Read The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe for Free Online

had enough of Auldale. He wanted her, and that desire itself was a reminder of everything he wanted to forget.

 
    C HAPTER F IVE
    S he came every day that week. By Saturday, he looked forward to that moment when the sun was high above, when she’d appear around the curve of the village path bearing nuncheon and her sketchbook.
    He met her halfway across the clearing and reached for the heavy basket and then kept pace with her as they walked back toward the castle.
    â€œI told you, you don’t need to bribe me with food.”
    â€œThat’s what you say,” she said with a laugh. “But I prefer not taking the chance.”
    Admittedly, he enjoyed the food. While he’d grown used to his simple fare, he was not immune to the charms of a well-cooked meal.
    â€œI wonder what the innkeeper prepares for Sunday dinner. Do you work on Sundays?” she asked.
    â€œNo. Actually, I go to church and then join my mother for dinner at the manor.”
    â€œJohn, you shock me!”
    He stopped in his tracks, just outside the door of the castle. He felt the warm brush of Jasper’s body against his leg as the dog passed him.
    â€œThat I don’t work on the Sabbath?” There was merriment in her eyes and he struggled to find the joke.
    â€œThat you are positively sociable on Sundays.” Sociable . The word stayed with him even as she continued talking. “Here I thought you were a misanthropic hermit, and all along, you’re simply an eccentric.”
    His shoulders tensed with irritation. “Perhaps I’m both.” He crossed through the threshold, stalked toward the area of the hall that had become their makeshift dining table, and deposited the basket there. He knew more by scent than by sound that she’d caught up to him.
    Yes. He knew her scent. He’d likely know it for years, be able to pick her out in the middle of a crowd, even blindfolded.
    â€œI suppose that today being Saturday, sociable isn’t in the cards. Shall we settle for roast duck?”
    He laughed at that, despite himself. Helped her spread the thick blanket over the cool, time-worn stones.
    â€œActually, I had thought to invite you to join me tomorrow.”
    â€œHad you?” She was smiling at him. As always, that first brilliant flash of teeth, of sparkling eyes, stunned him. “And have you stopped thinking?”
    He reached for the loaf of bread. She was in one of her teasing moods. She’d continue this way for a while, he’d learned. Twisting whatever he’d said until she was bored or satisfied.
    â€œWill you?” he pressed. “I can promise you a meal at an actual table. With chairs, tablecloth, and servants.”
    â€œServants, too?” she quipped. “How remarkable.”
    He sighed. Something had bothered her. He cut a thick slice out of the small truckle of Wensleydale.
    â€œIt sounds lovely, John,” she said finally, not a tremor of humor in her voice. “But you know I cannot.”
    He looked up.
    â€œDon’t stare at me as if you don’t understand,” she exclaimed. “You aren’t that dense.”
    She thought him dense? He’d been one of the best at Woolwich. Nonetheless, he did at that moment feel like he was missing something.
    â€œI’m an actress . Not a lady . I hardly think your mother wishes to break bread with Lord Alverley’s former mistress .”
    His cheeks burned hot.
    He knew, of course, her history, but it was simply part of who Angelina was. His companion in hiding away from the world. In misanthropy and eccentricity. He laughed.
    â€œIt isn’t funny.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just, I don’t think of you that way.”
    Her face went still, wiped clean, as if she had donned a mask of Angelina and not the expressive woman he’d come to know.
    â€œI know.” She made it sound like a failing that he didn’t.
    He dropped