Page 19 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
Corin didn’t comment, only cutting his eyes to her silently to remind her not to press such matters.
He didn’t know how well he could take his aunt’s critique concerning his late wife and his marriage to her so soon after the eve of her memorial.
“I can’t claim to take any interest in her personal affairs,” Corin lied blandly, trying to look bored as he looked back to the stage. “I am, however, interested in her literary talents after her last publication.”
“Your review would hardly suggest such a thing,” Charlotte muttered, her eyes sharp and her countenance, reminding Corin unsettlingly of her mother as she stared at him.
“She has promise,” Corin said with a shrug.
“Then perhaps you’ll join us tonight,” Aunt Lydia offered, shooting her daughter an irritated look. “She’s reading a passage from her story for us tonight.”
“At the Woman’s Word?” Corin asked, one eyebrow arching.
“We do make exceptions from time to time to allow your more primitive sex to attend,” Charlotte laughed.
“I’ll consider it.”
Corin tried for neutrality again, leaning back as his mind was already busy adjusting plans and timetables. He wasn’t going to miss the chance to see her, he knew. He just didn’t want his aunt catching onto such a thing.
***
Rearranging his schedule, as it turned out, was more of a hassle than Corin had meant for it to be. So much of one, in fact, that he was nearly half an hour late when he pulled up to his aunt’s estate, his steps unhurried despite the fact that he snuck into the drawing room where they were all already gathered.
The seats were all filled, all eyes thankfully to the front of the room where the entire reason for his attending was perched on a stool, her teal dress conforming to her every curve. Her hair was half-up again, the waves hanging romantically down one side of her shoulders as she leaned over the paper clutched in her hands.
“The moon cast a silvery glow upon the forest floor, each twig like a gunshot as Lady Evelyn hurried through the dense canopy of trees. Her heart was like a hearse of runaway horses in her chest, the thundering hooves of wild stallions making each breath more rushed than the last. Each shadow danced around her, twisting and turning with her every step as if conspiring to impede her progress. But the urgency of her mission forced her feet forward regardless, her determination unwavering.
Even as the branches reached out like gnarled fingers in the night, clawing at her gown and tangling in her hair, she paid them no heed. Her focus was fixed solely on the task at hand. She could never forgive herself if she didn’t make it. Even after their spat, Lady Margaret’s life hanging in the balance blotted out everything else.
The inky darkness filled her vision, only the faint flicker of torchlight in the distance illuminating Lady Evelyn’s path. It guided her toward her destination like a beacon in the night, the only flicker of hope that she had. She quickened her pace, her footsteps becoming louder in the silent forest. It was a symphony of desperation and hope.
As she broke free of the shadowy embrace of the trees, Lady Evelyn gasped, ignoring her torn dress and unkempt hair as she all but ran up the steps of Lady Margaret’s home. Worry and relief fought for dominance in her breast as she escaped the cold bite of the night air, and the warmth of the hearth within welcomed her like an old friend.
“‘Evelyn?’ Lady Margaret croaked from just beside the flickering firelight, surprise filling her tone.”
Corin stood as entranced as everyone else in the room, one shoulder going to lean against the doorjamb just inside of the doorway as he watched Imelda’s lips brush lovingly over the words she had written.
He hadn’t been lying. She did have promise.
But it wasn’t her words that had his eyes lingering like they were.
God, he had never forgotten those subtle dips and crevices in the plains of her face. Her chestnut hair was almost golden in the candlelight, the small smile at one corner of her mouth an engaging tease to her hidden right dimple.
The neckline of her dress was perfectly modest, but when she spoke, when her chest heaved with the anticipation of her next words the dress clung to her curves like a second skin. The upper swells of her breasts pushed against the neckline and Corin found his eyes dropping. Scandalous despite the fact that she was clad according to fashion.
The rest of the room was just as taken by her, focused even as they stood and clapped. Corin just had to hope that they were fascinated only by her words and not the tempting curve of her neck and the hypnotic thrum of her voice. Even as she broke away with smiles for everyone and murmured thanks to the praise she received as people began to break off into groups to converse.
Corin knew the moment she recognized his presence by the way the smile slid off of her face, her hazel eyes flashing as her spine straightened and a frown marred her otherwise pillowy lips.
His smile was slow, the way he pushed off of the wall intentional as he cut her off from being able to turn and quickly escape him. To do so, she would have had to cause a scene, and he knew that went against everything she said she wanted out of their being stuck in the same city.
“This is the Woman’s Word, my lord,” Imelda greeted waspishly, her voice soft enough to remain between them as she stared defiantly up at him.
Corin’s smile only grew as he took in her irritation, his lips twitching as he made an intended slow sweep of the room with his eyes. “I do see other men here, though,” he mused with a half-raised eyebrow. “Did you greet all of them in such a manner?”
Imelda bristled, her eyes narrowing further. “So you came to intentionally rile me then?”
“I came with an offer of peace,” Corin answered unhurriedly. He knew their conversation would have to be limited. Already, eyes were on them, and he could feel his aunt’s gaze chief among them. “An olive branch, if you will.”
