"I see," she said softly, beginning to walk slower.
Mistaking her voice for sadness, he felt a twinge in his heart. He didn't want to hurt her, but he had to tell her, had to let her know that there was someone else. He stopped and fully turned to her, the need to tell her everything overwhelming him. "I need to find her."
"She's important to you." It was said as a statement, but he couldn't tell how she felt about it.
"Yes." He looked to the horizon as if searching for the woman. "I have to find her."
She hesitated only slightly. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."
Her offer of help was sweeter than any gift anyone had ever given him. Her kindness, even through her own disappoint, had no equal.
With every second that he spent in her presence, he was drawn even more to her, found more qualities within her that he admired, respected.
She was so much more than he had ever known. So much more than the quiet wallflower she presented herself as. What a fool he had been.
What a fool he was now.
He was telling her how important this other woman was to him, and all he could think about was her. Her qualities. Her kindness.
He cleared his throat. "Actually, there is something you could do to help me."
"There is?" She turned toward him.
"Yes. I know some basic attributes of hers. I could use your help compiling a list of who might possess those traits."
Walking away, lost in thought, he thought she might refuse him, and his gut clenched. He wanted her help.
"I would be happy to help you in any way I can." There was a hitch in her voice as she made the offer. Turning back toward him she offered a wobbly smile, and he couldn't help but approach her. The pain etched in her features was something he couldn't ignore. To have her offer her help, regardless of her feelings or desires, was more than anyone had ever done for him.
Gripping her arms lightly, he waited for her to look up at him. Her eyes, bright with sadness and unshed tears, had him berating himself. How could he be so thoughtless?
He pulled her against him, needing to give her comfort. "I'm sorry. I never should have asked such a thing of you."
"No." The one word was strong, making him pull back to look at her face, read what she was feeling. "Please don't be sorry about that. I would do anything to help you." She looked so sad and it caused another twist in his heart.
"Not at this cost." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I care about you, Aubrey. I don't know when the feelings started, but I care for you. I don't want to hurt you."
She stilled in his arms, absorbing what he had said. With her features impassive, he wasn't sure how she received his declaration.
"I care about you too," she finally whispered, looking up into his eyes.
He was drowning. The feelings in her eyes seemed to latch onto him, seemed to pull him into her where nothing else mattered.
Suddenly, he realized he held her against him. Her lush curves against the hard planes of his body, his arms wrapped around her slim waist.
When had that happened? He had meant to hold her in comfort, but all he could think about was how good she felt against him.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and the plump rose of her bottom lip beckoned to him.
Her quick intake of breath let him know that she knew he contemplated kissing her. The fact that she didn't pull away from him, made his desire for her flair hotter.
With Aubrey firmly in his arms, the masquerade woman fled his mind. Nothing and no one else mattered more than this moment with Aubrey.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for one swift breeze to push him over. When her small, pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, he was lost.
Cursing his lack of control, he swooped down, finally tasting the lips that had entranced him more than any other sight ever had.
The immediate taste overwhelmed him. She was tart and sweet at the same time, more refreshing then anything he had ever tasted. Her flavor seemed to seep into him, made him want more and more of her.
With a small cry, which he wasn't sure was from relief or distress, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
The kiss turned darker, more demanding. He couldn't help himself as he slanted his lips over hers again and again, trying to find a better angle. But every angle was amazing.
She fit in his arms perfectly. There wasn't anything about her that didn't feel just right against his body. If these were the last few minutes of his life, he would happily die a satisfied man in her arms.
But this wasn't the last moment of his life. And he couldn't seem to get enough of her.
He felt her body press more firmly against his as if she wanted to crawl inside of him to get closer. A growl escaped his throat as he thought of all the ways he wanted to be closer to her.
Had he ever felt so overwhelmed, so in tune with someone else?
The thought was like ice water to his desire. Pulling away abruptly, he cursed, turning away from her.
"I'm … I'm sorry," she said, desire and confusion tingeing her voice.
Hands clenching into fists, he regretted his actions. Their kiss had been more powerful, more overwhelming than he had ever felt before. Even with the masquerade woman.
But he wasn't free. He had made a promise to another woman, and he couldn't take it back.
Cursing himself twice the fool, he finally turned back toward her. "You don't owe me an apology. It is I who must apologize to you."
"I … " she trailed off. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No!" The denial was ripped from somewhere in his chest. He couldn't bear for her to think that she had done something wrong. Or that she lacked in some way. "You are perfect. More wonderful than anyone I have ever met." A light flickered in her eyes, a light of hope, but there was no hope. "You have done nothing wrong, but I have."
Her face fell, and he felt like a cad. Wrenching away from her pain, he turned, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. A gesture that he had never done before.
His normally perfect hair stood on end from his fingers.
"I made a promise to another."
She was quiet for a moment, processing what he had just said. "The masquerade woman."
He nodded, frustrated with his life. "Yes. I promised myself to her, promised that I would find her."
"I will help you."
He shook his head forcefully. "No. I can't ask that of you. Especially after what just happened between us. I can't hurt you more." He breathed shakily, turning toward her. "I hate myself that I've hurt you already.
He felt her feathery light touch on his arm. "I am responsible for myself, Bradford. I have made my own choice, and I will take care of my own feelings. I don't regret what has passed between us, and I never will. But I'd like to think of myself as your friend."
"You are. Perhaps even the best I've ever had."
She smiled wistfully at that. "Tell me what you know of her, and I will help you in this."
He searched her face, looking for the hurt, but didn't see it. He had no idea that she was capable of masking such a strong emotion, but he knew she did now. What else didn't he know about her?
"Honey-blond hair, green eyes, medium height," he listed off her features like a list of numbers. "And she is here at the house party."
"She is here? Are you certain?"
He nodded, but there was no enthusiasm in the gesture. "I saw her at the masquerade the other night. She told me."
"I see." She looked up at him again. I will make a list as soon as I return to the house. Pasting on a smile, which he clearly saw was fake, she gestured to the horse. "I believe we've walked long enough. Shall we return to the house and start the hunt?"
He wanted to hold her again, tell her how much she had come to mean to him, but he couldn't. He wasn't free to do so. So he nodded his agreement instead, moving to lift her to her horse.
Seeing her stiffen in the saddle, he looked up to see the groom approaching them. He had completely forgotten he was there.
"Will we be continuing on or returning to the manor?" the servant asked, any hint that he had witnessed their embrace was hidden.
The fact that none of Viscount Lawrence's grooms were available that morning, and that he had to use one of his own men, was a boon. "We will be returning to the manor directly. Thank you, John."
His servant nodded, acknowledging his master's words and the silent request that what he had seen remain a secret. But Bradford wasn't concerned that his servant would tell anyone. He had long since weeded out any of his staff that would gossip.
As the groom rode away, he looked up at Aubrey, tension creasing her brow. "There is no need to worry," he quickly soothed. "He is one of my servants and he would never say a word."
At his reassurance, she relaxed in the saddle, and he was taken aback by the amount of trust she showed him.