She told herself that the description roused no pang. “If you expect to call on our childhood affection, you should have dropped me the occasional note.”
“Now your father has passed on, it was safe to come back.”
“Oh, valiant,” she said sarcastically. In spite of their argument, their bodies moved in perfect accord. She followed each subtle nudge of Simon’s lead as if they’d danced together a thousand times. The heat of his touch throbbed through her blood like a symphony.
His expression turned wry. “Leaving seemed the best solution back then. You know the duke would have ruined the Metcalfs if I’d so much as squeaked in your direction after he caught us … kissing.”
They’d veered close to doing more than kissing, she recalled with renewed mortification. Her father had been so livid to catch his daughter offering her maidenhead to a penniless commoner that he’d threatened Simon’s family. As Duke of Sedgemoor, he was capable of destroying a mere knight, even if the Metcalfs had held estates in Derbyshire since the Norman Conquest.
“My father’s plans didn’t include marrying me to a man without title or fortune.”
An uncharacteristic expression of guilt settled on Simon’s spectacular features. “Nonetheless, I hope you’ll accept my condolences on his passing. I’ve been out of touch with affairs in England or I’d have written at the time.”
“And of course my father’s death five years ago was the only matter you could possibly want to communicate about.”
He winced under her gibe. “I hadn’t played the man of honor with you. I should have stayed to protect you from your father’s temper.”
“You tried.” To be fair, he had. He’d stood up to the duke until six stout stable hands had hauled Simon away, still protesting that Lydia bore no fault for what had happened.
“Without succeeding. Was it very bad?”
Yes, it had been awful. Unbearably, excruciatingly awful. Her stomach still tangled into knots at the memory. For the only time in her life, her father had beaten her. But worse than the physical pain and humiliation had been the prospect of never seeing Simon again. “I learned the error of my ways.”
“I thought you might. I tried to as well. Then, when I finally mustered courage to ask some stray travelers about you, the gossip was that you were to marry Leath.”
Startled, she tripped. Only Simon’s quickness saved her from an embarrassing tumble. Dear Lord, she’d have to pay for dancing lessons at this rate, or warn any partner he risked his toes when he stood up with her.
“My father wanted the match.” But she hadn’t. The only man she’d wanted to marry had been kicking his heels on the Continent by that stage.
“Even if you hadn’t agreed to marry the Marquess of Leath, I knew there would be a line of men begging for your hand. I was astounded when I received Cam’s letter saying you’d waited so long to make your choice.”
“I …” She swallowed and stared directly into his eyes. “I found it difficult to trust any man.”
Shocked, she watched the color leach from his skin and a stricken expression darken his blue eyes. His manner lost its taunting edge. “I’m sorry, Lydia. More sorry than I can say.”
Hostility was easier to bear than pity. She couldn’t endure this sense that he saw into her soul to all the loneliness and longing and rage there. She blinked to clear the mist of tears from her eyes and forced a cheerful reply. “It’s all for the best, anyway.”
“Is it?” he asked and a shiver ran through her at the dangerous rawness in his question. After a bristling silence, he went on, his voice returning to lightness. “Whatever your marital plans, I assumed that after I’d led you into such a compromising situation, you’d never want to speak to me again.”
“I didn’t.” Yet another lie. She paused and went on with a bitter edge and perfect sincerity. “I don’t.”
His hand tightened around her waist and he drew her closer. She tensed to prevent her body meeting his. The gossip she’d heard over the years about his wildness indicated that he wouldn’t balk at creating a public fracas to break her engagement.
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