The swelling had gone down, both eyes were blinkable, but the bruising looked bad, deep purpling surrounding one eye and part of his cheek.
“What of that cream, my lord? The one that fades bruises?” She tsked. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Almost out,” he told her with a forced smile.
His face must be paining him, poor man. Why he seemed so strained.
“Then I’ll just run up and grab what you gave—”
Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he pointed to the cuckoo clock beside the mirror. “Later.”
Which she surmised meant they really needed to be on their way. “Very well.”
She watched the motion of his Adam’s apple bob once after he nodded grimly, the flexing of his tight jaw, the strong column of his throat—
“You—you!” Thea spun in place, her fingertips going to his chin. That’s what was different about him. Not his attire at all. Not just the reduced swelling, but his face. “You shaved!” she accused, too surprised to temper her tone.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. He inclined his head.
Her eyes skimmed every feature as her fingertips echoed the same path, rubbing over the squared and stiff jaw, the discernible cheekbones, the strong jut of his chin. In truth, she was met with a countenance she could study for hours.
Every speck of skin his thoughtful action revealed lured her touch to linger. That is, until he frowned. “Thought you’d…”
Be pleased sounded in her head, conveyed by his eyes.
She wound one arm around his neck and pulled him down. Rising to her toes, she placed a deliberate kiss on the newly smooth skin. “I do like,” she told him, leaning back and lowering her arm while keeping her gaze focused on his, “very much. Excessively much. It’s just…” She darted a quick glance behind her and to the side, making sure the woodwork hadn’t sprouted servants’ ears.
When she remained silent, one of his dark brows lifted.
She spoke to his right earlobe. Good thing too, because she whispered so softly the confession was barely audible. “Just that I was never overly fond of men’s beards until yours. I, ah, enjoyed the feel of it, you, ah…betweenmylegstheothernight.”
His hearty laugh rewarded her courage. Taking her hand in his, he bowed over it. “It will grow.”
And there he went, laughing at her again, with her now that she was laughing too. Gracious, but she’d become audacious since meeting him!
“La, sir,” she said in her best “lady” voice, wishing she had a fan to playfully thwack on his arm, “how you love to mock me.”
His expression was suitably stern when she garnered the courage to face him again. He straightened and Mr. Samuels magically appeared to open the door. Lord Tremayne took up his walking stick in one hand and extended his opposite arm to Thea as she retrieved her reticule. Nodding at the butler, he escorted her to the waiting carriage.
What was wrong?
The carriage ride, contrary to everything Thea expected, was fraught. Lord Tremayne hardly spoke. He barely nodded when she profusely thanked him for the lovely dress she now wore and the new wardrobe on order. Scarcely smiled when she shared about George and Charlotte, her efforts at first eradicating and then befriending the friendly rodents.
Only just acknowledged her laughing mention of poetry and how much fun she’d had bantering with him over noses and cranky cats. In fact, each topic seemed to pain him more than the one before until she was left confused and clueless, her fingers plucking at the reticule strings as she cast about for more to say, distraught that he might be tiring of her so soon.
But nay, he didn’t seem disinterested, merely distracted, painfully so.
Once they left her neighborhood, the horses moved so slowly she thought they might be rolling backward. The seven—yes, seven—additional attempts at conversation she made were met with near grunts or hardly any response at all.
Night shrouded their meager progress, but the carriage’s interior, unlike their last ride together, was well lit.
She knew he was pleased with her appearance. (He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her sham of a plumped-up bosom, which only made the scant pressure of the cotton feel like a ton, weighing on her conscience.) She knew he wanted to continue on because when she’d suggested they return home and stay in, some time after the silent ride commenced, he barked a nay.
The carriage rocked in place as one of the horses snorted. A huge sigh heaved from her lungs. She tried to look away, to focus anywhere except his newly revealed countenance but couldn’t.
How could she ever have thought him unhandsome?
As though an out-of-control bonfire threatened utter destruction, Daniel sensed all his efforts, all the relaxed time they’d spent together going up in smoke.
What a blighted evening!
At the townhouse, it had been all he could do to eke out his understated appreciation of Thea’s glorious appearance.
His neck and jaw, throat and tongue, hell even his teeth and tonsils, were all weary to the point of exhaustion. He never should have done so much talking at Everson’s. Not when he had plans this evening with Thea. But the afternoon had been so easy, once he’d moved past his initial reluctance, so…fun, dammit. Aye, fun.
Laughing over brandy and port, playing with words and letters, testing—and massacring—some of Tom’s many tongue teasers. Once, when a maid brought in jelly-filled scones, all three of them had stuffed their mouths to overflowing and tried to sing Tom’s Q list. Squinting Quint’s quality quizzing glass…
Crumbs had spewed, coughs ensued, and the whole effort proved hilarious. He didn’t know when he’d ever had such a rum time with someone he’d, for all intents and purposes, just met. He’d been himself, his habitual hesitance all but vanishing the longer he stayed in their presence.
Though he’d hurt at the time, he’d thought it a puny price to pay. Figured all would be fine in a trice.
Hardly!
For once he’d said his goodbyes, after making a boxing date with
