His softly asked question made her turn once again to face him. “I…get a sense that I understand you somehow. I’ve noticed before your apparent uneasiness when you move amongst society.”
“You have?” Hartwell sounded shocked.
“Indeed, I have.” She nodded her affirmation. “And I don’t believe the rumors, Camden.” A thrill shot up her spine at saying his name. “I don’t think you’re cold or arrogant or rude. I certainly don’t think you have a black ‘Hart,’ as I’ve heard whispered about you more than once.”
“What do you think of me then?”
“I believe you’re intelligent. Modest. Perhaps…perhaps you’re shy.”
“Shy.” He chuckled and his cheeks turned that ruddy color yet again. “That is one way of putting it.”
She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. How was she ever to figure him out if he didn’t reveal any of his secrets? Not even a hint? “Maybe you could enlighten me as to your ailment.”
“Another fine choice of words on your part, my lady.” He shook his head with a slight frown. “You don’t want to know.”
“I am dying to know.”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Perhaps you’ll be more inclined to reveal your little secret to me later.” She smiled, pretending his exclusion didn’t bother her, but it hurt. Of course, he didn’t know her and she didn’t really know him. Why should he feel comfortable enough to share his mysterious affliction or whatever it was that impeded him?
She’d earn his trust. They would grow closer. And soon…soon, Hartwell would reveal all of his secrets to her.
Daphne just knew it.
Chapter Six
The widow was brazen, Hartwell would give her that. She appeared to have no qualms whatsoever in having a bachelor dine with her alone. His carriage was parked out in front of her brother’s townhouse for all of London to see. And he was sure at least some of society would know—though they might believe he was dining with Huxley tonight. Of course, the servants would talk amongst themselves and soon the rumors would spread.
He abhorred gossip. How he hated being the subject of illicit whispers and outrageous rumors. He tried his best to live a quiet life. He kept to himself and moved amongst society almost like a shadow. Much to his dismay, that seemed to draw him even more attention.
Perhaps he should take a cue from the lovely widow sitting across the table and act as bold as he pleased. It might do him some good.
He’d need her by his side, though. When he spoke with her, his stutter disappeared. He seemed to gain a confidence he never had in private. Let alone in public. The women he’d been with in the past weren’t titled, respectable ladies. Women he hired to be with him for the night most of the time, they were the only ones he believed could tolerate him.
In other words, he’d sold himself short. Just as his father had taught him to do.
Frowning, he set his silverware across his plate. He’d hardly eaten. He could speak with Daphne about banal subjects, make polite conversation, but inside the nerves still clashed and warred with one another.
Lord help him, he was a fool. Perhaps it was a mistake that he came tonight. He wasn’t man enough for this lovely, chattering woman. Her turquoise eyes sparkled as she talked animatedly, her delicate hands gesturing and fluttering like wild little birds. She was amusing and witty. She would make any man proud to call her his wife.
His heart panged and his frown deepened. She claimed she found him interesting and wanted to help him, whatever that meant. She most likely thought of him as a novelty.
“Is something wrong with your food?” Hartwell glanced up to find her studying him, her expression somber. “You barely touched it.”
“I find I’m not very hungry.” He leaned back in his chair, thought about bolting but didn’t want to appear too rude.
“Oh, well that’s a shame.” She frowned. Plucking the napkin from her lap, she set it to the side of her plate. “I’m not hungry any longer either.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Yes, I do. My guest has quit eating and so shall I.” She gave a subtle wave of her hand and the lone maid in the room rushed toward the table, gathering their plates and piling them high in her arms before she exited.
They were completely alone. Not even a servant to keep watch. And to his amazement, Lady Pomeroy rose from her chair, making her away around the table so that she stood next to him, so close he could smell her delectable scent, could hear the gentle gusts of her breaths. He looked up at her silently.
“I have offended you.” Her voice was low, her gaze directed solely upon his face. It was rather disconcerting, her focus. “I’m not sure how but I can only offer my apologies.”
She was far too aware for her own good. How she could read him so well, he hadn’t a clue.