***
The bedrooms in the Red Lion, the best hostelry in Kingston Upon Thames, were cavernous. When Caroline hesitantly ventured through the door connecting her chamber with the one she’d asked Hunter to reserve for West, a blazing fire and a branch of candles on a carved chest provided inadequate light.
The dusky intimacy surprised her, although she supposed it promoted seduction. Again she regretted how unpracticed she was when it came to intrigue. She’d expected to find a bright room and a fully clothed West waiting with wine and a meal. The idea that he intended to tumble her into bed with no preliminaries shrank her faltering courage to almost nothing.
The room was quiet. Fleetingly, she wondered if West was even present, until her eyes fell on the clothing slung across a carved oak chair and the damp towel hanging from the washstand. The bed was massive to fit its surroundings, and while its curtains weren’t fully drawn, the shadows behind them were thick enough to hide an elephant.
In a way, she was grateful she couldn’t see Lord West. This would be hard enough without having to look into his eyes. She straightened like a soldier on parade and stared unblinking into the gloom.
“My lord, I’m so sorry. I’ve brought you here expecting…” She stilled the shaking hands twining at her waist. She might be a henwit, but she refused to play the nervous ninny as well. She steadied her voice. “West, I’ve changed my mind. I can’t blame you if you’re angry. I’ve led you on appallingly. I’ve disappointed myself, too. But I can’t…I can’t join you in that bed tonight.”
She waited for some response, but the room remained ominously silent. She licked her lips and plowed on, but now nothing kept the quaver from her voice. “I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I can’t explain, except to tell you that I spent my year of mourning imagining a lover just like you. That fantasy has carried me further along the path to surrender than I find I can countenance. I so wanted to be the sort of woman who embarks on a wild, passionate affair with a rake. But wanting to be someone and actually being someone are two radically different things, I’ve discovered. And despite all my bold talk, I’m not that woman.”
No answer yet. He must be fuming. She couldn’t blame him. She braced to make the final confession. The words she hated to say, even in her own mind. “I’m in love with someone else, you see. I don’t want that either, but I can’t seem to change it.”
Did the man in the bed move? It was too dark to be sure.
When he still didn’t respond, she pressed on doggedly. This encounter became even more awkward than she’d expected. And she’d expected agonies beyond description.
Her voice dwindled to a thread. “Because…because I’m in love with another man, it’s not right to give myself to a man I don’t love.”
There. She’d set out the humiliating truth. Surely he’d speak now.
Her hands curled in her crumpled yellow skirts. This was the dress she’d worn to the picnic, although she’d changed her half boots for satin slippers. The sheer silk nightgown she’d purchased six months ago for her descent into sin remained folded at the bottom of her valise. She doubted she’d ever wear it now.
The silence extended, became oppressive. The shadows flickering against the acres of coffered ceiling turned menacing. The wind rattled the windows—the beautiful day had turned into a chilly night. A horrid thought rose in Caroline’s mind.
Had West gone to sleep waiting for her? It wasn’t particularly late, but she’d loitered like a coward before coming in. The prospect of having to repeat her excruciating little speech made her queasy.
Hesitantly, she stepped toward the bed. “My lord, did you hear me?”
The mattress creaked as the man in the bed shifted again. With a rattle, he pushed the curtains back and sat up, placing his bare feet on the floor. He set his hands flat on his powerful thighs and turned his head in her direction. Somber hazel eyes studied her from across the room.
“Who are you in love with, Caro?”