Page 58 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

He smiled again and looked skyward. “Mrs. Foulger does not worry about us.”

Aurelia blinked. “You don’t think?”

“She worries about many things, but not about us.”

He stopped a few paces away, not close enough to touch her yet, but close enough that she was aware of the lack of distance between them.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he said.

“Well then, by all means, Your Grace, speak.”

He didn't say anything at first, looking at her with narrowed eyes. She waited as patiently as she could. Her body was doing that strange thing it did when he was near, tingling all over like she was experiencing the world for the first time. The wind moved through the grass and wildflowers at the edge of the wall. Somewhere in the fields below a crow cawed and then went quiet again. The waiting was considerably harder than usual, for reasons she didn’t entirely want to account for.

Finally, he closed the distance between them, a foot perhaps at that point. Her breath felt trapped somewhere behind her nose. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. The look was quick enough that she might have imagined it. But she had not imagined it.

“Yesterday,” he began, clearing his throat. “In the garden, when I came back from the ride…”

“Yes?”

“I saw Frederick take your hand.”

Her face grew hot suddenly, even if she didn’t understand why. “I know you did,” she replied.

“I was made jealous by the sight,” he said without decoration or emphasis, as though that made the words easier to deliver. “I am aware that was not rational. And I am aware of what the context was. I was jealous, regardless. And I needed to tell you.”

Aurelia looked at him, confused but enraptured by his confession. He had never spoken so candidly before about his feelings. “What did you have to be jealous about? The moment was entirely innocent.”

“Yes, and yet I was jealous.”

“Of Frederick?”

“Of the hand in yours, I suppose.”

Her stomach tightened. “I don't understand why.”

“Oh, but I think you do.”

“I really…” here she choked a little. He had stepped closer and blotted out the sun. “I really don't. You have touched me and held me more than that. Your brother meant nothing by the gesture but to apologise.”

“Did I ask you to defend the moment to me?” A dark cloud passed over his face, and she feared he was going to retreat again. “I am only telling you that which is difficult for me to say. The rest must be unimportant. I did not like what I saw because it made me jealous. I have never been jealous. It is a vain and useless emotion. So this has surprised me.”

“Jealousy is maddening is what it is,” she said under her breath. She knew all about jealousy. She was jealous about all the time he spent away, every time his attention was not on her. Now that was irrational.

“Yes, well. I know that now,” he admitted quietly.

“But this is also maddening to me,” she said, scowling. “You can't be jealous and also keep leaving. Those two things can't both be true at the same time. It's not fair to me, or to you, if that’s the case. You can’t apologise for holding me, and then not do it, and then envy your brother for taking my hand.”

“I told you it was not rational.” He looked at the view for a moment. “I don't have an explanation to offer you. And I'm not trying to devise one now. I am telling you because I thought you should know, and because not telling you felt worse than telling you.”

She was more disoriented than before she had embarked on the walk. The warmth of the afternoon was too oppressive suddenly, and the view behind him was too green and bright, and the situation was, she thought, completely absurd in the way that only things between them managed to be. He had been courageous enough to come after her, and to admit to this jealousy, even if it only made things worse. So she slipped off the wall and walked toward him, intent on…

Well, she wasn’t really sure what she intended to do, or say, if only to offer him some validation, that he made her jealous too.

“Evander,” she began.

“Yes?” His voice was soft and far away.

“Are you going to tell me–”