And he was clearly hurt. Which made her stomach knot.
“Lucien...” She lowered her voice to a more reasonable pitch. “I’m capable of saying no to things that are delicious but unwise. This is something every woman learns the hard way. The consequences for us arealwaysgraver. And men never consider that at all because theydon’t have to.”
This brought him up short.
A silence, gentler now. He stepped toward her.
“Angelique... I will not hurt you. I give you my word.”
“No. I refuse to hold you to a promise that may be impossible for you to keep.”
And now they were both breathing as though they’d ridden each other hard again.
“I cannot think of a woman... I have... I have liked more.” He’d gone quite pale. The words seemed to cost him.
“I believe what youlike, Lucien, is my elusiveness.”
He frowned. “Was it a strategy, then? The leaving? Did you want me to pursue you?”
“No!” She was despairing now.
“Then...” He was clearly maddened with frustration. “Why?”
She brought her hands up to her face again. “I just... I can’t... if you’ll please just let me pass, Lucien.Please.”
He hesitated, stubbornly. Planting himself in front of her.
She stared him down.
And finally he stepped aside. Resigned.
She turned and had taken two steps when his voice rose. “Angelique.”
She stopped. And turned.
“Is it something about me? Or do you feel as though you can treat all men as though what we feel is of no consequence?”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
He stood, waiting for that question to sink in. But he didn’t wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and was gone.
Mrs. Letitia Locksley’s eyelashes were sable fluffs. Glossy dark tendrils lay like little filigrees against her ivory cheeks. The ribbon trim on her bodice and sleeves and bonnet had been chosen to match her eyes: all were the color of bluebells. Perched on the rose brocade settee, she was equal parts appealing demureness and straight-spined resolve.
Dot had admitted her to The Grand Palace on the Thames fifteen minutes ago and had dashed upstairs at once to fetch Angelique and Delilah. “Oh, she’s quite, quite nice, Mrs. Hardy, Mrs. Breedlove. Wemusthave her. Oh, do say we can!”
“It sounds like you’re referring to a cocker spaniel, Dot, and I think our cat would object.”
Gordon, their plump striped cat and Head Rodent Catcher, stretched out all of his toes in his basket near the fire then curled them into his body, dreaming of giving a dog a good swat on its snout, perhaps.
“Mrs. Locksley is a woman and she reminds me of you, Mrs. Breedlove!”
“Well. We must meet this paragon at once, then.”
She and Delilah smoothed their hair and untied their aprons and went downstairs.
Within minutes of sitting and chatting with Mrs. Locksley, Delilah and Angelique could picture her joining them in their own little sitting room at the top of the stairs, taking turns reading from their book of Greek myths, doing the mending, laughing about the day, and planning the next one. Just like them!
“I’ve heard from my cousin Mrs. Andrew Farraday that the proprietresses of The Grand Palace on the Thames were kind and genteel and might have a room to let for a fortnight or so. I’ve a place to live, you see—I’m so much more fortunate than many others. It’s just that my aunt’s townhouse is undergoing some renovations and she’s been waylaid in Brighton for a time and she cannot get home just yet but... oh! Now that I’ve met the two of you I think I’m glad she can’t get back yet!”