***
He couldn’t help himself.
All Julien wanted to do was see if the wallflower was all right. And she was. She didn’t look any worse for wear. In fact, she looked downright beautiful in her soft pink dress. Just like the first time he’d set his eyes on her. A vision of sunshine and sweetness. She might even have smiled a time or two. And he knew, because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. So much so, that Wrath had abandoned him with a mutter of nauseating love sickness. Which he simply ignored because he was suffering from nothing of the sort.
It rankled, however.
She refused to look at him. Refused to acknowledge him in every sort of way. And the pit in his gut that forever shimmered with fury spread through him. Not even his damn toes were spared. He couldn’t bloody stand, damn well live, with the distance she placed between them, even though he understood it. Wanted it. Agreed to it.
But couldn’t stay away.
When her gaze finally met his, nothing inside him calmed. No. How could it? His heart sank at the wariness creeping into the depth of hers.
“Can we talk?” Julien asked softly.
He had no idea what he wanted to bloody impart, but it was imperative that he talk with her. Hear from her mouth thatshe wasn’t damaged beyond repair over what happened to her. Deep down, he knew she wouldn’t be. She was strong. Not like him, who succumbed to his anger. Who would destroy anyone who slighted him.
He didn’t know if he’d ever change that part of him.
She gave a slow nod. “Very well. I do have a question for you.”
Relief flooded him. He offered his arm and her brows furrowed. Tension shot back up his back. “Take a stroll with me? Please, Elowyn.”
He noticed gooseflesh break out over the swell of her breast, the hair on his arms rising as she placed the palm of her hand over his arm. He let out a slow breath, guiding her to a set of trees clustered beyond a man-made pond.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
She glanced up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That night . . .”
She averted her gaze. “Let’s not talk about that night, please.”
His jaw clenched. Very well. “You said you had a question.”
“I do.” She paused, an unnerving few seconds, before asking bluntly, “You were never planning on falling into the marriage trap laid for you, were you?”
Julien flinched. Of all the questions she could have asked, she had to ask that question. This was all his damn fault. If he hadn’t called on her. If he hadn’t interrupted the dance meant for Stagbourne, then she might not have been humiliated in such a way. Red dripping from her body like blood. Rage stillsimmered at the memory, and would, until he got the sight out of his head. Which he knew would be never.
“No.” The truth.
A moment of silence passed.
“Then you never needed my help,” she said softly. “Why approach me, then?”
He should never have done that. He could have used other means to handle Dansbury, but he didn’t want to risk anything coming in the way of his plans for Silkin. “There were,” thereare“other things at play.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Such as?”
He sighed. “Business.”
“Business. Right. And if I go back on my word now?” Those beautiful eyes blazed. “You still won’t allow yourself to be trapped.”
“No.”
“I see.”
Hurt crossed her features, and Julien loathed that he put it there. A sense of powerlessness made him clench his fist. This was why he didn’t become attached. Attachment meant this—this helplessness, this inability to fix. For a second, he was once again kneeling on a floor beside his mother, unable to turn back time or save her, helpless to undo what had already been done. He was, it seemed, powerless all over again. In fact, he seemed to have lost all power when it came to Lady Elowyn Wildflower Price.