Page 64 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“That was scotch.”
“Are they not the same?” She chewed on her lip. “My father shall be most displeased that I am not joining him for dinner.”
“You are free to leave.” He drew two teacups from the cupboard. “Believe me, I would not keep you here against your will.”
“Believe me,” Cecilia repeated with a mocking tone. “That is funny. Why did you not tell me about Edward’s plans for you? Were you hoping to sneak off without a word? I would not blame you if you did.”
Raphael curled his hands around the edge of the counter. At least she was not afraid of saying what must be said. Every word felt like the prelude to a fight he did not want to have. But she was right. She deserved an answer.
“I did not tell you because I do not know what I am doing.” He refused to turn around and look at her. She could be angry or sad, it would devastate him either way. “Nothing is set in stone.”
“But Edwardhasoffered to station you on the continent, has he not?” Cecilia hummed in understanding when Raphael nodded. “To manage his properties, I assume. Well, it is your life to lead. I suppose you do not owe me anything, least of all your being here.”
Raphael could not answer her straight away. The kettle whistled and he attended it. It was not until the tea had brewed that he dared to speak to her again.
“Milk. There’s a jug in the larder to your right.”
A weak olive branch, but it did the trick. Cecilia brought it back to him, placing it on the counter. Her hand looked so delicate against the earthenware, like a small piece of heaven. She snatched it back suddenly, but she did not leave his side, watching him as he prepared their tea.
Swaddled by her sweet perfume, his body twitched with the memory of their last rendezvous in his cottage. He handed Cecilia her drink, careful not to brush fingers with her. One touch would mean his death.
Cecilia thanked him quietly, letting the cup hover beneath her lips. His gaze drifted from the steam rising in her face, to her eager ruby lips, to the mole that was his favourite of her natural accessories, to the dark lashes that beat like a fan, calling to him. She took a little sip and the noise made him smile. Heavens, how he had missed her . . .
“My conversation with Edward upset you,” he suggested. She averted her gaze to the floor, which meant he was right. “Why did you think running out into the night would help? Where did you plan to go?”
She forced a sad smile. “Somewhere I would not be heard crying. It is not that the conversation angered me, only I’ve felt so overwhelmed as of late and . . . There is a French expression,la goutte qui fait déborder la vase.”
“Your French is not so terrible after all. I understand.”
There was a resistance within Raphael, warning him against opening himself up and asking her the questions that actually mattered. It was not a man’s place to console a woman, he had been taught, and men did not discuss feelings. Looking at Cecilia, witnessing her vulnerability, he thought all his teachings had been rubbish.
“I am sorry if I made things worse for you.”
“No. Oh, no,” she lilted. “It was not to do with you, well not entirely. My life is both incredibly empty and so full of complications that I feel I cannot navigate it. What happened between you and I . . . I do not regret it.” She paused to regard him. “Do you?”
Raphael shook his head. “Not for a moment. I would only regret it if you did.” He pushed aside his tea, having no thirst for it. “It was . . . good.”
Cecilia’s bosom heaved at his admission, and he could tell she was having trouble containing her smile. “It was very good. Heavens, would it not be simpler if it had not been? Then I should want to tell no one instead of everyone. Raphael . . .” The way she said his name made his heart skip a beat.
“I am still very much in love with you. Our time apart did nothing to tamper with my feelings for you.”
He nodded, knowing she could have spoken no sweeter words. Still, something niggled at his confidence. “Cecilia, that afternoon . . . why did you leave?”
There was no need to say more. Understanding flashed in her eyes. “I was frightened. That is truly the only way I can put it. When you said that lovely thing, I cannot explain it but I panicked.”
“Try.”
“I suppose it made me realise that being your wife would be very nice indeed, yet it is utterly unattainable. What I feel for you I have never felt for any man in my life, not even in my dreams.
Gentlemen beyond number have vied for my hand over the years, and none of them have made me feel the way you make me feel. Like I am . . . normal, and human, and funny, and worth listening to. I’ve seen an innumerable amount of matches be made in London, some of love, most of convenience. Nothing I have seen proved to me that love existed until you came along, and—”
She cut herself off with a self-deprecating laugh. “I am rambling.”
“It is all right. I like it.” Raphael grabbed her hand, and a bolt of nervous energy travelled up his arm. “Your safety is the most important thing in the world to me now. You understand that, do you not?”
“Do you intend to protect me by moving halfway across the civilised world?”
“If need be.”
