For a moment, realisation of what she was wearing held Jason still. Then, shutting the book and laying it aside, he stood.
“I must apologise, Your Grace, for my outburst yesterday.” Lenore hurried into the speech, desperate to clear that particular hurdle. Rather than take the seat behind the desk, she stopped beside
the window, her gaze on the garden, holding herself erect, head high as she recalled her embarrassing behaviour. “I realise my accusations were unfounded and entirely out of order.” She inclined her head in Eversleigh’s direction, too tense to look directly at him. “I pray you will excuse me.”
“I believe you were somewhat overwhelmed at the time,” came the smooth reply.
Lenore looked around to find he had come to stand on the other side of the window, negligently propping one shoulder against the frame, his grey eyes oddly gentle as they studied her.
The blush that rose to her cheeks was another irritation. Biting her tongue on the unwise retort that her mind had instantly supplied, she forced her voice to an even tone to say, “At the time, I was not thinking with my customary clarity.”
Jason’s lips curved. “Granted.” His voice retained its even, reassuring tone as he added, “Apropos of that event, you’ll be relieved to know that neither Lord Percy nor any of the three ladies can recall anything of it. In fact,” he mused, “it’s doubtful that they recall having been anywhere near this room.”
Lenore blinked. She returned his unwavering scrutiny for a full minute before remarking, “One of the benefits of being born to the purple?”
Jason’s smile reached his eyes. “One of the few benefits of being born to rule.”
A puzzled frown settled over Lenore’s brows. “But why?” she eventually asked, curiosity overcoming reserve. “Surely their…interruption strengthened your hand?”
She glanced up to meet a stern, not to say forbidding, frown.
“My dear Lenore, if you imagine I’d allow any breath of scandal to touch my future wife’s name—worse, would permit the slightest suggestion that I offered for her to rectify some slight to her honour—you are greatly mistaken.”
She had to have imagined it, for he had not altered his stance, yet Lenore was certain he had somehow grown larger, taller, infinitely more intimidating. She felt her eyes grow round. “Oh.”
“However,” Jason said, letting his sudden tension seep away. He looked down, examining the signet on his right hand. “If we are on the subject of apologies, you have my very humblest, Lenore, for the shock you were subjected to last night. It was not my intention that any announcement be made. I had merely asked your father for permission to pay my address to you in form.” He looked up as he spoke, capturing her eyes with his, willing her to understand. “I think, somehow, he misunderstood.”
The sincerity in his tone, in the grey of his eyes, the look which was, she suspected, as close to beseeching as he would ever get, shook Lenore. Breathless all over again, she swung her gaze away, out of the window, to the weeping cherry gracing the lawn. “He does that, I’m afraid. He hears only the words he wishes to hear and disregards the rest.”
That was the truth. Her father was the worst sort of manipulator—had been for years. But it was the revelation that Eversleigh had not sought to conspire with her sire behind her back that shook Lenore to her very soul. Unfortunately, having her reading of his character thus confirmed did not make the task before her any easier. Drawing a determined breath, she hurried on. “However, even though we might agree that neither of us is to blame for the predicament we now find ourselves in, there is still that very predicament to be faced.”
“Which predicament is that?”
Lenore turned to face him only to find his expression improbably bland. Her eyes narrowed. “To all intents and purposes, Your Grace, we are betrothed. Everyone who attended last night believes that to be so.”
Jason merely nodded, watching her closely.
Her worries flooding back, Lenore drew herself up, pressing her hands tightly together, crushing the front of her skirt. “My lord, I would ask you to release me from this…this unforeseen contract.”
Jason’s stern expression returned; Lenore’s heart quavered.
“That, my dear, would be very difficult to do.”
“But you could do it—we could say we were mistaken.”
Jason’s winged brows rose. “But I’m not mistaken.” Lenore allowed her exasperation at that arrogant statement to show. Jason disregarded it, straightening away from the window-frame. “Even if I were prepared to allow you to waste your life here—”
“I am not wasting my life!”
“With old civilisations?” A contemptuous wave indicated her desk. “You have a life to live, Lenore. You must live it in the present, not the past.”
“I have plenty to occupy my present, Your Grace.”
“Jason. And if you’re referring to your position as chatelaine of Lester Hall,” Jason said, advancing to stand in front of her, “how long do you think that will last once Jack weds?”
Her face told him all. Lenore stared up at him, her expression utterly blank. “Jack…” She blinked, struggling to bring the idea more firmly into focus.
“It comes to us all.” The statement held more than a hint of irony. When Lenore remained silent, Jason added more gently. “You cannot expect to remain in your position of eminence here, my dear.”