One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

“How is your family?” she asked too loudly.

“Well.” He did not add more.

“I was sorry to hear about your father. He was so kind. A good man.”

A smile flashed over his face. A smile or a grimace. “Yes. A wonderful man.” Nick picked up his wine and pushed the half-eaten soup away. A few seconds later, he’d downed the glass of wine and refilled it to the brim. “Kind,” he added with another strained smile.

“You must miss him.”

“I suppose. It’s been a very long time.”

A long time? His father had only died two years before. She took a bite of bread to hide her shock. He’d always been so close to his father, a man nearly as warm and friendly as Nick himself. Perhaps his grief made two years seem an eternity.

But his eyes were distant, removed. More like an ancient wound than a fresh one. It’s been a very long time.

Another glass of wine disappeared. Her confusion deepened. “Are you not hungry?”

He set down the glass and leaned forward. “I want to apologize again. For earlier. For everything.”

“It’s all right,” she said reflexively.

“No…I should explain. Or try to. It’s just that…The women in London, they’re not like you, Cyn.”

Her spoon clanked hard against the bowl. She set it down. Did he think she did not know that?

“They’re more…worldly.”

“I’m sure they must be,” she ground out.

“You’re protected here in the country.”

“I’d hardly say that, Lancaster,” she snapped.

He blinked. “I’m sorry. Of course. I’m not explaining this well. And there are plenty of women like you in London. I’m speaking in generalizations instead of saying what I mean.”

“Which is?” She tried not to remember the phrase “women like you,” but had no doubt she’d turn it over in her mind for weeks.

“I’m trying to tell you that the woman I am to marry, Imogene, cares as little for me as I do for her. Less even.”

“Perhaps she is only shy.”

“No.” He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. “No, that’s not it, I’m afraid.”

Cyn reached for her wine. She did not like this conversation, yet she was starved for the information. “I don’t understand. Everyone likes you, Nick. And you like everyone.”

“Cyn,” he started, then began to laugh.

Lord, she wanted to melt at that sound. She’d missed it. Not only him, but that sound. His laugh was deeper now, of course, but just as decadent.

“I was a malleable child,” he finally said. “An easy child. I’ll give you that.” The laughter faded to a sad smile. “But easy is a dangerous thing.”

“How?” His words didn’t make sense, but perhaps she was distracted by the hand he’d lain idly over hers. His thumb stroked her knuckles.

“Being easy…If you were easy, Cyn, if you were recommended by that one trait, you would not have fought against this marriage.”

“I suppose—”

“Richmond would have come for you, and you’d have gone with him. And you would be broken now, instead of easy.” His thumb dipped between two of her fingers and traced their lines.