The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘They look delicious.’ He shifted over, making room for her on the blanket as Georgie collected his rations and toddled happily away. ‘You’ll be having a lemon bun again, I suppose?’

‘Naturally.’ She sat down beside him.

‘And planning on taking an hour to eat it?’

‘I like to savour things.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’ He swayed slightly, bringing his head close to hers in a way that made her feel even warmer. ‘Aren’t you ever tempted to have something different?’

‘No.’ She sat very still, trying to ignore the tingling sensation of his breath on her cheek. ‘I know what I like.’

‘Then I admire your loyalty.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth before he sat back again, taking a big bite of his shortbread.

‘Mmm.’ He rolled his eyes appreciatively. ‘This is the best so far.’

She laughed aloud, glad to have a release for her confused emotions. His proximity was disturbing enough, but the way he’d just looked at her, as if she were the cake, even more so. His eyes had certainly lingered on her mouth longer than a gentleman’s should have. ‘You always say that. Last week the strawberry tart was your favourite.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to beat that either, but...’

‘This does?’

‘That was excellent. This is sublime. From now on, I’d like an Apollo every time. Two or three of them, preferably.’

‘The bakers will think I have a very sweet tooth.’

‘Say they’re for Georgie.’

‘They’re already supposed to be for Georgie!’

‘Well...’ he winked at her ‘...he’s a growing boy.’

She turned her face away quickly, looking towards the sea with the most artistic expression she could muster. The fine weather showed no signs of waning and the waves were still gentle, breaking on to the shore with only the faintest of whispers. It was almost too placid. When Arthur winked at her like that, she felt as though there ought to be giant waves and breakers, something to justify the sudden rush of blood to her head.

This was the fourth time in three weeks that they’d met on the beach, halfway between Whitby and Sandsend, and he spoke as if he wanted to carry on meeting her, as if he enjoyed her company as much as the cake. Since his apology they seemed to have taken up where they’d left off six years before, falling back into their old sense of camaraderie, though she was acutely aware of everything that had happened during the intervening years, too. Their conversations were familiar and yet unfamiliar. Sometimes she felt as if no time at all had passed, but then other times a shadow would cross his face like a cloud over the sun and they’d be almost strangers again. She caught glimpses of the old Arthur, but they’d both changed. She wasn’t the same girl who’d felt an adolescent yearning for him back in her mother’s parlour either. Now she felt intensely aware of him as a man, not to mention of herself as a woman.

Not that he would ever think of her in that way, she was sure. It had been bad enough when he’d been engaged to her sister, but now there was even less chance of him seeing her as anything other than a friend. Which was all she wanted, too, she reminded herself. After Leo, she’d taught herself not to expect or even want romance. Arthur might not seem to care about her scar, but she certainly wasn’t going to risk any more rejection. Besides, there were other, far more important things in her life. Her new jewellery venture for a start, something a man—she avoided thinking the word ‘husband’—doubtless wouldn’t approve of. After all the heartache and pain her independence had cost her, there was no way she was giving it up now, not for anyone. Still, there were times when the expression in Arthur’s eyes made her insides feel strangely fluid.

Then there were days when she thought she ought not to see him again at all. As nice as it was to have a friend, especially one who seemed blissfully unaware of her scar, she couldn’t help but feel guilty about betraying Lydia. Not that she was betraying her exactly, but still... She was only grateful that Georgie seemed more interested in telling his mother about cake and sandcastles than anything else, such as who they met. She didn’t want to consider how her sister might react if she knew the whole truth.

‘I have a present for you, too.’ Arthur’s voice broke into her thoughts suddenly. ‘In exchange for all the cake.’

She turned around just in time to see him pull an egg-shaped chunk of black stone from his pocket. ‘I found this in the cliffside the other day. I thought it might make a nice pendant or something.’

‘It would.’ She let him place the jet in her palm. ‘Or a brooch, maybe.’

‘Something to match your eyes.’

‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head as she rubbed her fingers gently over the surface. ‘It wouldn’t be for me. I told you, I don’t wear my own pieces.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because...’ She lifted her shoulders evasively. ‘I like to keep my outfits plain, that’s all.’

‘Because you don’t want anyone to look at you?’

Yes. She let her shoulders fall again. Yes, that was exactly the reason, though she preferred not to hear it spoken out loud.

‘You know I hardly notice your scar any more.