Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,47
It still tasted bitter, burning the tip of her tongue again.
Charles did not seem to notice the heat of the beverage, throwing half of his cup down his throat and picking up a slice of fruit cake.
“And how are you, Miss Seton?” he asked stiffly.
Priscilla almost laughed, almost leaned over and tapped him on the hand for being so overly polite. Miss Seton? She could not recall the last time he had called her Miss Seton!
The giggle of the girls in the corner floated across the room, and Priscilla remembered herself. They were in public, and on the off chance someone did overhear them, it was best to keep to formal greetings, at the very least. Some elements of decorum must be retained.
“Very well, thank you, Your Grace,” she returned, a smile dancing on her cheeks. “And yourself?”
“I am well, thank you.”
And that was his entire response. Charles did not even meet her gaze, staring instead into the depths of his cup. He took another gulp of coffee, almost draining it.
A thousand and one questions rose in Priscilla’s heart. How did he feel after they had made love? Did he forgive her for leaving him to sleep? Had he spoken to his mother? Did any servant suspect? What had Miss Lloyd said when he had broken off the engagement?
Each and every question she forced down. They would have the rest of their lives to talk, every day of their future to ask questions and discover exactly how it was that these days unfurled. She did not have to barrage him with questions now.
Now it was just important to be together.
Leaning across the table, she took his hand in hers, feeling the strength in his fingers.
“And when do you want to announce it?”
Instead of answering immediately, Charles pulled his hand away, placing both of them in his lap. “Announce what?”
Priscilla hardly knew what to say. She pulled her hands quickly back into her own lap, ashamed of her forthrightness.
“You…you do not wish to hold my hand?” Her question was whispered, and at first, she was not sure whether Charles had heard it over the noise of the coffee house.
His gaze was still focused on his nearly empty cup. “It is…it is not as simple as that.”
Not as simple as – Priscilla opened her mouth to retort, but Charles cut across her.
“Anyone could be here, anyone could see,” he breathed. “Anyone could whisper about what they have seen, and before you know it, the gossip is all over town. Is that what you want?”
His words rang true, but his tone was cold, distant.
Priscilla twisted her fingers in her lap. “No,” she said, feeling admonished.
Looking around the coffee house, she spotted Mrs. Bryant, the notorious gossip and columnist for one of the London newspapers, sipping her coffee as an acquaintance gabbled away.
Grudging acceptance of Charles’s words filled her heart. If Mrs. Bryant saw the two of them holding hands, then the entire world would know their feelings within twenty-four hours.
“I take your point,” she said quietly. “But I still wish to know when we will announce our engagement.”
Was it her imagination, or did Charles’s shoulders slump a little lower at her words?
“’Tis not that simple.”
Ice dropped down Priscilla’s throat. Those words…they could not mean what they sounded like.
“I beg your pardon?” she said coldly. It was all she could do to prevent panic seeping into her tones.
She did not want Charles to think she did not trust him – but why would he say something like that?
He had not looked up from his coffee cup, nor said a word.
“Why would it not be that simple?” she asked, her voice low but urgent. “Charles, we…we love each other. We both know it. You cannot go ahead and marry Frances – Miss Lloyd, I mean, knowing how we feel about each other.”
Charles twisted the cup around, moving the handle between each hand. He said nothing.
“We will be married, and that is an end to it.”
Only then did a twisted smile move across Charles’s cheeks, and he looked up. “Do not worry yourself, Priscilla. I am not going to break my promise to you. I told you the truth when I said that engagements could be broken, and I meant it when I said I…I loved you.”
A waiter meandered to their table. “Another pot of coffee, sir, miss?”
“No, thank you,” she said, smiling. “We are quite happy with what we have.”