She barely heard his question over the pounding of her heart. When he’d kissed her last, she had welcomed it, but she hadn’t felt like her skin was going to burst into flames the way she felt now.
“Lydia?”
“Oh… oh, yes.” She glanced down at her day dress, which would have been perfectly acceptable if she was going anywhere other than the docks. “I suppose I should.” She burst off the settee. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Jeremy only nodded at her. Had he felt that too?
Louise, her maid, was waiting inside Lydia’s bedchamber with the plain-looking gown cleaned and pressed. Not quite fifteen minutes later, Lydia reentered the drawing room, pea-green coat draped over her arm.
“I cannot wait for the weather to warm up.” She forced her tone to remain light and casual. She could only hope that he was unaware of how he’d affected her. “This winter has been unusually cold. And so much snow!”
As she exited Heart Place, her hand tucked into his arm, she found herself babbling about other ideas she had for the orphanage. It wasn’t like her to go on so, and of course, he knew that.
Unfortunately, as she sat down beside him, their proximity in the confines of the coach did nothing to settle her nerves.
“You’re excited.” His words broke in when she finally took a breath, and her insides trembled.
When she’d discussed her hopes with Clarissa two days before, she’d not taken into consideration what working with him might do to her. She was optimistic, yes, but if she lost him again, would she ever be able to fall in love again? She couldn’t imagine it.
“I am.”
“The Season begins in a little over a month, and construction should be well underway by then. If it’s all the same, I’ll manage all of this while you flit about with the ton.”
Flit about?
Flit about?
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll hardly have time for both.” He shrugged.
“What? You—” She needed a moment to realized what he was saying. “I’ll have you know my priority is the orphanage. And although I plan to attend a few select events and seek out donations.” She gritted her teeth. “I have no intentions of allowing the season to distract me. I thought you’d realized this by now.”
“Do you not intend to place yourself on the marriage mart, then?”
“I do not.” In fact, she’d put all thoughts of marriage from her mind the day after he’d told her to keep away from him.
“You’ll change your mind.” The arrogance in his voice had her twisting around to confront him.
“Of the two of us.” She pointed at him and then herself. “I… I am not the fickle one.”
He returned her gaze steadily, and she would have given ten years of her life to know what was going on inside his head in that moment.
“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask, her voice choking. Why did you send me away?
Her question had him looking trapped, and she hated whatever it was that had changed him. He was saved from answering, however, when the carriage came to a halt.
“I have other business to attend to today, so let’s get this over with, shall we?” The icy tone of his voice effectively put a halt to her curiosity.
It wasn’t often Lydia allowed herself to become angry, but she was sorely tempted to at that moment.
Except they were at the warehouse now, and the orphanage came first.
Why?
He knew exactly what she was asking, but he wasn’t about to discuss it with her today. Or ever.
The secret wasn’t his to share.
He offered his hand for her to step onto the walk, but she grasped the side of the carriage instead.
He shouldn’t be here with her. This situation was untenable. Baxter didn’t know what the hell he’d been doing when he suggested Jeremy finance this damned orphanage.
And yet…
Damn his eyes, Jeremy wanted to be here with her.
And watching her bustle through the door ahead of him, he admitted that he wanted more than that.
But he could never give her what she wanted: marriage. He could not join their two families together—not while both of her brothers were intent on tarnishing Arthur’s memory.
Tarnishing it with the very worse of accusations.
Pushing away the dissonance inside of him, Jeremy watched Lydia shove, and then slam her shoulders into the door, sending it flying open before he could catch up with her and do it himself. She glanced at him over her shoulder, scowling, but not bothering to hide her satisfaction at the insignificant triumph.
Better she release her anger on the door, he supposed, than on him.
Even so. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He strolled through the opening behind her.
“I’m fine.”
She was so ‘fine’ in fact, that she spent the next forty-five minutes marching him through the building, answering him as succinctly as possible, and glowering at him whenever she caught his eye. She made it painfully clear that she was determined to refrain from mentioning the past to him again.
All of which he, quite rightly, deserved.
“You should go to the balls and the garden parties,” he offered thoughtfully once they’d returned to the ground floor. Even so, he couldn’t keep his gaze from settling on her lush hips as she preceded him toward the door leading outside to the vacant land in back.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she bit out without looking at him.
“I’ll take care of matters here--ensure things are finished properly. You really should land yourself a husband—perhaps a wealthy one who’ll happily add his blunt to your pet projects.”
She spun around to face him—eyes burning, her lovely cheeks flushed. “This is not a pet project for me!” He’d never seen her looking so worked up before. Not even on the day he’d ended things between the two of them. “What must I do to get that through your thick skull?”
Momentarily stunned, he inexplicably found his heart racing. She was impossible. She was a bloody Cockfield, he reminded himself. He forced himself to recall what her brothers had set out to do to Arthur.
“Time will tell.” He affected disdain in the face of her enthusiasm.
Because, unfortunately, he already believed her. She was not fickle, and even though she was far too young to be so diligent, she would not abandon a worthwhile project after starting it.
“Time?” She was pacing around in a circle now, gesturing wildly with her arms. “Time? How much time do you need? Is knowing me for most of my life not enough to prove my character to you? Or allowing you to hold my hand when we walked alone through the forest? What about the fact that I gave you permission to court me? To kiss me? Is it not—”
Jeremy swept her into his arms. He would silence the reminder of those memories with his mouth.
If she’d pushed him away, he would have released her. If she’d held her lips tightly together, he would not have dipped his tongue behind them.
But no.
She melted against him, like butter on warm bread.
She tasted like the tea they’d drank earlier, that, and the sweetest flower, like comfort and…
Good god in heaven, Lydia Cockfield tasted like love.