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.Some men swore her younger sister outshone her.In his opinion, no.Thrale bowed.“Madam.”One could count on Mrs.Wilcott to take command of a conversation and strip it of any particle of interest.He did not doubt that she would do so now.And, indeed, she began with a sugary smile and empty eyes.It was a talent she’d honed to deadly sharpness.She pressed her back to the door, that vacuous smile in place.Her wasted intellect was one of the great tragedies of the age.If it was true.If not, then this was farce, and he did not care to be the butt of her joke.“Oh, it’s you,” she said.“I expected Captain Niall to be joining me.Not you.”“I’m sure he’s on his way.” And yes, she was smiling, and he fancied her smile was rather what it would be like if Aphrodite came to life and deigned to notice a mortal man.Men lost their souls over a smile like that.He was not immune.“No doubt.”“Yes.” The word was clipped, and—could it be so? Her smile turned brittle, on the brink of shattering, and that was alarming to see her crumbling.She pressed her mouth closed as if she did not trust herself to speak.But then she did, and the words flowed.Empty of meaning.Stripped, even, of any fluctuation in emotion.She swallowed hard.Just the once.“Only a moment’s delay, my lord.”“I am content to wait.”“Yes.” Her smile was nothing but treacle.“You must be content to wait.”He watched with alarm as she blinked several times and drew a long slow breath.The silence went on and on, with her saying nothing.Not about the weather nor any inquiry about his health, nor a recitation of her most excellent breakfast, wasn’t Sinclair’s cook a genius in the kitchen? Which whoever held the position most assuredly was not.Thrale coughed once.If this were her sister, Anne, they’d be discussing politics.If it were Mary, Lady Aldreth, he’d be having an insightful exchange about estate management.With the youngest, Miss Sinclair, God only knew.Something outrageous.He had no notion what to do with Mrs.Wilcott.They had nothing in common.“Your sister is well, I hope?”At last, her expression smoothed out, and thank God, all was as it should be.“Very well, thank you.I shall tell her you’ve asked after her.”But no.All was not as it should be.The woman looked as if she were drowning on the inside.He told himself that was nonsense, that impression of his.Mrs.Wilcott had no great passion in her.“And you, ma’am?”She lifted her chin.“Quite well, my lord.”Silence fell again.He had no friendship with her as he did with her sisters.No claim to her affection, nor had she any claim to his.And so he stood by his chair, mute until the quiet reminded him of the reason one gave meaningless responses to meaningless statements.Such words prevented awkwardness like this.And so, he could not fault her for empty conversation, though why, if she had lost her capacity for inanity, she did not take her leave was beyond him.Could the blasted woman not move away from the door?Against every inclination, he said, “Is aught well?”She let out a breath and stared at the floor.Head bowed.And then, God save him, she made a motion suggestive of a surreptitious attempt to wipe away a tear.He considered allowing them to march their separate, solitary paths.But not even he was proof against tears she did not wish him to see.Her fingers swiped her cheeks again.No.Not this.Not pity.He refused.Her mouth quivered, and her eyes were too bright.“Yes of course.” She laughed, and the sound was a perfect imitation of nothing.“I am quite well.Thank you so much for asking.”She examined the skirt of her gown, smoothing the drape, realigning the ends of the ribbon tied beneath her bosom.His way out of this damnable situation was clear.Bow and take his leave.She’d have to stop blocking his way to the door, then.As simple as that.Doubtless she’d be as glad to be quit of him as he would be to leave her here.Except, one single drop glittered on the sooty black of her lower lashes.He watched, helpless, as it slid down her cheek.She brushed it away as she had the others.Too late for either of them to deny it.He hadn’t a reputation as a man of warmth, but he was not cold enough to leave a woman in so unhappy a state.She was a lady, and, more, the relative of men he considered friends.Besides, Anne would never forgive him if he left this room knowing her sister’s despair and having done nothing for her.One had a duty to one’s friends.“Mrs.Wilcott.”She spread her arms.“My lord.As you can see, I am well.”“Yes.” He filled that word with full doubt.She blinked, and more tears balanced on her lower lashes.Save him.Please God, save him from the lurch in his chest at the sight of this woman valiantly battling for control.“Shall I call someone? Your sister? Your maid, perhaps?”“No.” And now, she was fascinated by the floor.Her refusal to acknowledge her tears struck like an arrow to his heart.He did not want to feel sorry for her, to have his emotions knot up like this.“Ma’am.”She turned her head, and the world tilted on its axis.Awareness shone from her eyes.Intelligence blazed there, fierce.So fierce.A woman he could have fallen madly in love with stared at him, and there were still tears.More of those bloody damned tears.“You need not pretend,” she said [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]