that moment after his kiss, been in a state of panic that made her less than tactful. For both their sakes, it was important to remember their places in life. No good could ever come of forgetting the proper order of things. Thus leads the way to chaos.
Driving the curricle back toward Morecroft, she was soon slowing the horses until they moved in an ambling walk rather than the usual brisk trot she favored.
What if he did go to Merryweather’s tavern, drink too much, and stumble home through the
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