Page 9 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
“I do indeed. My cousin’s daughter. Aurelia.”
“I’m very sorry about your cousin. Richard, wasn’t it?”
Dash had forgotten they’d met, but his mind teased over the memory now. It had been during one of her visits to their family’s country house. The truth was that he’d probably been so taken with her, he’d forgotten everyone else at the table that evening.
“Yes. He was a good man, and she’s a lovely young woman.” Dash swallowed hard, wondering how much he dare ask when he could feel the tension sparking between them.
Before he asked her for anything, he needed to explain. Most of all, he needed to apologize.
“When I heard he’d passed—” She stopped herself, looked down, and fussed with the beading on the skirt of her gown. “I should have offered my condolences then, but I…”
“We haven’t spoken in too long.” Dash leaned forward in his chair. His impulse was to reach for her as he would have done in the past when their friendship allowed for such gestures. Instead, he rested his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands and wondering how to mend what he’d broken so spectacularly.
“I’m sorry, Fi—”
“No, you needn’t apologize.”
“That’s not true, and we both know it.” He waited until she looked into his eyes, determined that she see the sincere regret in his own. “I have much to be sorry for, and I am.”
“I don’t wish to discuss that day.” She shook her head and then crossed her arms to emphasize her refusal.
“Very well.” He didn’t like it. Not one bit. Now that he was here with her again, he longed to replay the whole thing, every painful moment. How else could he point out where he’d been an ass, and then let her rail at him?
He’d endure anything but return to the same cold estrangement that had separated them for years. He couldn’t bear that.
“You did say you wished to talk.” She waved a hand at him. “Out with it, then.”
Dash ducked his head to hide a smile. Fiona’s preference for plain-speaking and foregoing niceties hadn’t changed. In fact, she seemed much the same in every way, except that she’d somehow become more beautiful. “My ward would like to meet you.”
One blonde brow winged up. “Meetme?”
“You’re one of the most fashionable noblewomen and favored hostesses in London society. Why does that surprise you?”
“I suppose I assumed…” She shrugged and swiped at an invisible mote of dust on her skirt. “Well, if your opinion of me wasn’t terribly favorable, then hers wouldn’t be either.”
“Fiona, my opinion of you is high. It has always been high. Nothing has changed in that regard.”
She looked at him a long while, truly examined him, as if she doubted his claim and sought any sign of deception.
He usually bristled under such close scrutiny. His father had made a habit of calling Dash and his siblings into his study and examining them—quizzing them about what they’d learned at school or from their tutors, making sure their clothes were tidy, their speech faultless.
The problem was that their father always found faults, especially with Dash. And that sense of never quite measuring up had followed him around for years. Hell, it still reared its head at times. That’s why he’d always found it easier to be carefree, humorous, the teller of jokes and charmer of women. When you made people laugh, they never looked much closer.
But Fiona always had. She’d known him in a way no one else had ever dared. The strangest part, the proof that she held some unusual power over him, was that he’d let her get close. Enough for him to share worries or disappointments, for her to see the truth of who he was. Sometimes he was a playful rebel, but he let worries weigh him down and had his dark moods too—she’d accepted it all.
He wanted to be close to her again. To earn her trust and be her confidante.
So he let her look her fill, waiting patiently, even when his skin began to itch and some inner voice told him to flee from such careful inspection.
“I hear that you’ve changed,” she finally said, her voice quiet, almost tentative. “Is that true?”
“I’ve done my best to be a better man for Aurelia’s sake.” He admitted it readily but wondered where she’d heard such a report.
“I can sense there’s something different about you. I’ve changed too,” she said firmly, then notched her chin up an inch. “In ways you may not like.”
“Try me.” He smiled, but she held herself stiffly, defensively, as if she expected him to judge her. “I truly do wish to hear.”
Dash settled back in his chair, trying for a relaxed posture. Nothing appealed to him more than hearing how she’d been in the years they’d avoided each other.
