noticed the fingers holding the spoon's handle had a slight tremor to them.
"I'm sorry. I d-didn't mean—"
"Oh, no, no. You mustn't tax yourself so. I only meant that we were quite worried about you."
He saw her lashes flutter and thought she might actually work up the courage to look at him. But apparently her uncertainty won out, for she kept her eyes trained on her soup.
"I.... Thank you for...." She fumbled to a halt and caught her bottom lip in her teeth, as though she simply didn't know how to put her thoughts into words.
Christopher watched her in silence. He could imagine how awkward she must feel, not knowing what to think, what to expect.
"I don't know how to thank you," she finally managed. "I dare say, I don't know how I'll repay you for your kindness."
"That is a subject you mustn't concern yourself with. I've not asked for repayment."
He could see the pulse in her throat, throbbing hard, too fast. She was distraught. If only he could find a way to put her mind at rest, but he'd long since lost the finesse to do so. It had been years since he'd had to reassure anyone, or at least anyone like her.
"I've stayed overly long. I feel that I should leave," she answered, her voice a mere whisper.
"Nonsense. You must stay," Gerald was quick to say.
She glanced up and met the younger man's sincere gaze, leaving Christopher to wonder what it was about his own person that kept her from looking at him so easily.
"Everyone agrees. Isn't that so, Father?"
So, the formidable man at the head of the table was his father. She'd wondered what their relationship was. He certainly didn't look old enough to be Gerald's father. He was far too vital, too handsome, despite his disciplined demeanor.
"The voice of reason has spoken. I'm afraid your fate has been decided for you," Christopher replied.
She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his voice, enough to make her dare to sneak another glance at him. She turned away in embarrassment when she realized he was looking directly at her. But the glance had been long enough to experience all over again that same penetrating look from those same outstanding blue eyes that had bored into hers just moments before she had fainted on his driveway. Her body instantly responded with a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, and she wanted desperately to be swallowed by the floor at her feet. What must these people think of her? Certainly not what she feared. They were being so kind to her. To her, a perfect stranger.
"Besides which, I sincerely doubt Mrs. Avery would let go of you. She has become quite attached," he added.
She didn't say anything, just sat there trying to remember the events of that fateful day when she had come to them and wondering why she'd been counted worthy of such compassion.
She slowly became aware that he hadn't resumed his meal. In fact, he seemed rather intent on her now—too intent—his eyes so piercing that she felt compelled to look at him, however briefly.
"I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage," he murmured, his gaze questioning. "You've been properly introduced to all of us here at the table, but we don't know your name."
She automatically opened her mouth to respond, but then clamped it firmly shut again. Fear clutched at her throat. Had he somehow surmised her situation and suddenly disapproved? Would he throw her out of his house now? Would she once again be on the streets alone?
Such a look of abject terror passed across her face that Christopher regretted his haste in pressing her. For a second, he'd been certain she would answer, but then the fear had returned and she'd frozen again. He shouldn't have pushed so fast. Clearly, she wasn't ready.
"Not to worry," he felt compelled to comfort her. "We shan't press you. The doctor seems to think you're suffering from a bit of amnesia."
Her gaze flew to his face. Amnesia! Yes, of course. She had amnesia. It was such a simple excuse, so readily available. Worried that her expression
"I'm sorry. I d-didn't mean—"
"Oh, no, no. You mustn't tax yourself so. I only meant that we were quite worried about you."
He saw her lashes flutter and thought she might actually work up the courage to look at him. But apparently her uncertainty won out, for she kept her eyes trained on her soup.
"I.... Thank you for...." She fumbled to a halt and caught her bottom lip in her teeth, as though she simply didn't know how to put her thoughts into words.
Christopher watched her in silence. He could imagine how awkward she must feel, not knowing what to think, what to expect.
"I don't know how to thank you," she finally managed. "I dare say, I don't know how I'll repay you for your kindness."
"That is a subject you mustn't concern yourself with. I've not asked for repayment."
He could see the pulse in her throat, throbbing hard, too fast. She was distraught. If only he could find a way to put her mind at rest, but he'd long since lost the finesse to do so. It had been years since he'd had to reassure anyone, or at least anyone like her.
"I've stayed overly long. I feel that I should leave," she answered, her voice a mere whisper.
"Nonsense. You must stay," Gerald was quick to say.
She glanced up and met the younger man's sincere gaze, leaving Christopher to wonder what it was about his own person that kept her from looking at him so easily.
"Everyone agrees. Isn't that so, Father?"
So, the formidable man at the head of the table was his father. She'd wondered what their relationship was. He certainly didn't look old enough to be Gerald's father. He was far too vital, too handsome, despite his disciplined demeanor.
"The voice of reason has spoken. I'm afraid your fate has been decided for you," Christopher replied.
She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his voice, enough to make her dare to sneak another glance at him. She turned away in embarrassment when she realized he was looking directly at her. But the glance had been long enough to experience all over again that same penetrating look from those same outstanding blue eyes that had bored into hers just moments before she had fainted on his driveway. Her body instantly responded with a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, and she wanted desperately to be swallowed by the floor at her feet. What must these people think of her? Certainly not what she feared. They were being so kind to her. To her, a perfect stranger.
"Besides which, I sincerely doubt Mrs. Avery would let go of you. She has become quite attached," he added.
She didn't say anything, just sat there trying to remember the events of that fateful day when she had come to them and wondering why she'd been counted worthy of such compassion.
She slowly became aware that he hadn't resumed his meal. In fact, he seemed rather intent on her now—too intent—his eyes so piercing that she felt compelled to look at him, however briefly.
"I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage," he murmured, his gaze questioning. "You've been properly introduced to all of us here at the table, but we don't know your name."
She automatically opened her mouth to respond, but then clamped it firmly shut again. Fear clutched at her throat. Had he somehow surmised her situation and suddenly disapproved? Would he throw her out of his house now? Would she once again be on the streets alone?
Such a look of abject terror passed across her face that Christopher regretted his haste in pressing her. For a second, he'd been certain she would answer, but then the fear had returned and she'd frozen again. He shouldn't have pushed so fast. Clearly, she wasn't ready.
"Not to worry," he felt compelled to comfort her. "We shan't press you. The doctor seems to think you're suffering from a bit of amnesia."
Her gaze flew to his face. Amnesia! Yes, of course. She had amnesia. It was such a simple excuse, so readily available. Worried that her expression
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