Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,47

you find my letter?”

Daphne swallowed, wringing her wrists before her, the bracelet digging into her flesh. She had no choice but to answer. “Yes, I did. But I immediately hid it away. No one else has seen it. In fact, I can fetch it for you right—”

But he had turned away after her “yes,” his lean shoulders tense beneath his jacket.

“Cole,” she whispered. “What’s happened?”

“I did not think you capable,” he said, his voice distant. “I had hoped it was a mistake.”

“Capable of what?” Desperation tore at her voice.

He faced her again, and the anger and pain she saw in his face made her want to sink into the earth. “You slipped that letter under Aunt Hartwell’s door. She is furious with me, and I can hardly blame her. I am angry with myself, though not in the way you might imagine.”

Daphne took a step back, mouth parted. What was he saying? Aunt Hartwell knew about the letter? Cole stepped forward, following her, eyes flashing.

“I am angry with myself,” he said in a hard voice, “for being fool enough to believe you when you said you wished to be friends. But you were only pretending, waiting for me to make a mistake so you could swoop in and take Cheriton from me.”

“No,” she protested, too weakly. “No, I—”

He did not hear her. “I am sorry, Daphne, I truly am, that Aunt Hartwell chose me. But I am even more sorry that because of her choice, you became someone who would rather hurt a friend than try and let him help you.”

“Cole, it was not me.” She finally found her voice. “I did not give Aunt Hartwell the letter. I swear it.”

He gave a sad laugh. “How I wish that were true.”

And he strode away through the low grass, leaving Daphne behind, clutching her arms around herself, as if that would make any difference against the vast, emptying hole that had taken place of her heart.

Chapter 14

Daphne stumbled, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the gate. Cole’s words made as little sense as Mrs. Vernal’s lessons on Latin. She, give the letter to Aunt Hartwell? It was ridiculous. Her aunt must have found out about Mr. Steele somewhere else, because that letter was securely tucked away in Daphne’s writing desk.

But she could hardly focus her thoughts on that—not with Cole’s glittering eyes and wounded expression painted across her mind. Did he truly think she would do such a thing?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Yes was the sad answer, and she could not even argue against it. Two weeks ago, she would not have hesitated if it had meant a chance to take back Cheriton. Back then, she had thought Cole to be the one at fault. But since then everything had changed between them, or at least she’d thought it had. She tried to be angry with him, for thinking the worst of her, but could only dredge up a horrible sadness.

Daphne’s legs were shaking and so she sat in the long, dry grass, her back against the gate. How was it that her life could change so quickly—and so constantly? Why could things not just stay the same, like when she was a girl at school with her friends, with no more complicated problems than keeping up on her studies? Or when she and Cole had been younger, roaming the land around Cheriton with sunburned faces and carefree smiles?

She sat there too long, until her brain went yet again to Aunt Hartwell. But there was no way, she told herself. No possible way that her aunt could have seen the letter. Not when Daphne had put it in the writing desk where no one—

Daphne sat up straight. Jenny. Jenny had seen her put the letter in the writing desk last night. Jenny, who had been assigned to Daphne by her mother. “Blast and bother,” she whispered. She’d thought they’d gotten along well enough. But of course her maid was loyal to the person who paid her wages.

A low grunt came from behind her and Daphne turned suddenly, coming face to face with thick brown fur, ivory horns, and flashing black eyes. She scrambled back from the gate as the dratted goat gave a low bellow and butted his horns against the wooden beams that separated them.

“I was leaving,” she insisted, heart in her throat. “Heavens.”

The goat eyed her as she backed away, then she turned and ran, her footsteps soon outpacing the rhythm of her heart. She had