Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Something inside of Weston’s chest threatened to cave the moment that Lydia walked away from him again. A sinking feeling that the past was somehow repeating itself. It was like a flashback that was overlaid on top of the present happenings.

He could envision her running away, chasing some voice that he had not been able to hear. All of those years ago, he had been wholly helpless to assist her. When he had come to his senses, he had chased after. He had spent the entire rest of the masquerade ball searching for her, but she had been nowhere to be found.

It did not matter that they were staying in the same home, or that he knew when she returned to that home that he was going to be in the same carriage as her. There was some part of him that just could not stomach the idea that he was going to be left behind by her again. His feet trailed after her, heading toward the ghost of her. There was no other option.

Weston followed her into a small library. He shut the door softly behind him. He could hear the soft sounds of her distressed breathing as if she were attempting to muffle the sound with her hands. The smell of books and incense was alluring, drawing him in further into the library in search of her. There was no way to know if she would be receptive to his attention or not, but he had to try.

He found her in a small opening toward the back of the room. Moonlight filtered in from the large window in the center of the room, and she paced to the left where there was a small seating area with a few circular tables.

A pretty arrangement with flowers and candles was unlit in the center of the largest table, which she carefully avoided as she walked from one side of the clearing to the other. Her hands were clasped to her chest, worrying at one another.

When she noticed him, Lydia looked up at him for only a fleeting moment. At least she did not tell him to instantly leave her alone. That had to be a good sign, at least he hoped that it was. Tentatively, he took a half step closer to her. The urge to touch her was nearly overwhelming but he could not bridge the gap, because he did not know if it would set her off or not.

“Lydia… are you all right?” Weston asked hesitantly. He was worried that somehow, he would say the wrong thing, or that speaking would spook her. He could not stand the thought of her running from him. It ached in his chest.

At first, she nodded her head in an almost frantic manner. Then, after a beat of silence she reconsidered. She shook her head that no, she was not all right. “I feel strange, and I am unaccustomed…”

She paused, inhaling sharply and stopping the pacing back and forth that was making him dizzy.

“I feel torn, if I am to be perfectly honest. The two parts of me have always been kept so very separated, but now, things are blending, and I am not certain how to move forward. It is… overwhelming,” Lydia said with a tight, uncomfortable smile.

“If I was too forward with you, my lady, I do apologize, it was not my intent…” Weston started, unsure where else to begin.

“That is not what I mean, Your Grace. It is not something that is being forced upon me.” She sighed and took a seat on the arm of the closest chair. “I am the issue here, Your Grace. Not anything that you have done or any inaction that you have. I should know how to compose myself properly, I am a grown woman.”

Weston’s brow furrowed. “I do not follow your meaning.”

“Your forwardness is not the issue, Your Grace, because I feel the same desire that you do. The sensation is so strong that it nearly overwhelms me.” Lydia pressed her hand into her chest, as if she could externally push the feelings deep down inside of herself. “I am not sorry, and I know that a proper woman ought to be. I desire you, Your Grace, and I do not know if it is right.”

She gestured to the gown that she wore. Something tightened in Weston’s chest.

“We are here, in his home… and you are his cousin. I know that the pair of you were not necessarily close with one another in your youth, but is it not a betrayal to his memory to even consider something else so quickly after his death?” Lydia asked, her voice tapering off to a whisper the longer that she spoke.

Weston dipped his chin in understanding. Naturally, she would not wish to be disloyal to the memory of her husband. Was she right? Should he not feel some sort of inherent guilt for stepping so boldly toward his cousin’s widow?

He could see the pain in her eyes, Lydia was being pulled in two different directions. It was highly unlikely that he was helping matters. He wished that he could tell her that emotions are normal in a way that would make her believe him.

Would that make things better, or was his own selfishness justifying his desires?

Weston took a hesitant step closer to her and lowered himself down onto one knee. He knew that he had her complete and utter focus on his every movement. He could not turn that emotion away, or the feelings that he had for her. He would not apologize for attempting to pursue what he has spent so many years chasing after.

Touching her when she was so fragile was inappropriate. He knew that he could push the issue, that she would be receptive to seduction tactics in her vulnerable state, but he respected her too much for it. His hand lifted, so sorely did he crave her touch and the pain of not allowing it was difficult.

They were alone together so infrequently over the last week. He could see the flush of desire on the apples of her cheeks and the way her eyes were pleading with him to bridge the gap. He could go and lock the door and have her right here on this table, against the wall or the stacks. If that was his only target, then perhaps he could.

If he only desired closure from that one moment so long ago, he could have it. She would not tell him no, but he wanted so much more than that—no, he needed much more than that. He would not do anything that was not asked of him, he could not risk it. Not until she asked.

“There is no rush, my lady.” Weston said, daring to take her hand in his own. He brushed his thumb over the back of her gloved hand softly. “We have the gift of time. So many years might have been stolen from us for reasons out of our control, but we have all of the years in front of us now.”

He did not know what he expected her to say, but the silence somehow felt fitting. She did not pull her hand from his own, and she did not further the gesture. He could only hope that she truly heard and accepted his words for the offer that they were.

He could learn patience for her, there was no one more worthy of it than the woman in front of him. She has spent so many years of her life living for everybody around her, it would take time for her to learn what she truly wished. It would also take that same time for him to learn how to be the sort of man who deserved such a person.

“Shall I escort you back to the ballroom, perhaps?” Weston offered, rising back to his full height and offering her his arm. He did not realize how anxious he felt about such an offer until she eased his worries and took his arm. Though, Weston was sure to take his leisurely time to head back into the ballroom.

It seemed that their absence was only minorly noted. It was a blessing as they started to move back into the room. Weston got her a glass of wine and offered it to her, which she accepted easily. Steadying her nerves would only help. Plus, it was an added excuse to keep her close to him. How strange it was that he could simply just enjoy standing next to her in this way.

Though, the peace that he was enjoying was ruined the moment that he heard the very last voice that he would have ever wished to hear in such a setting. Lydia’s arm tightened around his, the wine glass paused halfway up to her lips. Her gaze was locked on somebody halfway across the dance floor, and Weston followed her gaze over to where Cassian stood in what he likely thought was his Sunday best.

The clothes that he wore must have been stolen from somebody, as they did not fit him properly, pulling tight in the wrong places and hanging loose in the others. He wore a large, greasy smile as he spoke loudly to any member of the ton that would stand still long enough to be pulled into whatever story he was choosing to tell.

“What is he up to now?” Weston hissed mainly under his breath. He had not told Lydia what Cassian planned, nor the demands that he was placing upon him.

Something sour was twisting in his stomach, a gnawing sense of dread. If Cassian changed his mind and decided to ruin Kitty and Lydia? He had more than enough audience to do so. Even if his claims were wholly baseless, it would still spark rumors that would be hard to dissuade. Their family is still coping with such a fragile circumstance.

There would come a time where he was going to need to ask Lydia about the accusations that Cassian had leveled against her. But that time had not yet come. Or had it? If this was how Cassian was going to behave, he was going to have no choice but to tell Lydia about the blackmail attempt.