Surrender to Love by Edith Layton

Author:Edith Layton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

If only, Eliza thought, he'd look at her like that, she'd be content. Beyond content. She sighed so heavily she heard the soughing sound above the polite conversation and so had to quickly duck her head and pretend she'd been blowing on her tea to cool it—bad manners before pity for her any day, she decided. Because he never had; in truth, she'd never seen him look at anyone that way. She'd noted Julian when he'd seemed interested in, amused by, or concerned with herself or other females. She could guess how he'd look when no lady was around and he was interested in a female, because she'd seen that sudden look of speculation leap into his eyes when he was being flirted with. She'd seen him bored, alert, and in pain, and had surprised a dozen emotions more as they arose in those speaking gray eyes before he could suppress them. She watched him that closely. She knew his face now as she used to know his thoughts when they were so far apart. But she'd never seen him absolutely stunned and utterly fascinated. Or hanging on a lady's every word, or registering her every expression, or being encompassed by her presence to the point that it illuminated him so that a person could tell when she entered a room by the sudden subtle quickened tension of the bones in his very frame. No, she'd never seen Julian so taken by any female as Mr. Be-Good was by her cousin Constance.

But it was a good thing to dream upon.

Which was, she thought in annoyance, all that she seemed to be able to do in relation to Julian these days. Forget that I am your fiancée, she wanted to shout as she swallowed her tea down instead and watched him, I am your friend. Or was. For since he'd been taken ill, and during his recuperation, and all through these past three days since Mr. Be-Good had joined them, she'd walked and talked and sat with all the company and never had a separate word with the person she missed so much he might have been across an ocean from her again, rather than just across the table.

Something had gone badly wrong. She knew it had begun in London when she'd been so taken up with her success that she'd ignored him. But he was never so vain as to never forgive her for that. And indeed, it didn't seem that he was so much angry at her as indifferent. Yet though he gazed at Constance admiringly as any normal gentleman would, still he never looked at her as Mr. Be-Good did, as a man infatuated would. And though he liked to chat with Anthea, he never seemed to more than like it, or her. No, his heart was whole, or so she thought, and then thought that so she knew. For she'd written to him for five years, and he to her, and she knew him entirely. Or had done.

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