Page 9 of The Boys of Summer
“My dear, Miss Milson, I would go to any lengths to enjoy even a moment of your attention,” he said. It was true. It would also be heavily remarked upon by everyone present and would signify to any matchmaking mamas that were present that his choice had been made. “I regret that we could not see more of one another at dinner. And I will not be so rude as to monopolize your time here in the drawing room. Please know that I will be eagerly awaiting our outing tomorrow.”
Bowing, he turned and walked away from her. The hum of gossip, even amongst the relatively small crowd of a dozen or so people, was nearly deafening. But he felt a small thrill of victory. He hadn’t had to fight for her consent. She’d granted it willingly.
*
Clarissa watched himwalk away with her heart pounding an impossible rhythm in her chest. Beside her, she could hear Lady Helmsley muttering under her breath. The other ladies had made themselves scarce, all of them pairing off or forming small groups around the perimeter of the room where they stared at her and whispered.
“Good heavens, Girl! Do you actually want to marry Squire Timble?” her great-aunt demanded.
“Of course not! I wouldn’t have run away if I did,” Clarissa replied in a low whisper.
“Then you might want to be a bit more encouraging to the duke,” Agatha insisted. “Handsome, wealthy, titled gentlemen who are falling all over themselves to court aging spinsters with no fortune to speak of—those do not simply grow on trees, Clarissa!”
“I’m well aware.” Clarissa knew that she would have to tell her great-aunt of the vow they’d made as children. There was no avoiding it, but a crowded drawing room was hardly the place to do so. “I am very tired. I think I shall retire for the evening.”
Agatha immediately looked concerned. “I will escort you up.”
“No. Stay and enjoy the company. It’s only a bit of a megrim. I shall get some rest and be much better by morning,” Clarissa insisted.
“You’re certain?”
“Quite.” With that, Clarissa exited the drawing room and made for her chamber. But when she reached the corridor where the guest rooms were located, it was not deserted. He was there. Augustus.Gus.But he wasn’t Gus, she thought. The man she was looking at bore no similarity to the boy she’d once known. That one splendid summer where they’d run up and down the beach, the wind blowing their hair and the evening sun kissing their skin. It had been wild and innocent and beautiful, just as he had been. The man before her looked dark and dangerous, brooding and perhaps even a bit ruthless. And yet he was careful with her. Gentle, even.
“I was not in the mood for company,” he said.
“Neither was I,” she replied.
He nodded. “I’m not particularly in the mood to be alone either… walk with me?”
“Where?” she asked.
“The gallery,” he suggested. “It should be safe enough.”
Clarissa didn’t allow her doubts to sway her. Fearful as she was, she wasn’t afraid of him so much as she was simply used to living in fear all the time. When he offered his arm, she accepted it readily and tried to calm her pounding heart by reminding herself that the house was full of people. She had but to scream. Not that she believed he would do anything to necessitate such action on her part.
The gallery was on that floor, a long mezzanine shielded by velvet drapes that spanned the perimeter of the of the great hall of Haverton Abbey. It was lit by candelabras that late at night, as the upper windows were completely dark. Night had fallen during dinner and there was no moon.
The pitch black beyond those windows offered her a moment of hope. It would take her father longer to reach Southampton if he could not travel by night.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“For what?” she asked.
“For agreeing to walk with me. For agreeing to drive with me tomorrow. For giving me a chance to prove that I am worthy of you.”
She laughed somewhat bitterly. “Your worth is not in question.”
“Your worth is not in question, either. Not to me. I knew the moment that I saw you last night that you had not changed. I can see the kindness in you—the compassion, the generosity.”
“But I’m not a beauty. Nor am I an heiress.”
“You are beautiful. And I have enough funds on my own. It wouldn’t matter to me if you hadn’t a tuppence.”
The charged moment from the garden played again and again in her mind. He’d wanted to kiss her. She knew that. Squire Timble had tried often enough that she could easily recognize the signs. But she hadn’t wanted to flee from Augustus. She hadn’t wanted to scrub her skin where he had touched her. In fact, she regretted that the moment had been interrupted.
“You were going to kiss me this afternoon.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
“I wanted to. I was very tempted by you, Clarissa,” he confessed. “But I would never do something you did not want.”
