“And if he didn’t tell you,” pursued Delia in her dogged fashion that now began to irk him, “I’m persuaded your uncle must be acquainted with your mother’s family.”
He flung a few steps away and discovered they had unknowingly walked past the end of the ruined building. An ocean breeze wafted across the heights where the castle was situated. Giff saw a far edge which must be the start of the cliff, but in his mind’s eye spilled images he’d done his best to bury.
His mother had made him promise not to grieve, and it was for her sake he’d come upon this quest, if truth be told. Matt’s persuasions would otherwise have fallen upon deaf ears.
“Giff?”
He set his teeth and turned. “Leave this, Delia. I know you mean well, but I don’t wish to talk of my family.”
Colour flooded her face. “Then I can’t think why you wanted me to go apart with you! I thought you wished to discuss what you should do to establish yourself as Lord Baunton, but if you are going to prohibit me from speaking of anything you don’t wish to hear, there’s no point in my remaining.”
With which, she turned away from him and began walking swiftly, not back towards the other couple who were just within sight, but along the ocean side of the building.
Giff called after her. “Why are you heading in that direction?”
“What do you care?” She threw the words over her shoulder, not even troubling to turn.
He cursed and made after her, catching her up in a few swift steps. “Will you stop, foolish wench?” Seizing her shoulder, he brought her to a halt and swung her about to face him.
She showed him a countenance alight with anger. “Go to the devil, Giff! I’ve had enough of your secrets and you popping up out of the blue and then ignoring me when you choose and refusing to tell me anything. I’ve wasted quite enough energy worrying about you, and I’m not going to do it any longer.” Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and the husky note in her voice gave her away.
Giff’s irritation vanished and guilt swamped him. “Don’t cry!”
“I’m not!”
“You are, very nearly. I’m a brute and I’m sorry! You deserve better, Delia. Too used to keeping my own counsel, that’s the trouble. And I did want to get you alone so we could talk.”
She sniffed, the flush beginning to die down so that her freckles reappeared. Giff was conscious of an urge to trace their path with his finger. She’d likely bat his hand away, the mood she was in. Besides, he oughtn’t to take liberties with her. Not in view of other members of the party. He looked back as the thought surfaced and found they were a deal too alone.
“The deuce! We’re too isolated here. I don’t want to bring scandal down on you. Besides, it’s windy here. We’d best go back.”
Delia glanced behind. “I am sure Lord Tarporley and Tabitha Leigh will come around the corner at any moment.” Her gaze swept towards the ocean, but he’d swear the look was cursory. “I’m not cold. Let us go on.”
“If you insist. But go slow.”
She’d already turned and Giff fell in beside her. Reluctant to upset her further, he waited for what she might say before speaking. Nothing was forthcoming.
“Delia?”
She flicked him a look. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to talk to me?”
“About what?”
He winced. “Anything you wish.”
“You solicited the meeting. What had you in mind?”
She still sounded stiff and he cursed inwardly. He’d blundered badly. Hurt her. Impulse triggered his tongue. “I’ve to get used to considering your feelings, my flower girl. I’m willing to learn, if you’ll trust me to try.”
“Then trustme, Giff!” She halted again, turning to face him.
“I do trust you. Implicitly. You saved my life.”
“Oh, that! No, it’s not what I mean.”
“What then?”