He cocked his head, ponderingly. At last, a large smile bloomed. “Then I think I would enjoy kissing you.”
There was no stopping my heart from galloping out of my chest. I looked between his eyes, unsure whether or not he was in earnest, or if he said such a thing to continue my flirting lessons. I dared not hope the former—but that did not stop my foolish heart.
Then, adding in a quiet voice William said, “And though all women are the same . . . you would taste a lot different than the other girls, I think.”
I couldn’t bring myself to wonder why William would say such a shocking thing—or the startling implications if indeed it were true. But I held my breath, blind hope compelling me to continue. “And what if I refused you?”
A roguish smirk flashed. “Then I would like to kiss you anyway.”
But a few moments after he said the words, William’s smile trickled off and he got a funny look on his face—as if he were uncomfortable with the lingering echoes of that one sentence. He looked down, cleared his throat, and moved away from the fire, turning his back to me. “What an oddly specific question, Eliza. I do marvel at your mind sometimes.”
Though I was standing near a blazing fire, I felt the loss of William’s radiating heat when he left. He fingered the spine of a book, pulled it from the shelf, and fiddled with its pages—only to snap it shut and return it to its place two seconds later. He strolled to the window, craning his neck to look outside in an interested way. But it seemed to me his actions were forced—a distraction from something he wished to hide from me. Or hide from himself.
“Allerton visited me the other day.”
William didn’t look over. “Did he?”
Yes, something was off. It was in the way he didn’t look at me that I knew he was trying to distract himself from something. And that he was failing.
“Are you not curious as to what he wanted?” I asked.
“You know, I cannot understand it.” Face reflected in the window, I saw William’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I’ve noticed a strange difference in the man when he is around you. Always shy and reserved. And yet, at White’s the other day he was loud, boastful, and arrogant. If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is a man whose actions contradict.”
A more ironic sentence had never been uttered.
Matthew had called Allerton arrogant as well. I wanted to defend Allerton—for had not William said something similar about me? About only being reserved among strangers? The duke must only be comfortable around those he knew.
But, the opportunity to delve into William’s secret depths was an itch I couldn’t resist scratching.
“You of all people shouldn’t be annoyed at such a thing.”
“Why ‘me of all people’?” He turned from the window with a confused—almost irritated—expression.
I bit my lip, stepping away from the stone hearth and onto the creaking wooden planks of the inn. Tracing patterns on the back of the blue sofa, I said quietly, “William, there is nothing about you which is not a contradiction. You act as if you are madly in love with every woman you pass, and then do not commit to them. You teach me to flirt while simultaneously accusing me of playing with a man’s heart. You read everyone else like they are open books, and yet refuse to be read yourself—say we are dear friends, but refuse to let me into your trust. I hardly ever know what you think, and rarely do you offer it.”
William looked at me curiously, as if this was the first time he’d ever considered this. Then, at last, his low words were, “. . . You could ask me.”
I stared at him dumbly. “What?”
“If you want to know what I’m thinking, you could ask me. Why have you never asked me?”
I opened my mouth but faltered. Of course I had. Hadn’t I? Thinking back, I could recall several instances where I had wanted to . . . but no, none where I had actually dared.
And as I thought a moment, I realized it was because I couldn’t bear the thought of him lying to me as he did to every other woman. I didn’t want to hear that dulcet tone of his murmuring the things he knew I wanted to hear; I wanted the truth. And if he wasn’t going to offer it, then I’d rather hear nothing at all. “Would you tell me the truth, if I did?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation, which surprised me. “I am wary of others and their motives—I would hide my true feelings from them. But you, Eliza. I would tell you anything.”
His face was so sincere, I couldn’t help but believe him. There was a long pause, where I searched for the right words. “Then . . . perhaps I fear what you would say.” I thought a moment longer before adding silently, Or what you wouldn’t.
The room was darker now—at that eerie stage where it wasn’t light enough to see well, but not dark enough to light candles either. There was something hushed about this moment, as it filled itself with promises, and unbreakable bonds, even though no words were spoken.
The rain layered the street out front in a colorful, reflective sheet of water. William’s head pressed against the glass, watching heaven plop her early spring tears on the window. For once, he was completely unmasked, completely undone. His gaze held the most wistful, longing expression as he watched the world drown.
“You’re thinking of Lily again, aren’t you?” I whispered.
He didn’t throw his defenses up like I expected him to. He didn’t even blink. “What do you mean ‘again’?” His quiet tone matched mine. He didn’t ask me how I knew.
“I know you didn’t part in the best way. It’s been three years. Did you ever . . . Did you ever talk to her again?”
Adam’s apple bobbing, he shook his head against the glass.
I took three heaping, silent breaths before I collected the courage to ask my next question, dreading his answer. “. . . Do you still love her?”
“No.” The word was so soft, I had to strain to hear it, but there had been no uncertainty. “I do not.” His lips folded into a narrow line. “But I cannot forgive her—and in that way I do still think of her.”
“Can’t forgive her? For turning you down?”
“No, for . . .” He lifted his head from the window, sighing low and heavy. “For waking up a part of me that will never go back to sleep.” His chin set and his eyes sparked—but there was no anger on his face, only a profound sorrow. “It cannot.”
His gaze returned to the window, but before it did, I glimpsed a soul-crushing sadness in his eyes. The sadness he covered with his smile and charming manners—the sadness he hid from me, while trying to protect me from society and all its atrocities. And in his reflection, when he thought I could not see, I saw something else in his eyes.
It was the look of someone totally and utterly lost.
He was plagued with regret and grief, and he was trying so desperately hard to bear it all alone. William had no one. No family. No true friends.
Except me.
I walked forward until I stood in front of the window too. The blood rushed out of my extremities, leaving me chilled and nervous—but I had to do it. I had to tell him I loved him. Perhaps less because I needed to confess, and more because he needed to hear it.
Before my bravery fled, I reached out and took one of his hands in mine. It was warm and soft and smooth. He looked at our interlocked fingers, then up at me, beholding me like a child would his mother when he needed guidance.
“William,” I whispered. “You are waiting for a big change to happen in your life. But the truth of it is, it doesn’t work that way. Big changes do not simply come about because you wish them to. It is the little things that make the difference.”
His lips parted and I saw his breath catch.
“It is the swimming in a sunny pond, and making snow angels in the park, and showing a young girl the beauty of the stars. Those are the kinds of things that matter in this life. The little smiles, the little joys, the little choices we make that chart our course. If you want a big change, then you must first change the little things. And if you cannot go bac
k to sleep . . .” I lifted my other hand to his face, feeling the tiny scrapes of his stubble under my palm. “ . . . then you must find the happiness in being awake.”
So subtly I might’ve imagined it, his face leaned into my touch. His eyelids fluttered closed, then open again. “How?”
“You cannot simply want it,” I said softly. “You must choose it.”
Eyebrows furrowing, he looked at me as if he were seeing me for the very, very first time. Unnerved, I dropped both my hands where they shivered at my side, wanting to pull him into an embrace and hold on forever. The energy built between us over a long, tense pause.
“The other night at the opera . . .” he said in a low tone, “. . . you were right. You are changed. You are not so little anymore.”
Ever so slightly, he shuffled forward once . . . twice . . . three times, until no more distance separated us and his clothes brushed mine. Blood pounded in my ears, my breaths shallowed. His knuckles swept my cheek as he looked between my eyes, gaze hard and confused.
“Eliza, there’s something . . . different about you.” The words were quiet, slow, and strung together—as if he were unaware of them slipping out. “Even now as I look at you, I get this strange . . . strange feeling. Almost as if . . .”
He never finished. At that moment, his eyes cleared—no longer confused or sad or lost. In a rush, they were full of complete understanding. And undeniable passion.
And slowly, his gaze shifted down.
He stared at my lips for an infinite moment, his words hanging in the air between us.
Then I would like to kiss you anyway. I would like to kiss you . . .
Time ground to a halt as he breathed. In. Out. Deciding what he wanted.
When at last he found his answer, his hand slid back to pull my neck forward, he bent his head, he closed his eyes, and his lips brushed mine in the softest touch.
And against his lips, I whispered, “I love you.”
Chapter 18
The kiss did not deepen, but neither did William immediately pull away. He tensed, and slowly, ever so slowly he pulled back, until I was able to see his face.
It was frozen in place for three heartbeats before a myriad of emotions flashed across it. Shock. Confusion. Fear.
So much fear.
His eyelashes fluttered and low breaths of air escaped through his mouth. “What did you say?” he breathed.
The rain continued to quietly pip-pop on the sill. I swallowed, suddenly unsure of myself, unprepared for this reaction.
“I said I—”
“This was a mistake.” He shook his head and dropped his hands, backing away. I watched him as he tried to rebuild the wall that had been torn down—tried to put on his mask again. Unsuccessfully. His eyes shone raw and pained.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. In my heart I had dreamed of this moment for so long, and every time, he had loved me in return. My mysterious suitor was supposed to sweep me into his arms and carry me off into a sunset, toward a little cottage by the sea or a castle or a palace.
His face was supposed to be full of joy, not full of resentment.
William’s eyes flashed. “Eliza, why would you say such a thing? No—do not answer me.” He rushed to say the last, raking a hand through his hair.
I bit my tongue, but oh, how I wanted to tell him.
Because you see my strengths. Because I can trust and confide in you. Because despite everything, you are always constant.
Because you make me laugh, even when I hate you for it.
“You are not thinking straight. It has been a long day, and you are tired.”
I stepped forward. “William—”
“Do not come closer!”
I fell back, a single tear escaping down my cheek with the movement.
His voice softened and he held up a hand. “Please. I cannot breathe when you are near me. Do not come closer. Not now.” He glanced at me from under his lashes, a green fire in his eyes he was frantically trying to douse.
He blinked at me like that for several moments before he swallowed and took another step back. As if being the same room with me was suffocating him. The moment was hushed again, but this time it wasn’t filled with promises—only broken hopes.
When the silence grew thick, he ran a hand through his hair again. “Your carriage should be ready by now,” he muttered at last. “Come down when you are ready.”
He stalked to the door, but paused when he grasped the handle. Without turning back to look at me, he said, “You should get some rest tonight. Clear your head. All will be forgotten in the morning, and I shall see you at Iris’s party.”
And then he left, leaving me alone in the dim room, clutching my heart and wishing I could go back.
I stamped the flow of emotion bubbling up to the surface as I slipped on my now-dry stockings followed by my shoes. I folded my dress and left the private sitting room, descended the stairs, and stepped outside.
A carriage stood in the lane adjacent to the inn. William sat atop his horse behind it. His hands fiddled with his reins. He didn’t look over, but it was obvious he knew I was there.
Stepping into the carriage, I had to shush the ache in my heart—an ache that felt as if someone had taken a knife and gouged it through, before seeing how small they could dice the organ up. The carriage spurted forward. My awareness stayed glued to the man riding ahead of the carriage on horse, oblivious to the ruin he left behind.
I couldn’t hold out any longer. I broke down into tears, chest flaring in agony.
He didn’t love me, and never had.
William had been taken aback by my confession, obviously fearing a change in our relationship, but had managed to brush it off with relative ease. He called me tired; confused. He swatted my feelings aside like they were little more than pestering flies, or like I was a child who didn’t know her own heart.
I had never been sure of William’s affections, but deep down, I had harbored a hope. A hope that had blossomed from years of laughter and poems and little adventures. It had grown into a beautiful flower, thriving, but fragile. It was a cruel thing of me to do—nurture that flower—for in a single moment William had crushed it under the heel of his boot, undermining years of tender care. And now I was the only one suffering for its loss, just as Mama had said.
Sobs continued to escape as reality sunk in.
The worst of it was that William didn’t love me. But not far behind trailed the realization that now our relationship was forever changed, as well as the wonderings of what I was supposed to do now. I needed a husband. And William would never fill that role.
Mama’s coughs echoed through the corridors of my mind.
There was the duke. If nothing else, I had the promise of a marriage to him.
I shook my head at the shame. When had I begun to think like this? To think of people as if they were playthings—a means to an end? It would be wrong of me to marry Allerton, for I was not in love with him.
And yet . . . would it be so wrong? He was well aware that my feelings resided elsewhere, and still wanted the union. Mama did too. Could such a thing be terrible if I were making so many people happy in the process?
And if not Allerton, then who? There was no hope for a future with William—the only one I actually wanted. The duke seemed genuine and I was fond of him. I could certainly do worse.
Half an hour later the carriage pulled in front of my townhouse—but William rode straight on, never looking back. I ascended the stairs to my quarters, locking myself inside.
I shall see you at Iris’s party, William had said. More tears flowed as inside I panicked.
How was I supposed to face him tomorrow after the humiliation I had just experienced? I could not plead an illness, for not only had I specially promised Lady Iris I would attend, but now I needed to dedicate every spare moment toward securing a husband. Nearly two months since I had come out—two months of Mama’s precious time. Wasted.
Even as the dread
seeped into my gut, I stanched my weeping and squared my shoulders. There was nothing else to be done. I’d simply have to avoid William whenever possible.
He would avoid me too. I was sure of it.
With a pasted-on smile I would go to Lady Iris’s, I would meet with any new gentleman Lady Prima sent my way, and I would find someone else to be my husband. I promised Mama I would move on, and so I would.
I would try.
Chapter 19
Laughter was the first thing that greeted me when I stepped over the threshold to Iris’s townhouse, alerting me to Lady Prima’s presence. Slipping out of my pelisse, I breathed a sigh of relief. Though Lady Prima was not the most astute, she was sure to be an ally. With her around, there would be more than enough conversation to be had, hopefully keeping me too preoccupied to allow my thoughts—or eyes—to wander.
As the butler led me up the stairs and down a hallway, I took stock of the lavish paintings, as well as the festive bouquets peppering the house. Pink and yellow flowers at this time of year were in short supply. Iris must have access to a hothouse, or she had spent a small fortune to have them shipped in for her birthday.
The butler led me into a parlor, where Lady Prima sat upon a chaise, fenced in by a wall of admirers. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of me. “Miss Wycliffe!”
One of the men surrounding Lady Prima I recognized—Mr. Quincy. He’d attended a house party at Ambleside one summer. Though I’d been only fifteen, I still remembered thinking him kind, and handsome in a soft sort of way.
A perfect candidate.
I opened my mouth to greet Lady Prima and Mr. Quincy, but stopped short when William emerged from behind a chair to my left. I hadn’t seen him there before. As usual, he looked devilishly handsome, hair styled to perfection, eyes sparkling in amusement. But unlike usual, my heart didn’t sigh at the sight. Instead it gave a painful twinge.
“Ah, Eliza,” he said, nearing with a grin. “We were all just debating, and perhaps you will be the tie-breaker: Do you think Lady Prima’s eyes more resemble an inkwell, or a chocolate tart?”
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 17