Nay, he only sought to hold on to the woman he loved, to keep her by his side—and in the dark about his defect—a little (or a lot) longer.
Daniel didn’t have to look at Thea to see how still she’d gone. How alert. How her eyes no doubt narrowed with suspicion when all he could do was keep his gaze fixed on the planet he no longer saw and jerk a nod, agreeing with his idol that he was a clodpated ninnyhammer.
His hand slipped. The gears pinched, then severed his skin. “D-damn.”
Hah. How the universe mocked and laughed. He couldn’t even get that out, a single swearword?
Couldn’t even split his finger and drip blood on his precious orrery without becoming a stammering fool?
“Got you, eh?” Taft commiserated as Daniel whipped out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his finger. Taft was already blotting the crimson smear off the brass. “No matter how much I profess to love them, these orrery rascals have a way of biting back, especially the worthwhile ones.”
“Aye.” It came out a curse.
“It was the same for my uncle,” Taft went on, oblivious to the interstellar explosion he’d just set off in Daniel’s stomach. “Hated having to talk in public or meet new people.”
And that did it. Nailed him in his coffin as surely as an undertaker. But Taft wasn’t finished yet. ’Course not. He just wanted to dig those nails in a little deeper. “Probably why he was so good with mechanics. Screws and such don’t talk back, eh, my lord?” He followed up this pithy pronouncement with a heartfelt sigh. “He’s the one who fostered my interest in clockworks and orreries, you know. Smartest man I ever knew, my uncle. Miss him terribly.”
Smartest man he knew?
There was that, at least.
Daniel had two choices: halt their efforts and deal with Thea—assuming she stayed long enough to let him—or carry on with the plaguingly perceptive man who had troubled himself to come lend aid.
What he refused to do was run away. Hide from the truth any longer, no matter how nauseous he felt, now that it was out.
Breathing through his nose with every bit of control he could exert, Daniel told himself this was his house, his study, his broken orrery, his mistress… Oh God, it was his everything. In vain he tried to muster courage where none existed. A fruitless effort. It had fled.
But he refused to let his mind do the same. There would be no pretending this wasn’t happening, no cloud-hopping escape to avoid the pain of the whip. Nay, it was time he took a stand. Brave whatever censure might come his way without hiding in the corner as he’d been taught by the lash.
Though it took more nerve than stepping into a ring with the beefiest of opponents, Daniel broke free from the coffin and nailed his feet in place. He swallowed twice, still without looking at Thea. “For me, ’t-twas my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather, eh?”
“Aye. T-teaching me of orreries.”
Taft nodded, pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and bent closer. “Some say they’re a waste of money and one’s crown office.” The man sniffed as though those people were the idiots, not smart ones like his uncle. Like Daniel. He nudged Daniel with an elbow. “But we’ll show up their ignorant hides, eh? Get this sweetheart running…”
Lord Tremayne had trouble speaking?
Thea had forgotten to inhale. When her lungs protested, she came to with a slight choke. One she quickly muffled behind her hand, unable to stop staring at the men whose heads were bent over Uranus’s arm, inspecting it from bright-blue ball to innermost gear.
After seven-plus long years with Mr. Hurwell, she’d learned to hold her tongue. She did so now, working through what it all meant.
Lord Tremayne had trouble speaking.
Which explained so much, did it not?
Why he tended to arrive later than expected; it minimized talking opportunities if he was always rushing into place at the last second.
Why their flirty letters flowed with an ease, a verbosity she’d noticed on more than one occasion was absent from their in-person interactions.
Why he spoke so very deliberately, unless they were already laughing and the mirth masked the stammer for him.
Why he never came for dinner. Never lingered once they were intimate.
Has he told you anything more? Lady Elizabeth had asked at the opera. About himself?
Her mind whirled, remembering stutters and stumbles she’d overlooked or deemed unimportant at the time, given the wondrous topics they’d discussed. Remembering the ticking jaw or gritted teeth, the strained tendons in his neck that usually gave way to a brief word or two. Remembering the bruises he sported, both old and new.
So, this explained his reserve, his inclination toward tardiness. Did it explain the fighting? She’d have to work on that one.
When she didn’t feel so slighted.
At the moment Thea struggled with resentment. Waves of it clogging her throat, knotting her belly. It was a simple enough difficulty to explain. Why hadn’t he told her? Did he not trust her?
Oh, he trusted her with his body but not with who he was. And that hurt. Made her feel as though his lack of trust was somehow her fault.
But she hadn’t missed how his free hand had clutched the table with a white-knuckled grip. Nor had she missed how his spine had gone stiff, his ears slightly red. How his gaze studiously avoided hers.
He knew she’d overheard. Knew his secret was out. And the information affected him mightily.
Thea chose to stay where she was. Hadn’t her mother taught her that actions conveyed more of a person’s character than what they said?
Thoughtful gifts, joyous letters, a safe home, friendly servants…
Cyclops huffed, upset when she stopped petting, so she applied herself to making it up to him, never mind the growing damp patch on her dress.
Stray twins (thieves, no less), fearsome, drooly dogs (but lovable for all that)…and now her? It appeared Lord Tremayne had a propensity for rescuing those in need. Thea wasn’t quite
