“Not at all.” Jeremy crossed to the door, not acknowledging the dark-haired beauty when he passed her. Hell and damnation, even her fragrance still affected him—something sweet but also floral. He opened the door and turned around. “Are you coming, My Lady?” He cocked one brow in her direction, noting her curves were even more voluptuous than they had been before.
She joined him at the door and then tilted her head back, smiling brilliantly. “How could I refuse?”
He hated it when she did that. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “I don’t suppose you can.”
Chapter 2
Lydia’s lips trembled when she smiled at him, but she refused to be anything other than professional. She had come here today on business and would not allow her emotions to get the better of her. Even if her knees did, nearly give out on her, when she skirted around him.
He stiffened and scowled, and the part of her heart that had finally started to heal broke open again. Just a hint of his scent, spicy with a hint of cedar, had her remembering other times that they’d walked together.
He assumed she was unhappy because he’d refused to trust her judgment regarding the condition of the warehouse. He assumed she was not happy that she was going to have to work with him, rather than Lord Baxter.
But he was wrong. Her unhappiness came from seeing him this way—dearest Jeremy—hardened and jaded.
Jeremy Gilcrest was an earl, and by nature, had never been an overly demonstrative gentleman, even before his brother’s death the year before. He’d been reserved and his smiles had been rare. Duty had always come first. And because of this, many had considered him unfeeling.
But she’d known better.
Jeremy had not been heartless—not with her and not with the people he had cared for.
The fact that he’d shut them out was why she was unhappy. Her throat thickened with emotion at the thought.
“Do your brothers know you are here?” His voice skated over her senses as he trailed behind her. He hadn’t offered his arm, and he did not touch his hand to her back protectively.
“Blackheart is on the Continent, and Lucas is in Kent. Aunt Emma has taken up residence at Heart Place in Blackheart’s absence as my guardian.” She straightened her back. “But I’m not a child.”
“Ah, yes. Dear Aunt Millicent. She’s the deaf one, is she not? The one who wears obnoxiously thick spectacles.”
“She is a little hard of hearing but I’d hardly call her deaf. When did you become so cruel?” Lydia refused to look at him.
“You are not yet nine and ten, and Blackheart abandons you in London to fend for yourself? What on earth is he thinking?”
On her eighteenth birthday, less than ten months before, even though Jeremy had been in mourning for his brother, he’d taken her for a romantic stroll through the meadow that stretched between Galewick Manor and Crescent Park. He’d gently tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and the two of them had strolled to the waterfall at the tip of both estates.
He’d told her the bluebells reminded him of the color of her eyes. And he’d kissed her.
The gentle pressure of his lips on hers had sent her heart racing. The feel of his arms pulling her close had made her blood flow hot.
Now, he acted as though they were strangers.
“I did not expect to see you here,” she informed him.
“Oh, really?”
Lydia clenched her jaw.
Four months before, he’d specifically asked her to keep away from him. Against her heart’s desire, she had honored that request.
Wednesday, November Fourth.
She’d awoken believing it would be the happiest day of her life, but by the time the sun had set, was left nursing a broken heart. She would never forget the date. It was imprinted on her soul.
He’d presented himself at Crescent Park in the morning and then disappeared into the study with both of her brothers. He had come to ask for her hand and although a marriage between the two of them would be a benefit to both estates, it was also going to be a love match.
Such an alliance would have been a celebrated one—the daughter of a duke to a neighboring earl.
But there had been no celebration that day.
When he’d emerged from Blackheart’s study, Jeremy had not come to her in the drawing room, dropped onto one knee, and declared his undying love.
He had marched angrily past the drawing room, slammed the front door closed behind him, and then ridden off on his horse as though the hounds of hell had been chasing him.
Her brothers told her the meeting had not concerned her and then refused to give her any other explanation. None of it made sense, and so—even though it was snowing—she’d donned her half-boots, woolen coat, mittens, and scarf and traversed the well-worn path to Galewick Manor. What could her brothers possibly have done to offend him?
She had been concerned but not overly so. It had to have been a simple misunderstanding. She could fix this. She would talk with him, apologize for her brothers, and he could continue courting her.
She’d entered the library at Galewick Manor feeling hopeful, but that hope had faltered when he’d greeted her with cold and unwelcoming eyes. She’d seen him tired and hurt and filled with despair, but she’d never seen him angry.
He’d ordered her to cease her visits. He didn’t want to have anything to do her family ever again. And that had included her.
She’d begged him to tell her why, to make her understand, but just like her brothers, he’d failed to give her the reason why.
By the time she’d trudged home, her hope had died.
Four months had passed since he’d broken her heart. She hadn’t laid eyes on him again until today.
But for the murmuring of masculine voices from below and an occasional cheer, the two of them approached the staircase in silence. Three ladies now circulated amongst the gentlemen in the gaming area below, all of them scantily dressed in identical gowns.
From her vantage point, Lydia noticed feathers tucked into their chic but messy buns, their curled hair twisted into tall styles atop their heads.
Trailing her hand along the smooth railing, she felt unusually plain and drab as she descended to the main floor.
“Not all ladies are daughters of a duke,” Jeremy chastised, apparently misreading her lingering gaze. He gripped her elbow in case she needed steadying as they began their descent, his disdain somehow palpable even in his touch.
Lydia fidgeted with her gloves when they finally arrived at the club entrance, spotting the same large man from before.
“Mr.… Ben? Would you please have Lady Baxter’s carriage brought around?” she asked primly, aware that Jeremy was watching her, leaning casually against one of the large columns that flanked the door.
She hated that she was wearing one of the plainest gowns she owned—a brown muslin, patches on the skirt and unadorned by any embroidery or lace. She and Clarissa had both agreed it would be best not to stand out when they visited the docks.
She also hated that she wanted his good opinion and that the skin where he’d touched her still tingled.
“I won’t hold you to Lord Baxter’s suggestion. I’ll find another sponsor.” It might delay the opening of the orphanage, but as Blackheart’s sister, she wasn’t without connections.