Page 37 of Appointment in Bath

The distance between them grew by the second.

If he left things too long, all would be lost. She was already retreating from him. Not physically—not yet—but in every other way that mattered. He’d realized last night how little he wanted to lose her.

“What did you wish to speak to m-me about?” she asked at last.

Ivo didn’t waste time with prevarication. “It did occur to me that I might use you to advance my interests with your father,” he admitted. “But not when first we met. That day under the bridge, when I suggested we be friends—that was genuine.”

She folded her arms. The velvet-trimmed brown wool of her winter riding habit pulled tight across her shoulders. “How c-could it have been? Our families d-despise each other.”

“I’m my own man, Meg. My family commands my loyalty, but not blindly. What happened between our parents went on a quarter of a century ago. It had nothing to do with either of us.”

“That m-may be so. It still d-doesn’t explain why you’d ever wish to be my friend. Indeed, I d-don’t believe you did. Not in earnest.”

A gust of ice-cold December air whipped through the trees, rustling Ivo’s hair. Down the bank, Snap stamped his hooves and shook his head. When the wind was up, he’d rather be galloping, not tied to a tree while his master made a bumbling apology to a young lady.

Ivo forged on, ignoring the weather. He was determined to make things right, even if he must swallow pride. “Because you don’t see yourself as I do. You’re too caught up in worrying over your stammer and your other imagined shortcomings. It’s distracted you from noticing what anyone else can perceive quite plainly.”

She stared at him with equal parts hurt and indignation. “And what is th-that, pray?”

“You’re stunning,” he said bluntly.

She blinked. It was the only indication that his assessment had surprised her. That, and the shadow of vulnerability that crept into her gaze.

“And you’re kind,” he added. “The way you handle that fractious mare with so much gentleness and devotion? The way you smiled when we crossed the bridge together? The way you held my hand? Any gentleman would be honored to have five minutes of your time. That’s all I wanted.”

Doubt etched Meg’s brow. But she didn’t stop him.

He was emboldened to continue. “Perhaps I was curious, as well. I’ve wondered about you over the years. About what it was like to live up at the Hall, with only your father and the servants for company. As a boy, I daresay I made you into a bit of a fairytale.”

She bent her head, brow still drawn. Her voice fell quiet, confessing, “We’re b-both guilty in that regard.”

He smiled slightly. “Don’t say you’ve been idealizing me?”

She glanced up at him through her lashes with a flicker of ruefulness. “I read too m-many stories about King Arthur.”

Ivo made an exaggerated wince. “Good God. You haven’t imagined me that philanderer?”

Color rose in her cheeks. “No. N-Not him.” She didn’t volunteer who it had been.

Ivo supposed it must be one of the treacly, romantic characters. Lancelot or Galahad, very likely. But he didn’t tease her on the subject. This was no time for levity. They hadn’t yet settled things between them.

“That just proves it,” he said. “We’ve been aware of each for a long while. The day we met, it was only natural I should be interested in you.”

“As a c-curiosity.”

“No,” he said. “As a young lady.”

This time when she glanced up at him, their gazes locked and held.

He looked at her steadily. “I did want to be your friend, Meg. I still do.”

Her bosom swelled on a deeply indrawn breath. “I’d like t-to believe you, Mr. Beresford—”

“Ivo.”

“Ivo.” Her blush deepened. “But you admit you wanted m-my father’s help, too.”

“The two needn’t be contradictory.”