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Why had she come here? So she could regale him with tales of her fabulous life and wonderful husband? He didn’t begrudge her those things, but unlike years ago, he’d no longer subject himself to the punishment of hearing all about them.
Silence swelled in the room which suddenly felt far too warm. Damn it, where were words when he needed them? Or at least appropriate words, for he could hardly say those that rested at the tip of his tongue: Go away! Or even worse, God, I’ve missed you.
“Is your…family well, Ethan?” she asked.
“Family?” he repeated, confused. Surely she recalled that his father had died. She’d stood beside him at the grave. “I have no family.” A movement behind her caught his eye, and his attention shifted to Delia, whose presence he’d completely forgotten. Noting her dark-eyed gaze resting on him, he collected himself enough to shoot her a quick smile, then said to Cassie, “Although my friends here at the Blue Seas make me feel as if I do.”
Something again flickered in Cassie’s eyes. She appeared about to speak, but the front door opened and the young woman he’d seen outside, who was clearly her lady’s maid, and the coachman, who carried two portmanteaus, entered. After Cassie performed quick introductions, she accepted two brass keys from Delia.
“Yer rooms are numbers five and six, just up the stairs,” Delia said in her usual brisk ma
“I can handle them,” Mr. Watley said.
“Will you be here for di
“Di
One brow shot upward. “Yes. The meal that is served at seven in the main room.”
He blinked, then realized she was teasing him. Just as she always had. Bloody hell, it felt like…coming home. And bloody hell, he didn’t like that one bit. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said brusquely, “Man’s gotta eat.”
She looked uncertain, then said, “Excellent. I’ll see you at seven.”
With Mr. Watley leading the way, Cassie and her maid climbed the stairs. Seconds later they disappeared from view, leaving only the murmur of their voices behind.
Ethan drew a deep, careful breath. He’d be sharing a meal with her this evening. She’d be spending the night under his roof. He wasn’t certain if the heart-pounding sensation surging through him was elation or dread. A bit of both, he suspected.
It was just one night. He’d hidden his feelings for so long, kept them in check for so many years, surely another mere twenty-four hours wouldn’t matter.
And then, as she had ten years ago, she’d say good-bye and leave.
He didn’t know how he was going to survive her staying here.
And he sure as hell didn’t know how he was going to survive watching her go.
Chapter Three
Cassandra walked slowly around her cozy bedchamber, trailing her fingertips over the neat dark blue counterpane. Her avid gaze took in the oak night table, wardrobe, single chest of drawers, and washstand, all serviceable pieces without frills, but the furniture and the mantel gleamed with polish. The walls were unadorned, painted beige, their pale color giving the illusion of space in the small chamber. Plain blue curtains flanked the open window, through which a warm, sea-scented breeze wafted. Everything in this room spoke of Ethan’s ownership-strong, functional, tidy, and no fuss.
Ethan…She closed her eyes and drew a long, slow breath. Seeing him, hearing his voice had brought back a plethora of memories that had threatened to render her speechless. And while she would have recognized him anywhere, he was undeniably different. Physically, he was bigger, broader, more muscular. She’d had to tear her gaze from the fascinating display of brawn showcased by his snug black breeches and dirt-streaked shirt. His disheveled appearance had in no way detracted from his masculine appeal.
His ebony hair, which he’d always cropped ruthlessly short, was longer now, touching his collar, and looked as if he’d just run his fingers through the thick, shiny waves. The urge to touch those silky-looking strands had seized her with such stu
And his eyes…those fathomless deep brown eyes she’d seen twinkle with teasing laughter and glow with intensity, were different as well. The warmth was gone. There were secrets behind those eyes now. And suffering.
His scar had shocked her. How had he come by such an injury? Clearly whatever had happened had caused him great pain. And she hadn’t known. Hadn’t been there to comfort him, help him, as he’d comforted and helped her so many times. Although Ethan no longer looked like a man who required comfort. No, now he looked like a fortress. Dark, grim, impenetrable. Forbidding.
Now she had the answer to the question, Would he be here? Yes. He was here. And for this one day, their paths touched again. And she intended to make the most of it. Tonight they would share a meal, catch up with each other’s lives. And she’d find out the answers to the questions that had plagued her all these years.
Unless she saw him even sooner.
Yes. No time like the present.
After making use of the washstand to refresh herself, she changed into her riding habit and headed down the stairs. When she entered the main room, Mrs. Tildon looked up from the ledger in which she was writing.
“Goin’ riding, milady?” she asked, her gaze skimming over Cassandra’s attire.
“If there’s a mount available. If not, then a walk will suffice.” She offered the woman a smile. “After spending so many hours inside that carriage, I long to be outdoors.”
“Stables are just outside. Ethan can saddle a mount for ye.”
Precisely the words she wanted to hear. “Thank you.”
She turned to go, anxious to be off before Mrs. Tildon might think to question her about her intention of riding alone, but before she could escape, the other woman said, “Milady…”
Cassandra paused and swiveled her head around, and noted that Mrs. Tildon was studying her with an expression that made Cassandra feel as if she could see into her soul, an unsettling sensation, to be sure. She was an attractive woman, Cassandra realized, probably no older than thirty, with brown hair and dark, intelligent eyes, her trim figure apparent even beneath the apron she wore over her plain gray gown.
Turning fully around, she said, “Yes, Mrs. Tildon?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear what ye said to Ethan earlier, about yer husband passin’ on. I lost my husband, John, two years ago. ’Tis a hurt that never quite goes away. I wanted to extend my sympathies to ye.”
A hurt that never quite goes away. Yes, that described it very well. “Thank you. Please allow me to extend the same to you for your loss.”
She nodded her thanks. “Ye said ye knew Ethan years ago…?”
The way her voice trailed off made it clear she hoped for more information, and Cassandra saw no reason to deny her. “He worked in the stables at my family’s estate in Land’s End.”
“That’d be Gateshead Manor?”
“Yes. He’s mentioned it?”
“Said he worked there. Grew up there, actually.”
“Yes, he did. He was only six when his father was hired as stable master. They lived on the estate, above the stables.”
“Got a gift with horses, Ethan does.”
Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “He always had, even as a young boy. His father possessed the same gift.”
Again Mrs. Tildon nodded, her steady gaze never straying from Cassandra’s. “He’s a good man, Ethan is.”
Something in Mrs. Tildon’s tone, in the intensity of her expression, stilled Cassandra. Although she didn’t add the words “my man,” they seemed to hang in the air between them. And Cassandra realized that the woman was doing more than making a simple observation. She was, very subtly-or perhaps not so very subtly-staking a claim.