He had gotten as far as dressing to visit her twice this week, but for some reason, after his visit with the Duchess of Harrington, he couldn’t make himself enter that office, not even with her little gold pin mocking from his dresser every day. Each time he stood in front of his valet, getting his cravat tied, the words someone older and stronger flashed through his mind. Both times, he had grabbed John’s hand at his neck and stopped him.

As if Miss Barton qualified as older and stronger. Technically, she was older and stronger than Rachel, but she was still so very young. The duchess could not have meant a few scant happy years older than his wife had been. Miss Barton was still too bright of a light to snuff out. If he were to consider heeding the duchess’s advice, he would need someone who had seen more cruelty, someone as hardened as he was. Someone without a full, unclouded future ahead of her. Together, perhaps he and this older, stronger, hardened woman could drudge through life. Perhaps that would be better than drudging through it alone.

He was, by no means, ready to take that step. But for the first time since Rachel died, he admitted that marriage could possibly be in his future. He still doubted it would, but the duchess had opened his mind to it a bit. Not all women had futures that lit up a room when they walked into it.

Miss Barton, however, did.

So he had stayed away.

And he would continue to stay away until he could tame that small part of him that saw her copper eyes every night when he laid his head on his pillow. When he could return to her indifferent and playful, he would visit her office again.

Another week should do it.

Everton stopped walking and glanced around himself for the first time since he had left the shop. He was three blocks closer to Rochester Street and his home was in the opposite direction. He spun on his heel.

A week might not be long enough.

Chapter 16

Diana closed the Society section and laid the newspaper on her desk. Lord Bryant had attended a card party and an opera, so he wasn’t ill or indisposed. It had been a week since she ran into him at the bookstore and two weeks since she had truly spoken with him.

She had known from the beginning that this time would come.

Her novelty had worn off.

Or, perhaps, he was irritated with her. She had spoken to Lady Emily after he had specifically asked her not to.

Whatever the reason, she would not admit to missing him. Not even when she was giving his excuses to Mrs. Oliver every day.

The bell clanged, and Diana’s eyes flew to the door.

Penetrating green eyes stared back at her. He had come.

Mrs. Oliver clapped her hands. Diana tightened her grip on the pen she was holding to prevent herself from doing the same. She controlled her smile. Lord Bryant was a business associate, and she would smile at him like she smiled at all her business associates.