The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Thirty Four

"I hope your dainty limbs were not crushed beneath me?" he teased as he guided her to the refreshments table. The games had been taxing on them all and he had been officially declared as the loser of the day.

It had been a long while since he was able to unburden himself from politics and the watchful gaze of the ton merely for being the Marquess—a title he did not even rightfully have as he was not the true heir of the Duke.

"I thought my limbs were comparable to that of your mares?"

"Ah, forgive me, it seems I have underestimated the truthfulness of your strength."

"Do not be silly, Richard." She sipped at her drink. "It would appear that things did not go the way Lady Margaret had hoped."

"Thank God it did not," he said after glancing over to see the woman with her arms crossed, complaining to her mother. "I did not kiss her, did I?"

"Her forehead, yes, though she would have enjoyed it elsewhere."

Richard shuddered. Whether or not it was a game was beside the point, he did not want to think about touching lips with a woman he had no interest in.

"Pray tell, did I manage to kiss you, my dear lady?" he asked, grinning though it did not reach his eyes. His lips twitched. Flirting with Eliza always came easy to him, like second nature, but he noted that his head throbbed with the anticipation of her answer—that answer being no. When they had fallen, it was amusing, of course, but everyone had gasped and some women giggled, as if they expected something else.

Perhaps a kiss? Because yes, they were engaged but Richard wanted nothing more than to get them both up from the floor when that happened, not to lean in and kiss her.

Why? he thought, but he had no answer himself. He took a large swig of the lemonade, wincing at the sourness of it. There was not enough sugar to counterbalance the dratted drink.

"Did you hear me, Richard?" Apparently Eliza was speaking. He blinked with a start.

"What was that, my dear?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "You have been acting strange," she whispered. "You don't pay attention to me, you barely call on me and when I have, you dismiss me."

During the chaos with Weston and Devonport, he realised. She had called on him but he didn't think it was the right time to speak with her of their postponed wedding—and to un-postpone it. They could very well announce it once again though that invited the rumours of the ton, so he was reluctant.

His chest tightened at the thought as he pushed his hair back away from his forehead. "I have been busy dealing with something," he said, vaguely. The words that left him were dry and he regretted it the moment hurt flashed across her face.

"We used to tell each other everything. Now you do not trust me enough?" There was urgency in those words. "What were you so busy dealing with that you cannot even share it with me?"

In other circumstances, he would tell her but the less people knew of the Devonport-Harriet affair, the better. And now that Weston had accepted the proposal, it was only fair to carry the plan that Miss Price had offered. The truth, however, was harder to swallow.

There was the freedom that being away from his fiancee, whom he had spent so much time with since he was a child learning to walk, had given him. Guilt consumed him when it dawned on him that he had not even thought of her much since he had postponed the wedding.

The situation with Weston consumed much of my time, he told himself.

"It is nothing of significance," he said, patting her arm. "I do not wish to burden you with issues that I am capable of dealing with."