“To what do we owe this great honor?” The query was made with noticeable derision.
Robert was prepared for both the condescension—from Mr. Kemble—and the question, but he waited for Elaine to pass him the plate before answering. He nodded a thank-you and lifted his fork. “There are a few clauses that need to be reviewed in the contract our firm is drawing up on Miss Whitfield’s behalf.” He instilled an official ring to his words; there would be a general assumption that he was speaking about the private business of the marriage contract. Theoretically, Lydia’s uncle should have been present for these discussions.… Or at the very least her mother, but neither showed any interest.
Directing the conversation away from the hazardous subject, Robert inquired about Mr. Selleck and the estate. Mrs. Whitfield was most accommodating in her replies, finding these topics led her into recollections of previous crops, alfresco summer meals by the lake, a pretty new rose planted by the head gardener, and Mrs. Foster’s journey to Paris. There wasn’t a clear path to the last subject, but Robert did his best to look attentive and refrained from asking who Mrs. Foster might be. Elaine giggled throughout her aunt’s soliloquy, hovering at his elbow to replenish his tea—before it was done—and offering him any number of foodstuffs that he did not want.
Through it all, Robert maintained a mildly interested expression, hid his tension with an occasional smile and light repartee, and avoided looking directly at Lydia. Though he did watch her from the corner of his eye.
The short meal was interminable—a good three-quarters of an hour. But when, at last, the ladies pushed away from the table, Robert rose with them. As the remnants of their meal had to be cleared, Lydia suggested that they adjourn to the study.
Robert met her gaze, nodded, and then looked away as quickly as was politic.
He meant to offer the first volley as soon as they crossed the threshold into the study, but Lydia won that battle.
She pivoted before they had taken two steps and leaned toward him. “All right, out with it.” Her voice didn’t have its usual dulcet quality. “Why are you here in truth, and why are you so out of temper with me?”
“As both are rooted in the same muck, perhaps you can guess.” He tried not to notice that her person—leaning in such a delicious manner—was in very close proximity.
“No, indeed, I cannot.”
“Might it have to do with your appointment with Mr. Warner this morning?”
Lydia shook her head and, unfortunately, leaned back on her heels. “Does it? Do you know something that I don’t? Mr. Warner sent a note requesting an appointment, but as to the subject of our meeting, I assumed it had to do with my abduction.… Doesn’t it?”
“I believe he will be discussing his findings, yes. He informed me of the meeting … thought that I would be interested as well. Which I am! But he also made mention of another subject. One of which I had not heard before. He used the word blackmail.”
Then, to Robert’s great surprise, Lydia laughed. “Oh, so that is what has put you into a huff.”
“This is not a huff—it is frustration, if one has to give it a name—or concern, or alarm. No matter what you call it, I was very troubled to learn that you had suffered another affront and deigned not to inform me. I am your friend as well as your solicitor’s apprentice, and yet you didn’t trust me—”
“Robert, Robert.”
“—you did not have the de—”
“Robert. Trust was not the issue.”
“Then what was? For I cannot fathom any reason not to include me in this latest … this … See what you have done? I cannot find my words!”
Stepping closer, Lydia laid her hands across his forearms, tilting her chin up. Robert swallowed with great difficulty as she stared into his eyes. He knew she was saying something, but he couldn’t hear her above the noise of his hammering heart and the buzz in his ears. Then, she stopped talking and leaned infinitesimally closer still.
Robert could now feel her warm breath caressing his face. He could smell sweet lavender soap and feel the heat of her body as it pressed against his.
“Right?”
Robert blinked and lifted his cheeks. “Pardon,” he croaked, trying not to watch her lips.
“How could I have done otherwise?” she asked. “We all hoped that the threat was toothless and decided to regard it as such. Not needing to fret meant there was also no need to drag you away from the city, either … as much as I would have loved the excuse—” She stopped, frowned, and then continued. “Had you known of the letter, you would have jumped on a horse and madly rushed to Roseberry, arriving soaking wet and in a lather, only to find that all was well—just as you did. Do I not know you, my friend? Was I not right?”
Swallowing—or rather trying to swallow—Robert stared and remained silent. It seemed his safest route. He was all too aware that his anger was driven by fear, not frustration. Until he saw her, in the flesh, safe and sound, his mind had conjured up any number of disasters. He wanted nothing more than to claim her as his own, so that he could keep her protected and thriving and … if that miserable sot who was going to marry her did not honor her as he should …
Robert shook his head, realizing that his thoughts were all over the place and that Lydia was talking again and yet all he wanted to do was kiss her. Kiss her and pull her into his arms. Yes, they could stay that way. Just toss food, no need for more, no need to go anywhere. Just there. Stay. Yes. Indeed. He would kiss her.
“Robert?” she whispered, and, if he could not be mistaken, she lifted her mouth toward his. Inviting. Waiting.
It was both fortunate and unfortunate that at that precise moment there was a knock at the door. They sprang apart so quickly that when Lydia acknowledged the disruption, they were once again standing at a respectable distance. Robert could see she was breathing heavily, as was he. And her complexion was rather high, in a most becoming manner. But other than that, there was no indication of the intense emotions of mere seconds ago.
Still … as Mr. Warner entered, he looked back and forth between them. And his frown dissolved into a grin.
*
Sitting on the edge of the settee, Lydia found it hard to concentrate on the discussion despite the seriousness of the topic. Her eyes kept wandering over to Robert, who was seated across from her—but not with rapt attention to his words. No, she found that her focus vacillated between his shoulders, his eyes, and, dare she say it, his lips. She was fairly certain that Robert had been about to kiss her just before Mr. Warner arrived—to spoil the moment.
Why would he do it?