social intercourse. “I expect not.”
“I tried.” He grinned. “And failed, of course. It was too much to expect from a young boy, in any event. But I was more cautious at least. I don’t expect you played battle games up here?”
It suddenly seemed as though he was standing too close; his male scent, his cologne fragrant in her nostrils, his sheer size stirring provocative feelings she’d rather not feel. She took a step back. “As a matter of fact, I came up here to paint.” It took an extra modicum of self-control to speak in a normal tone of voice, although she’d been an actress too long to let her agitation show. “The ruins were an ideal subject for an impressionable young girl, conjuring up all kinds of romantic fantasies. In fact,” she said with a lifted brow, “I wrote a medieval tale with Bedloe as backdrop.”
“How old were you when you came here?” Her hair was like spun gold in the sunlight, he thought, flexing his fingers against the sudden urge to touch it. Perhaps cued by those golden curls, a sudden image of another blond head sunk into the mud at Waterloo leaped into his brain—Merriman’s death a gruesome, bloody sight. Duff went rigid, every muscle taut and unyielding as he struggled to deal with the harrowing memory.
“Eight or ten. Are you all right?” Duff appeared as though cast in stone, his gaze tormented. “Is there something I can do?” Belle murmured, reaching out to take his hand.
He jerked back.
She cried out.
Whether her shocked cry or her expression of fear restored his sanity, he instantly became conscious of his surroundings. “Forgive me,” he said with as much casualness as he could muster. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Unfortunately, some of my battle memories appear at the most inconvenient times. I apologize if I alarmed you.”
“You needn’t apologize. I sympathize with your plight.” Knowing what agony Chloe’s death had caused, she could only imagine how greatly Duff suffered. War was always brutal and the casualties at Waterloo had been horrendous. “Would you like to leave?”
He wished to say I won’t harm you or Eddie is near so don’t be afraid . But neither would calm her if his recent moment of delirium had been disquieting for her. “We probably should,” he said politely. “I’ve kept you away too long.”
“No, not at all. I only meant to be helpful if you weren’t feeling well.”
How polite she was. But then, she was an actress of note. She was capable of affecting an effortless urbanity, even under stress. “I’m fine, but thank you. However, if you wish to be helpful,” he said with a small smile, inclined by both birth and personality to be willful, “if you’d go to the races with me tomorrow, I’d be most grateful. Say yes and we’ll leave now.”
She looked startled for a moment, his choices oddly constraining.
He laughed. “You misunderstand. You’re free to go regardless your answer. It’s just that I would like to escort you to the races tomorrow—with your mother’s consent, of course.”
“Your moods are highly changeable, my lord,” she said with just a hint of wariness in her voice.
“I admit they are at times. But in your company, the worst of my demons are held at bay. Not that you’re obligated in any way to be solicitous on that account. I state a fact only.” He shrugged, the light in his eyes playful once again. “So what do you say? If you’re concerned with my mental state, you’ll be quite safe in the midst of the race crowd. And consider, you could win a sizeable sum if you bet with me.”
She smiled, reassured by his honesty, liking the fact that he could openly acknowledge his demons. Most men couldn’t. “Are you saying you know horseflesh better than I?”
He grinned. “I might. Why don’t we see?”
She laughed. “Not another wager, Duff. One is enough.”
“In any case, the racing should be excellent. And if the weather holds, how can we lose?”
“How
“I tried.” He grinned. “And failed, of course. It was too much to expect from a young boy, in any event. But I was more cautious at least. I don’t expect you played battle games up here?”
It suddenly seemed as though he was standing too close; his male scent, his cologne fragrant in her nostrils, his sheer size stirring provocative feelings she’d rather not feel. She took a step back. “As a matter of fact, I came up here to paint.” It took an extra modicum of self-control to speak in a normal tone of voice, although she’d been an actress too long to let her agitation show. “The ruins were an ideal subject for an impressionable young girl, conjuring up all kinds of romantic fantasies. In fact,” she said with a lifted brow, “I wrote a medieval tale with Bedloe as backdrop.”
“How old were you when you came here?” Her hair was like spun gold in the sunlight, he thought, flexing his fingers against the sudden urge to touch it. Perhaps cued by those golden curls, a sudden image of another blond head sunk into the mud at Waterloo leaped into his brain—Merriman’s death a gruesome, bloody sight. Duff went rigid, every muscle taut and unyielding as he struggled to deal with the harrowing memory.
“Eight or ten. Are you all right?” Duff appeared as though cast in stone, his gaze tormented. “Is there something I can do?” Belle murmured, reaching out to take his hand.
He jerked back.
She cried out.
Whether her shocked cry or her expression of fear restored his sanity, he instantly became conscious of his surroundings. “Forgive me,” he said with as much casualness as he could muster. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Unfortunately, some of my battle memories appear at the most inconvenient times. I apologize if I alarmed you.”
“You needn’t apologize. I sympathize with your plight.” Knowing what agony Chloe’s death had caused, she could only imagine how greatly Duff suffered. War was always brutal and the casualties at Waterloo had been horrendous. “Would you like to leave?”
He wished to say I won’t harm you or Eddie is near so don’t be afraid . But neither would calm her if his recent moment of delirium had been disquieting for her. “We probably should,” he said politely. “I’ve kept you away too long.”
“No, not at all. I only meant to be helpful if you weren’t feeling well.”
How polite she was. But then, she was an actress of note. She was capable of affecting an effortless urbanity, even under stress. “I’m fine, but thank you. However, if you wish to be helpful,” he said with a small smile, inclined by both birth and personality to be willful, “if you’d go to the races with me tomorrow, I’d be most grateful. Say yes and we’ll leave now.”
She looked startled for a moment, his choices oddly constraining.
He laughed. “You misunderstand. You’re free to go regardless your answer. It’s just that I would like to escort you to the races tomorrow—with your mother’s consent, of course.”
“Your moods are highly changeable, my lord,” she said with just a hint of wariness in her voice.
“I admit they are at times. But in your company, the worst of my demons are held at bay. Not that you’re obligated in any way to be solicitous on that account. I state a fact only.” He shrugged, the light in his eyes playful once again. “So what do you say? If you’re concerned with my mental state, you’ll be quite safe in the midst of the race crowd. And consider, you could win a sizeable sum if you bet with me.”
She smiled, reassured by his honesty, liking the fact that he could openly acknowledge his demons. Most men couldn’t. “Are you saying you know horseflesh better than I?”
He grinned. “I might. Why don’t we see?”
She laughed. “Not another wager, Duff. One is enough.”
“In any case, the racing should be excellent. And if the weather holds, how can we lose?”
“How
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