“Would you like me to burn it for you?”
“No!” She tucked the envelope in her pocket. Just in case—though why she still harbored hope like a fool after all these years was beyond her. “That is to say, I am perfectly capable of handling it myself.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
To distract both from her reaction and her racing thoughts about whatever her father might have said, Christiana opened the letter from Laura, which aside from the usual felicitations upon her marriage, and some rather less-usual pleas—“Please tell me you are safe with the Beast”—also contained the news that she would be running away with her groom.
And here is the worst part of my request, which you may throw out, if you wish. You see, when we return to my family, they will most likely spurn us. I fully accept we will have to live a modest life, but I do so hope that I can retain at least one friendship: yours. I don’t ask that you and the duke receive my husband; that would be upsetting the apple cart too far, I know. But I would love to visit you, my dearest friend, and feel that I am welcome.
If you can open your heart to me and extend an offer or invitation, then know it will be most gratefully accepted.
Yours forever,
Laura
Christiana’s heart stilled. When she glanced up, it was to find Hugh’s gaze on her.
Would he allow this? He was so difficult to read. He had allowed her to ride astride on his gelding, but that had been where no one but he could see. When she had visited Grancott and been in danger of being spurned, he had ridden to rescue her.
His primary intention in life was to protect his sister, and for her to chaperone Amelia in London, she could not have any scandals in her past.
Laura would be a scandal.
But she was also Christiana’s friend—heronlyfriend. The only person who had made her years at St. Mary’s worth living. Together, they had combated the rigidity of their education, and Christiana would not have emerged unscathed were it not for Laura’s unfailing friendship.
She could not turn her back now.
“Do you have news?” Hugh asked.
“I do,” she said carefully. “Do you recall Miss Crawford? She attended our wedding.”
“I recall.”
“This letter is from her.” She held up the single sheet of paper. “She is soon to be married.”
His gaze swept across her face, and she felt the slide of it like a physical touch, despite the distance that gaped between them. “You do not seem pleased by this development.”
If ever there were a hill to die on, it would be this. Nervous, restless, she pushed back from her chair and strode about the room. “In a way, I suppose I’m not,” she said. “And I doubt you will be, either.”
“Why is that?” he asked, looking up at her. Today, he wasn’t wearing his gloves, and part of her—the part that wasn’t occupied with Laura—delighted in the sight. As she passed, he caught her wrist, slowing her passage. Long fingers encased her small bones, and she recalled the press of his lips against thetips of her fingers. For days, she had done an excellent job of suppressing that memory, but now it came back in full force.
He made her wonder what it might be like to be kissed.
No, that wasn’t right—she had not been wondering how it felt to be kissed, but how it might feel to haveHughkiss her.
There was clearly something very wrong with her.
“What about her marriage displeases you?” Hugh’s expression hardened, even as he held her gently. “Was it a gentleman you had hoped—”
“No.” Unable to help herself, she laughed. There could have been nothing further from the truth. “I’ve never met him. But he’s…” How to put this delicately? “The marriage is an imprudent one.”
Hugh still held her wrist; his thumb swiped across her skin and she felt the contact as though it had been seared into her. “I see.”
“I have a favor to ask. And you won’t like it, but I beg you will hear me out.”
“Go on.”
“Laura—Miss Crawford—is my best friend. After her marriage, I would like to invite her to stay with us for a few days. After her marriage, I expect her father will cut her off. I would hate for her to be friendless.”