13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

D inner had gone from uncomfortable (because of the sneezing and the oversized ginger tabby sleeping on Will’s foot) to downright unusual with remarkable alacrity. His fork paused over his fileted fish while Adelaide sputtered.

“Jane… Pawston?” she asked.

Their hostess ran her hand down the arched spine of the gray feline in her lap. “Yes, she’s the leader of the group. That one—” she pointed to a calico curled next to the soup tureen, “—is Catherine Meowland, and Henry Clawlins should be around somewhere. He’s my big ginger boy.”

Will shifted his foot and was rewarded with claws to the ankle. “I’ve seen him,” he said through clenched teeth, then leaned away from the table to blow his nose yet again.

Adelaide appeared nonplussed. “How lovely. And that one?”

Mrs. Ludgate turned towards the bookshelf, where a black and white tuxedo cat licked its paws with deliberate care. “That’s Elhissabeth Bennett. If she doesn’t accept Fitzwhisker Darcy’s proposal soon, she’ll be staying on the shelf!”

Adelaide nodded amiably and launched into a series of questions about the cats’ romantic lives, and a strange sense of pride pressed at the inside of Will’s ribcage. Her ability to connect with this odd proprietress showed the depth of her compassion, her limitless empathy. She was a wonder.

But she would not be his.

Knowing this, however, did nothing to dissuade Will from thinking of her as his. The thought had become increasingly intrusive since they left Saltford until he’d claimed her mouth and her cunt like a brute by the roadside. As though he could declare ownership because he had coupled with her. But she’d been the one doing the claiming, etching her monogram deeper in his bones every time she called his name in pleasure.

He craved her again, in his arms and in his bed. He knew this urgency wasn’t so simple as lust, but what he had been missing since his father passed, the sense of completion, of fulfillment. Her attention was all-consuming, overwhelming but so addictive, filling in his empty spaces. He wanted all of her thoughts, her words, her facial expressions, every one of them directed at him. How dare some aristocrat claim a single part of her and ignore the rest?

But he was not the gallant knight riding in to save the damsel in distress. She intended to marry this faceless lord who had all the power and privilege Will lacked. Adelaide had chosen her path, one that would bring her satisfaction, and telling her how he felt would only get in her way.

“Tell me, Mrs. Shipley,” their hostess said, and Will’s heart kicked at the name. “How did you and your husband meet?”

She shot him a shy glance from beneath her flaxen lashes. “He rescued me when my horse threw a shoe. I knew immediately that he was special.”

His breathing had become more urgent now, completely unrelated to the wheezing he’d experienced earlier. Was she telling the truth, or was she covering for her lie?

“Oh, are you a farrier, Mr. Shipley?”

Will smothered a sneeze and reached for his napkin, only to find Mr. Clawlins had claimed it for a pillow. “A blacksmith, ma’am.”

“Gracious.” Mrs. Ludgate beamed and gave a conspiratorial lean towards him. “You must be quite talented to win the affection of a lady like this. Was her father amenable to your match, or did you have to steal away to wed?”

Adelaide pulled in a breath, but Will spoke first. “He did not approve.”

Adelaide’s gaze burned his profile, but he ignored it. She might be comfortable lying to an old lady, but he wouldn’t pretend her father would sanction their union. A talented blacksmith? Will hadn’t even started his apprenticeship, one that most likely would amount to nothing. He’d never be able to provide the privileged life to which Adelaide was accustomed, and before long, she’d resent him for it.

He would resent himself first.

Mrs. Ludgate, oblivious to his whirling thoughts, speared a piece of her fish and fed it to the feline Mr. Darcy, who paused in licking his own arse on the table to eat it. “Well, then it must have been love at first sight.”

“I stopped believing in love at first sight during my first season.” Her lovely pale throat worked for a minute, and when Adelaide spoke again, her voice scraped at his heart. “If such a thing existed, it belonged to princesses from fairy tales, the ones who did everything right, who stood out in the right way. Not girls like me.”

Will dug his fingertips into his thighs to resist reaching out for her, to fight the urge to find every single person who ever made Adelaide feel like she was too much, or too little, when she was wholly and utterly perfect.

Perhaps not perfect for them, because they were fools. She was perfect for him . If only he could have her.

“But with Will,” she continued, and he forced himself to exhale slowly, to control his reaction. “With him, I never felt out of place. He made my mind calm.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Ludgate said with a tsk . “True love should make your mind race , not be calm.”

Adelaide chuckled, dropped her chin. “My mind races enough as it is, always trying to find the right way to be. With him, I could simply… be.”

Will’s chest ached, like his heart was going to push itself free and toss itself into her bare hands. He pushed himself to standing, and Henry Clawlins released his ankle with a perturbed growl. “Pardon me,” he rasped. “I—I need a moment.”

As he launched out of the dining room, past the labyrinth of frail furniture and so many blasted cats, his lungs strained for air. Was he considering tossing his plans aside for a woman he barely knew? A woman who might find him suitable for a tryst never a husband? The life of a country blacksmith’s wife wouldn’t satisfy her brilliant mind, and knowing she was unfulfilled would destroy him.

“Will!”

Contradictory wishes battled in his head, in his heart , and he compelled himself to keep going, through the parlor and out the front door, into the thick night air that struck him like a mallet to the chest.

“Will!” Adelaide’s voice cracked, and he turned, unable to stomach hearing her in distress, let alone any related to his petulance. The light from the house cast a corona around her pale hair, sanctifying her but casting her face in shadows, like she was an angel sent to redeem or destroy him. Perhaps both.

“Did you mean what you said?” His question shocked both of them, and she froze, leaving several feet between them. He ached to cross the distance, to surround her and let her soothe him, but he couldn’t, not without knowing.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw how her brows furrowed, tension spiking through her muscles as though she feared an attack. “What part? I say a lot of things.”

“About us.” He swallowed, the lump in his throat close to choking him. “About me.”

Her recoil was so miniscule he might have missed it if he blinked, would not have seen the armor slide into place as she played back what she’d said. “I was just pretending. I know I’m not your wife, of course I’m not—”

“Because you’re getting married.”

The words fell like a curtain between them, the air heavy with far more than humidity. “Because I’m getting married,” she echoed, all inflection gone from her voice.

Familiar weight settled on his shoulders, the sense of rightness and completion drifting away and leaving in its wake forlorn acquiescence. He’d let himself start to hope, and hope only led to disappointment. He should know better by now, shouldn’t he?

“I’m sleeping in the stable tonight, keep an eye on Phyllis.” He tried to shield himself from noticing how her lip trembled. Damn that perfect, lovely lip. “I can’t sleep with the sneezing.”

She pulled in a shuddering breath. “Please don’t be angry. I was only having a bit of fun—“

“This isn’t fun,” he barked, the last thread of his self-control snapping. How could she string him along, speak such beautiful words about him, then break his heart by calling it fun? “I put my life on hold for you, and you’re making a joke of it. It’s too much, Adelaide.”

He saw the phrase too much strike her in the center of her chest. He might as well have taken a bullet for the tearing behind his ribs. But he was a coward. God, it hurt to realize, but he wasn’t strong enough to be refused by her, to survive giving her yet another piece of his soul, only to have it torn away when she married someone else.

In that moment, for the first time in his twenty-eight years on earth, he was ashamed of himself.

“Of course.” Her voice caught, and a knot formed in his throat after hearing it. “I’m sorry for bothering you. We’ll leave early morning, then?”

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but she’d already whipped around and rushed into the inn once more, leaving him alone with only a donkey and his regrets for company.