When Two Hearts Meet (Brightmore #2)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

A self-conscious gesture was never completed with the swift dexterity that Oriana fashioned her hair neatly about her over-sized ears. Discreetly, she peered at Cole from behind the book she was pretending to read and cursed herself a fool. The good captain, it seemed, had no interest for her today at all. She could barely stomach that as it seemed to confirm her suspicions from the night before.

With a pout of sullenness, Oriana willed her mind to focus on the words of the text before her, but it was terribly difficult. There was a charged energy in the parlour room where they had respectively grouped, or at least Oriana appeared to feel it more than her companions. Cole was blithely engaged perusing the contents of a paper he had procured from the breakfast room, nary a glance in her direction other than a cordial greeting that morning as was required of him on the grounds of sheer politeness. Danielle, too, seemed oblivious of her guest’s edginess, engrossed in her own reading material as she reclined on a settee adjacent to Oriana. Plank had positioned his hefty bulk beside her where she had decided to sit on a chaise longue near a window that overlooked the misty grounds of Falmouth Castle, his head resting against her thigh in a pose she was becoming increasingly familiar with and, though she would never admit to it, fond of.

It was a brooding day, heavy with clouds that dribbled with consistent rain that was not sheer enough to be termed a downpour, but more a thin veil of slick mist that clung to the skin like a fine wet cloth should one dare venture outside, seeping into clothing and hair unrepentantly. Today, it had been an unanimous agreement that activities would occur exclusively indoors. The only person who had not seen fit to join them was Rhys whom Dani explained had business to attend in town that day.

So Oriana read, or tried to, but her thoughts and her eyes constantly found themselves wavering on Cole’s handsome figure across the chamber, wondering with torturous intent whether he had spent the night with another woman or not. Why it should matter at all was beyond Oriana and even if he had committed the unthinkable, was it any concern of hers what he did or did not do? He was a man, after all, and so often her mother had pointed out that they tended to stray and when they did, it was best if she turned a blind eye on the discretion.

A derisive sound escaped her lips and she glanced about, startled. Thankfully, neither of her companions noticed, except for Plank who simply rolled his black eyes back and shot her a look of watery puppy devotion, and she resumed glaring at the pages of her book. He looked handsome today, she thought somewhat wistfully while at the same time she became aware that she had not turned the page of her tome in some time. Lest they think her daft, Oriana made a spectacle of doing so, placing the book atop Plank’s snout and ever so slowly turning the aged pages with her fingertips.

Nobody paid her the least bit of attention.

Ah, good then, that’s alright, she supposed, pursing her lips. It was safe to resume her imaginings and admiration of Cole Stanley, steering her thoughts inward. From the peripheral of her left eye she could just make out his crisp white shirt, the manner in which it pulled taut across his incredibly think upper arm, bunched with every movement as he flipped the pages of his paper. The cravat about his throat was fastened secure with a tiny ruby that glinted tauntingly from within the creamy folds. His tawny waistcoat was hidden from sight mostly by his paper but Oriana knew well just how snugly it fit across his flat, board-like abdomen. Her eyes flicked in his direction again, almost impetuously. Drat.

If she had been determined to change her feelings for the man after the previous night’s revelations, Oriana had failed. Her heart seemed to beat erratically in his presence and her skin tingled with excitement and awareness. Why it should when she knew that in all probability he was a lecherous coot confounded her. It certainly did not aid matters that Cole Stanley appeared so darn handsome sitting in a high, wing-back chair, his ankle propped atop one knee as he scanned the contents of his reading material.