He stared at me, smiling and expectant—as if the tense energy between us didn’t exist, and the events of yesterday were a distant memory. He was better at pretending than I’d realized. Much better than I was.
I gulped in nervousness, wishing myself at home with Mama. Anywhere else. “I . . . I don’t know why you would ask me,” I said at last. “You are the authority in such matters, Sir William.”
William’s dark eyebrows did a little twitch at my formalness—I never used his title—and perhaps at the other meaning in my words. They reflected my flirting lesson and the compliment he’d given me about my eyes. But William remained unaffected as a whole, smiling wider. “Oh come, ‘Liza, if you do not give your opinion you shall break Lady Prima’s heart!”
The others in the room giggled. “Indeed, dear girl, you shall!” Lady Prima called from the chaise.
I bit my tongue, but the words flew out anyway. “Another matter in which you are the authority.”
For the briefest moment, William’s smile slackened and his eyes flashed with something gone so quickly I couldn’t identify what it was.
But then, he laughed. He actually laughed.
Lady Prima joined in. “She’s got you there, William. You are a devilish scoundrel!”
I swallowed and clenched my hand to keep it from shaking. What I’d said was true, but Lady Prima couldn’t possibly know what I’d meant by the statement. She didn’t know what had happened in the dim sitting room of an inn on the outskirts of London.
I break girl’s hearts all the time . . . It is nothing new.
This was nothing new to William. To him, my bared heart was merely another page in a thick tome of his misadventures. There was nothing different to him about yesterday than the dozens of similar confessions he’d been the recipient of. By all appearances, he had moved on.
But if, despite appearances, he hadn’t . . . If by some small chance this was another one of his masks . . . then it was the cruelest one I’d seen. Because that would mean he was pretending to be whole, and at my expense.
Lady Iris entered, flanked by an entourage of guests, most of which I didn’t recognize. “Ah, there the rest of you are. Come, let us go in to dinner!”
Everyone shuffled into the dining room and took their seats. Dread made my fingers tingle when William took the seat directly across from me. This was going to be a long meal. Servants entered, carrying steaming platters of pheasant, pea soup, and croquette potatoes—surprisingly English dishes in celebration of Iris’s birthday. Miss Nagel sat at William’s side. They spoke in hushed tones, glancing around the table and snickering every few moments.
Face burning, I looked away. It wouldn’t do to keep watching—I was here to further Mama’s cause, not feel sorry for myself. I looked around the table, searching for something to re-center my focus. A husband, a husband, a husband . . . To my luck, Mr. Quincy occupied the seat to my left.
“How is your family, Mr. Quincy?” I asked.
“Very well, thank you,” he said.
“And your hunting endeavors? I hear you are the best foxer within three counties!”
He gave a hearty laugh, drawing the eyes of several around us. “I wouldn’t say that, Miss Wycliffe.”
“Oh, I see. Only two, then.” He laughed again, and this time I joined him, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
From under the table, I felt a nudge on my foot. Knowing who it was from, I blinked in quick succession, but ignored it. If William could flirt and act as if nothing had happened, then so could I.
“You must show me your trophies sometime.”
Mr. Quincy turned in his seat to better look at me. “Miss Wycliffe, you surprise me. Not many ladies express an interest in seeing taxidermied creatures.”
I forced my lips into a smile. “You will find I am not like most ladies, Mr. Quincy.”
Another chuckle. Another prodding at my foot.
“Then perhaps you should like to see the ones I obtained a few years ago at your brother’s house party?” he said. “I had deuced good luck that year at Ambleside.”
“Indeed. And you are welcome to the grounds anytime you please, Mr. Quincy. But only if you promise to get me no less than three foxes.”
A handsome dimple appeared on one of his cheeks. “But Miss Wycliffe, I couldn’t possibly!”
“Oh, I see. Only two, then.” We both laughed.
Another nudge, stronger than the two before.
Oh, by all—
I gave a little huff before surrendering and meeting William’s eye. The act was just as painful as before, only this time he did not look amused.
His brows plunged down then back in place as his gaze volleyed between me and Mr. Quincy, lips angling into a frown. What could William be displeased about this time? Another man paying me his attentions? That I was studiously ignoring him? I didn’t care one whit if he was displeased. Trying to keep my face blank, I looked away. I was going to ignore him, and he could not force me to do otherwise.
“Eliza, how pretty you look today.”
Drat. He never settled for anything less than exactly what he wanted. Those adjacent to us quieted as their interest piqued, like it always did whenever William spoke. He sat back in his chair and stared at me from the tops of his eyes which were gleaming with stubbornness.
His words had held no sincerity—only a challenge. A challenge I was neither equipped for, nor had any hope of winning. And I could tell by the way he stared at me, that he knew it.
What a cruel mask indeed.
“Thank you,” I said at last, squirming under so many pairs of eyes.
He was supposed to avoid me, to feel even a sliver of the humiliation and awkwardness that he’d thrust upon me yesterday—the same feelings I felt in this moment. Instead he was trying to force me into pretending along with him that absolutely nothing had changed.
When in fact everything had changed.
William arched a dusky brow. “You said yesterday the Duke of Allerton had visited you. Might I inquire why?”
The topic change made my stomach fold in on itself. I’d forgotten that I’d even told William about Allerton’s visit—he hadn’t dwelt on it in our conversation at the inn. But he had not forgotten, and had obviously given it a great deal of thought since then. The only reason he brought it up now was because he sensed it was a weakness to be exploited. And he was right, as usual.
But what was he asking: why had Allerton visited, or why had I mentioned it? Allerton had visited to propose. I had mentioned it because I hoped William might do the same. Neither answer could I give with so many listening ears. Even had we been alone, I would not tell William the truth. Not after all that had happened.
“He came to give me a telescope as a going-away present,” I said with an accusing stare. There was no way William missed my meaning. Murmurs resounded through those near us. A gift of such proportions was as good as a proposal, and I knew everyone would think it.
But Allerton had proposed. And I was angry at William—so, so beyond hurt that there was no stopping the impassioned words.
“The gift was a thoughtful one, just as it was thoughtless.” I clutched the napkin in my lap. “He is going away? No—he is running. But he can’t even admit that to himself, so why would he do so to me? And yet what was I to do but accept the gift, to nod and smile as I usually do, even when every part of me longed to beg him to stay?” I crammed the tears down, willing my voice not to quaver.
A few more conversations quieted, attention turning to us.
“And how selfish that would’ve been, Eliza.” William’s face conveyed nonchalance, but his tone gave him away by containing a little bite. “To keep him here against his will. To force him to look at you and your hair and stop himself from—”
His hand took his glass and brought it to his lips, as if stopping himself from saying more. He drank several swallows then set the glass down. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You do not know what you ask of him,” he muttered at l
ast.
“Don’t I?” My voice rose. “I ask only that he let his guard down for more than two moments at a time!”
“And then what do you think you shall find, hm?” he fairly spat. “For I can promise you, you will not like it. You will not miraculously find in him the man you are searching for, Eliza—that man does not exist!”
There were no more clinks of silver—no one chewed their food or took a quaff from their crystal. All was still.
“What are you all arguing about down there?” Lady Iris said from the head of the table.
After another tense silence, Mr. Quincy piped up next to me. “Sir William and Miss Wycliffe were just discussing, erm . . . hm, well . . . I daresay none of us quite know what they were discussing.”
“Ah.” Iris cocked a brow before shooting me a smirk. “I wager I know what it was about.”
My pulse jumped and ran like a frightened rabbit. She couldn’t know I’d confessed, or that William had rejected me . . . Could she?
Given what she did know, it wouldn’t be hard to guess, especially with the way we were carrying on. Part of me believed she’d never expose something so intimate to so many spectators. But the other part of me—the cynical, sensible half—knew there was little likelihood in that.
I needed to take the situation into my own hands. My thoughts scrambled, before latching onto that moment at Lady Prima’s, when Iris had conversed with Allerton in the corner.
“Yes, you have guessed it, Lady Iris,” I said. “We were talking of the Duke of Allerton, and your preference for his company.”
It was a blind guess, but one that paid off if Iris’s surprise was any indication. A small, almost unwilling smile stole across her lips. “I think, Miss Wycliffe, you are catching on at last. The longer you are in my company, the more astute you grow.”
At Iris’s cue, everyone returned to their plates and their regular conversations. I breathed a sigh of relief, crisis at least temporarily abated. The meal continued. Plates were removed and new ones set before me, but I stared at my lap, not trusting myself to even look up for fear of meeting a hazel gaze.
Because I knew it was there. Watching. Waiting.
I tried to rein in my thoughts, to focus on the young men sitting around me to ask them questions and pay them compliments. But the only man I was aware of was the one who’d given away his smiles to the prettiest bidder even while he nudged my feet under the table. The one who could look me in the eye and laugh at my pain, but couldn’t bring himself to look at me with my hair unbound.
There was nothing about him which did not contradict.
Iris clanked her knife against her glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have only just learned that Lady Prima has prepared a recital in my honor! I think we will forgo dessert and retire to the drawing room early, for I hear Lady Prima’s voice is unparalleled.”
Hollow scrapes of wood against wood filled the cavernous room as everyone stood.
We all proceeded out of the dining room and down a hallway. I hung back, attempting to compose myself and order my thoughts in preparation for William’s next onslaught. The head of the group began shuffling through the double doors of the drawing room.
At the last second, William’s frame twisted around and headed in the opposite direction, passing the people between us. His hand shot out and turned me around, propelling me along, away from the group. No one looked back or seemed to notice our sudden absence. With his arm around me my heart lurched into my throat, every nerve ending standing at attention. He steered me back into the abandoned dining room, shutting the door behind me before pushing me against it, his palm flattening next to my head.
Vanilla. Blond hair. Warning bells.
“What is the matter?” he asked, much too close for my comfort. He looked between my eyes, and every motion felt like a knife slicing what few threads held my composure together.
I would not break down in front of him. I would not.
“You ignore me and then send cutting barbs my way,” he said. “You laugh with other men and then glare at me like I do not deserve to witness it. This is not like you, Eliza. What have I done to offend you so? Tell me at once so I may apologize.”
My lips parted in disbelief, and I couldn’t keep it from leaking into my voice. “There is nothing to apologize for.”
“Then why do you distance yourself?”
“As if you did not know.”
“On my word, I do not.”
I cast my eyes down, unwilling to look him in the eye anymore. Shrinking back against the door, I felt my stomach souring and tightening at the memory of my confession, yet he wanted me to relive the humiliating experience. Fixing my eyes on the lacquered floor, I at last whispered, “Are you really going to make me say it again?”
After a long, silent moment, I risked a glance. His expression was clearing, mask slipping until I could see the truth. He had known the reason I was avoiding him all along, but had hoped for a different one. He’d been willing to pretend it was a different one clear until he sat in a cold grave. “You are referring to our conversation yesterday,” he said quietly.
I glued my lips shut, feeling no need to answer him. And oh! How I wished I had had the strength and wherewithal to have ripped my arm free and stay with the safety of the group. Now what was I to do with him pinning me against the door and staring at me in that intense way of his that made me weak in the knees, forcing me to again tell him I loved him, only to have him laugh in my face?
Finally, he said, “I see no reason why we cannot continue as we did before. We will forget the words that were spoken—we were both tired and did not mean them anyway. We shall forget everything.”
“Even the kiss we shared?”
“I . . .” He swallowed and roved my face, taking his time with his response. “. . . I could not forget it if I tried. But I will put it from my mind—and you should do the same.”
Raising my chin, I said, “I meant it.” They were the words I’d intended to say yesterday, but was denied the chance by William’s insistence. Now there was nothing stopping me from speaking them, and I could tell he wished it otherwise.
“And I meant every word. I don’t want to forget. Though I feel ashamed at it all, I would not do it any different.” I had confessed at the right time—that much I knew. If William hadn’t loved me in that moment, then he’d never loved me at all. “You may be comfortable sweeping your feelings aside, William—and you may be used to doing the same to Miss Nagel’s or Lady Iris’s—but you will not do it to mine. Pretend what you want, but I will not forget what I said. Neither will I take it back.”
He leaned in closer, oblivious to the way the movement stole my breath away. “Eliza, we must still be friends.”
“Must?” My heart squeezed at the thought. I couldn’t. He couldn’t make me. “I don’t see how we could be, now.”
His face darkened, his dusky brows sloping down. Something dangerous entered his demeanor. “You mean to say that unless I professed my love to you in return, this was always going to end this way? We were always doomed to be forever separated?”
“Essentially, yes.”
With his expression calculating, he bent even closer. I pressed back against the door as much as I could, trying to give myself the air to breathe, but it was no use. In a low tone he said, “Then I should have lied to you, is that it?”
I shook my head. “No—”
“If only to spare your pride, I should have pretended to be madly in love with you.”
“It is not my pride—”
“Yes, and I would do a good job of it, too. For you have the wrong notion of love, darling. Love is not heroes and happiness in a field of clover. It is a game. A game I always win.”
He tilted his head, the motion bringing his lips closer. “Is that what you want of me, Eliza? To make you feel special and desired? If that is all you wish, I could kiss you and make you believe I meant it.” His eyes flickered, and my heart stopped beating from b
eing torn two different directions. “I could kiss you and make you forget Allerton and Quincy and the lot of them. You’d never want anyone else. You’d beg me to go on. Shall I show you now?” His head tilted back and forth, bring his lips nearer, tauntingly, hovering, inching closer and closer . . .
And his eyes were on my mouth, the same desire in them that was there yesterday, just before he’d pulled away. Before he’d crushed my heart.
The realization was a slap in the face.
“Stop it, William!” I gasped, coming up for air.
He blinked, and he seemed to snap out of a trance. I took great breaths, trying to hide the effects of his sultry words that were evident all over my body.
I wanted him to kiss me. Oh, how I wanted it, with him so near I could smell the danger emanating off his clothes. But not if he saw me as some conquest to win and admire for a few days, only to set me on a shelf to collect dust.
He hadn’t been oblivious to the way he stole my breath away—he had simply used it to his advantage. My fists tightened.
“I am not your plaything,” I said, chest heaving, voice trembling.
He straightened slowly, looking me over. His head knocked back, face growing solemn. “No,” he said softly. “You are not.” Though his eyes held an apology, he did not utter it. Silence engulfed the room for a taut moment, before finally he muttered, “But Eliza . . . in no way is this fair.”
No, it wasn’t.
It wasn’t fair of me to force him to choose between love and friendship, and then strip him of both. But neither was it fair to myself to stay at his side, forcing smiles, trading silly poems, wearing a facade while never growing into more. And if anyone knew this, it should be William.
I took a breath and tried a different approach. “Is that not what you did to Lily? Push her away after she rejected you? Stab her in the back?”
“I did not want to!” he whispered, eyes frantic. “I did it for your mother. For . . . for you.”
I didn’t exactly know what he meant. I got the sense that we were speaking of two completely different things. What did he do? Is that why he felt like he was a lost cause?
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 18
