Lady Griffith's Second Chance

Chapter Seventeen

"I need to speak to you." The words rushed out so quick Regan thought she might have to say them again. She did not know if she could say them again. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest, and every swallow made her more than aware of the food from dinner, fighting to remain down in her stomach where it belonged.

"And good evening to you, Lady Griffith." The smile was still there. And yes, his eyes were as tired as she had thought they were. Moreso, even. He looked almost haggard, with the shadow of a beard clinging to his jaw and thin veins of red running into the whites of his eyes. Had he been drinking? No, he didn't smell of spirits. But she could smell him, and leather, and the distinctive odors of outdoors and the smoke of an inn clinging to his clothes. "What is wrong?" His eyebrows knitted together, tugging on the scar beside his eye.

Her mouth worked wordlessly before she could frame what to say next. "How do you know something is wrong?"

"It is in your eyes," he said, even as his own searched her face. "Your expression. And I think I've begun to fear whatever it is you feel compelled to tell me."

So first Katharine, and now Thomas. Was there no thought or feeling she could hide from others? Had a life outside of society so thoroughly inhibited her ability to mask her emotions? Or had she never even possessed such an ability?

"Can we go somewhere more..." She looked over his shoulder. A few guests lingered near the terrace doors. Lord and Lady Polmerol were behind them, directing two of the servants to bring another table outside. "Quiet?"

"Come along." He reached for her arm, his fingers sliding down to her wrist and then grasping her hand as they left the drawing room, going away from the terrace and the guests arranging themselves there.

Was he going to lead her to the library? No, he turned and led her further into the house, through a narrow door she would not have seen on her own, so well was it built into the wall, and down, down into the servants' area of the house. They passed people busy with their work. No doubt a fresh wave of gossip rippled out behind them as many pairs of eyes glanced up to watch them as Thomas led her through to the rear entrance.

Outside, the air was cool, and she wished she had known to bring a shawl. He skirted the wide gravel area where such unattractive things as wagons and deliveries were brought up to the house, cutting round to the stables and beyond, where a well-worn route led through a thin line of beeches. The moon was high enough above the horizon to provide some light, while the last of the twilight still lent the sky behind them a soft, purple glow. But Thomas knew his way, stepping with ease over every tree root, every rock to spring up in their path.

There was no need to ask where he led her. She had seen the folly before, only a few days ago in fact on one of her walks through the garden with Katharine. He did not speak until they arrived inside the artfully crumbling edifice, made to look as if it had ancient roots in the land, when it was most likely built within the last dozen years.

"Well?" Thomas turned to face her. "You wanted quiet. But for the grasshoppers and the occasional twitch of a bat's wings, I think you have it."

His words carried a false jollity, as if what he had seen in her face in the drawing room was serious enough to put him on his guard. Her jaw quivered before she spoke. From the cold? Nerves? Or fear that what she was about to ask him was going to be proved true?

This was not a conversation she wanted to have. If she could step back in time several days, avoid Lord Hays before he could speak with her...

But would she want that? To move forward in ignorance? Yes, the accusation had been made. But that did not make it an irrefutable fact.