Page 64 of A Secret Correspondence
She put it to her lips and took a sip. Sweet wine.
“Now,” Ruth said, tugging Marguerite’s arm until they moved toward the perimeter of the room, “we watch.”
“May we sleep as we do so?”
“That would make the watching part difficult, I think.” Ruth pulled her toward a bench set against the wall. They sat together, appearing as though they were in a comfortable conversation.
“What are we watching for?” Marguerite asked.
“For everyone to leave.”
She nodded, sipping her drink again.
“Look,” Ruth whispered. “He is leaving already.”
Armand and his party took leave of their hostess and filed from the room. Over forty minutes passed before their departures were followed by the Chathams, Roses, Kimballs, and Farrows. Lord and Lady Ryland had left earlier in the evening, and Eliza never came, since Jacob was in Marguerite’s shop waiting for the intruder. When Samuel and his mother were the final two remaining, he spoke to her quietly. She glanced back to where the women sat, frowning at Marguerite before quitting the room.
“I do not think that woman likes me much,” Ruth muttered.
Given the cold reception Marguerite had endured in her shop and its underlying messages, she believed the expression was meant for her.
“That took much longer than I anticipated,” Ruth said brightly as Samuel approached them.
He nodded but looked distracted. He was dashing in his bottle green jacket and bronze waistcoat. His golden hairgleamed in the candlelight, and his blue eyes shone despite his worried expression. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Indeed.”
“You are coming with us?” Marguerite asked. She still had trouble looking at him, knowing she had been the cause of his attack. More than that, it was difficult to face him knowing she had kept such a large secret from him. Marguerite feared that if Samuel held her gaze for too long, she might break.
“I am driving you both.” Samuel’s mouth hardly formed a smile. “Oliver took their carriage.”
“Of course.” Marguerite understood.
By the time they had retrieved their cloaks and fastened them, the curricle waited in the drive. They filed outside, and Samuel held his hand forth to help them up.
“Oh, wait a moment.” Ruth raised her hands. “I’ve left my gloves in the music room.”
“I can fetch?—”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving his chivalry away. “I shall be but a moment.”
Marguerite waited beside the curricle, standing at Samuel’s side. He looked at the house, then at her. His expression seemed lost, his gaze full of confusion. It gave her the strongest urge to write him a letter, to beg him to reveal the reasons he was feeling tormented. Typically, he would have done so, and she would have known his innermost feelings. Now she was not entitled to them, and it hurt.
She dropped her gaze to the gravel at her feet, trying to see the individual pebbles in the dark, trying to give her mind something to focus on other than the feeling of her chest being torn in two.
“Are you angry with me, Marguerite?”
She glanced up swiftly. “Of course not.”
“You will not look at me,” he said softly.
She held his blue eyes. “I cannot stand to see the pain I have caused.”
He smiled then. Even his eyes crinkled slightly, the bruise shifting with the expression. “It no longer hurts. The skin is a little tender, but it will heal perfectly.”
Marguerite let out a breath, her head shaking. “I am terrified we will return to my shop and find much worse.”
Samuel’s smile dropped. He took a step closer to her, bringing his masculine scent with him. “You cannot take that upon yourself. No one is offering services they are not wholeheartedly and willingly providing. We are all eager to rid Harewood of this evil presence.”
