to the sky. Closing his eyes, an incandescent smile broke over his face, as if he were reciting a prayer of thanks.
She remembered staring at him, all the while wondering if she’d heard him correctly. Miss Codington, the vicar’s daughter? Surely she’d been mistaken. The reason William had wanted to speak with her privately was because he was finally going to make their betrothal official, proposing in a grand romantic gesture. Any moment, he would have kneeled down. She’d been sure of it.
However, his words had disoriented her, forcing her to repeat them inside her mind. Even now, she tried to make sense of what he’d said. Why should feeling violent toward someone make him happy? And shouldn’t he feel violently— whatever that meant —toward her and not Miss Codington?
Then, when he’d looked at her and his smile hadn’t faltered for a single, solitary moment, she’d thought— hoped —he would tell her it was all a joke. A horribly cruel joke.
Instead, he’d laughed again and scratched the top of his head, mussing his golden locks in a way she’d never seen him do before. His eyes had been wild, his grin peculiarly lopsided. He’d looked a bit mad. Even more so when he’d reached out, snagged a cluster of lilacs from the overgrown shrub beside her, and buried his nose in the blossoms, inhaling the fragrance with obvious reverence.
“I never knew it could be like this . . . should be like this. Oh, Merr, I’m quite overcome with the rawness inside me. You would laugh to know how savage I feel when I’m near her, not at all the sedate, even stoic person I’ve always thought myself to be. Yet one simple kiss changed all that. Her lips . . . Great heavens! Her lips are like summer wine, and her skin is incredibly soft . . . soft like butter.”
“But,” Eve said with enough volume to pull Merribeth out of the memory. The scent of dying lilacs drifted through the open window, mocking her. “There is only one way to end all this speculation. You must get Mr. Clairmore back.”
“I must . . . what ?” Now, the remaining blood in her body turned as cold as seawater.
Eve held up a hand. “Even if you no longer want him, you must get him back. That is the only way to save your reputation.”
“The only thing a renewal of Mr. Clairmore’s affections could prove would be that he doesn’t know his own mind,” Sophie intervened. “Besides, you assured me that attending this ghastly event would be the start of restoring her reputation.”
Merribeth was inclined to agree with her aunt. After all, that had been the plan.
It was like having opposing angels on either side of her. While Sophie and Eve had shared something of a friendship since their debuts nearly eighteen years ago, they couldn’t be more different. One was patient and cerebral, while the other had a reputation for causing trouble solely for the sake of her own amusement. Merribeth hoped this new proposal would not fall under the latter’s category.
“Precisely. The ton will see the alteration in his affections was merely the whim of a young man who didn’t know better.”
A whim for Mr. Clairmore, perhaps, but for Merribeth, it had been five years of waiting. Five years since William had made the comment about how easy it would be to marry her. Five years since she’d begun to see the future they could have together.
Yet in all those years, absolute certainty had remained elusive. While he’d spoken of marriage and children and a house in the village square, he’d never officially proposed. At least, not to her.
Now, she was no longer certain of anything.
Merribeth doubted Eve’s latest plan could change that. “Mr. Clairmore was the one who decided he no longer wanted to marry me. What makes you think he’ll change his mind?”
“We all want what we cannot have. So let him see that you’ve moved on without him and make him want you.”
Ignoring the frisson of warning that slithered down her spine,