He exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t think I could have stayed away.”
“Would you have asked me to dance?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes searched her face as he held her tight. The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t know that I could have abided queuing up for you. I probably would have gotten pissing drunk and acted out in some appalling manner ill-befitting a man of my age.”
She peered up at him. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
The simple exchange of this fact changed the atmosphere between them. He tensed palpably, and Eliza had the sense that she’d revealed too much in the asking. She’d let on that she was thinking about him in ways she never had before. Thinking quite seriously.
But perhaps he wasn’t thinking the same.
He released her from his embrace and offered his arm. “Shall I see you back to the house?”
As they walked, she stole glances at him, admiring his handsome profile. Those green eyes and the faint lines at their corners—little creases from where he’d been squinting in the sun. While out driving that hellish phaeton, perhaps. Or boating, or riding, or simply admiring the splendor of a sunny late-spring day. Those lines spoke of a life lived with passion.
If nothing else, at least Eliza could say she’d been part of it.
“I’m glad you were my first dance,” she whispered.
“There’ll be others,” he said. “Other men, other dances.”
“You’ll still always be my first. My first dance, my first kiss. My first…”
My first love.
She loved him.
Oh, Lord. She loved him. She knew it then, in her heart, and she accepted the truth with all the enthusiasm of a boatman accepting an anvil. This love would sink her, more than likely.
Harry, Harry.
“How long will you be staying in the neighborhood?” she asked.
“I’ll be at the Wardlow Arms tonight, but I must leave at first light tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “So soon? At least stay here at the house. Take dinner with us.”
“I don’t want to disturb your family.”
“The distraction would be welcome. We can’t have little Alice’s favorite uncle staying at the Wardlow Arms. Their beds have fleas.”
He laughed softly.
They passed into shadow.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” She gripped his arm tight. “You’re never this quiet. There must be something you’re trying, very hard, to not say.”
“You’re right. There is.” They slowed to a stop, and he turned to her. “I’m not sure how you’ll receive the news, but I’ve been to see the duke. I asked him to loan me money so I might purchase an officer’s commission.”
Eliza’s heart twisted in her chest. He wanted to join the army?
“I hope the duke refused,” she said, unpatriotic as it might sound.
“He did refuse. So I enlisted.”
No.
“You’re looking at Private J. Harrison Wright of the South Hampshire regiment. I’m to report to Ramsgate in just a few days’ time. So I can’t dally in the neighborhood.”
“B-but why? Why now, after all this time?”
He looked into the distance and shrugged. “Even a scoundrel has to make good sometime.” He gave her a sly wink. “Or else he becomes predictable. And we can’t have that.”
She shook her head with vehemence. “Don’t. Don’t dare make light of this.”
“For once, I’m serious. I decided right after I heard about Lessing. I can’t tell you it was anything less than impulsive, and I hope I’ll live to regret it. But it felt like the only thing to do. This war’s taken enough of England’s best and brightest. It’s time the rest of us pitched in our lots. Better late than never, don’t they say?”
“Better alive than dead is my opinion. I…” Her voice broke. “I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”
He exhaled and regarded her thoughtfully. “I want to ask why that is. Why you should care so much. Is it because it would ruin some pretty story you’ve written for us in your imagination? Are you afraid that I’ll die with an untidy cravat? Or is it simply that you’ve had enough of grieving and dressing in gray?”
“You horrid man.” She buffeted his arm with her fist. “How could you—”
He pulled her close. His voice sank to a rough whisper. “Or could it be that you’ve come to care for me, carry me in your heart—unexpectedly, irrevocably. The way I’ve come to care for you.” His hands ran up and down her arms. “I want to ask you this, Eliza. I want to ask if you could love me. But I’m not sure I’ll like your answer, so I think I’ll kiss you instead.”
His lips fell on hers, and he took her mouth in a kiss that was strong and fierce and all-consuming.
And welcome. So very welcome.
At last.
She embraced him, running her hands through his hair and gripping his shoulders tight—to show him that she wanted this. Wanted him. She’d wanted him for so long.