Page 44 of With Love in Sight
“Imogen,” he said in surprise.
She clutched the book to her chest. The light from her candle wavered as her hand shook, making shadows dance over the walls. She remembered all too vividly the last time they were alone at night. She swallowed hard, even as heat rushed under her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a wisp of sound. “I could not sleep and thought a book would help.”
He smiled wryly and Imogen felt her stomach do a flip. “I was in quite the same frame of mind.” He came closer. Imogen pressed her back to the bookcase as he loomed over her.
“What have you got there?” he asked.
Wordlessly she held it out to him. He chuckled.
“A gothic novel? I did not know your tastes ran in quite that direction.”
She flushed under his amused gaze. “They do not. I mean, I do not typically read them. But I was restless and thought it could provide a bit of amusement.”
“It will at that, I’m sure,” he murmured, his eyes warm.
“Do you know who they belong to?” she blurted. “I would not want to borrow them unless it was right to do so.”
He frowned. There was a flash of something—pain? Regret? In his eyes. He quickly wiped it from his face and pasted on a bland look instead.
“I truly don’t know. But I’m certain whomever they belong to won’t mind in the least.”
Imogen felt a tinge of wrongness at that. Shouldn’t he know who in his family took such an interest in things of this nature? From the collection of titles that filled the shelf, it was obvious that the person who had attained such a quantity of these books had quite a passion for them. Perhaps more than one person in the household read them and that accounted for his lack of knowledge.
Imogen nodded. “Well then. I’d best be off.” She went to go around him. The feel of his fingers on her arm, however, stopped her. His hand was hot through the thin material of her night robe.
“No, please don’t go,” he said softly. “We have not been alone since…well, since. Come and sit with me.” At her uncertain look he smiled faintly. “I promise to behave and keep my hands to myself, if that is your worry.”
Averting her suddenly hot face, hoping he would not see the desperate longing there, she gave a quick nod. He led her over to one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs that faced the large fireplace. As he busied himself with building a fire, Imogen tried to compose herself. Instead, however, she found herself studying the play of muscles under the fine lawn of his shirt and the way his hair shone in the budding firelight.
He sat beside her when the fire was roaring. “I would like very much for us to be comfortable with each other again, Imogen.”
“I’m not at all certain that is possible,” she muttered.
“Why?”
She gave him a long look. “What happened between us—” Her throat closed up and she cleared it. “Things can no longer be the same between us. It’s not conceivable.”
“And why not? What happened between us was completely natural.”
“But not in our society. We cannot take it so lightly.”
He leaned in. “I do not take it lightly. You know what needs to be done now. We need to marry.”
“No, we do not.”
He apparently saw something in her eyes, for he leaned slowly back in his chair, the intense look fading from his face. “I will not fight with you on it, Imogen. For now I just want you to enjoy your stay. Do you like Willowhaven?”
She blinked at the sudden change in subject and demeanor. “Of course,” she answered cautiously. “It’s a beautiful home. I see that you love it here.”
He nodded, his eyes softening. “I do.”
“And yet you aren’t happy here.”
It wasn’t a question. He had attempted to keep up a front since their arrival, but it was plain as day that he had been tense the moment he had entered Willbridge land.
He shrugged, turning to the flames dancing in the fireplace. A line formed between his brows.
