Ivy’s face grew warm. Her cursed blush, a horrid stain erupting with the slightest provocation, was likely spreading over her neck. She hated being so easily unsettled. And he would know it. Of course he would with her neck looking like it was covered in an unsightly rash. ‘I certainly can’t use your Christian name.’
Commissioner Worthington’s eyes grew wide. ‘Heavens, no. The very pedestals of propriety might crumble before us should you presume such a familiarity.’
A strange, bubbling giggle tried to escape her mouth, but she clamped down hard.
I will not simper in front of this man.
The painful thump in her chest was back.
‘Only, I don’t think we need be quite so formal, do you?’
Did she? Think they should be formal? A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but not one of them answered his question.
‘Erm…’ she dithered.
‘At least not when it is just the two of us,’ Commissioner Worthington continued as if she’d contributed something meaningful to the conversation.
Struggling to regain her composure, Ivy clenched the tray so hard, she wondered if she might break the wood. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Would you call me Worthington? Only when no one else is about. And only if you are comfortable with that.’
Worthington. Such an innocent combination of vowels and consonants, and yet she could almost taste them in her mouth, as decadent and addictive as her hot chocolate.
‘Perhaps. I shall consider it.’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’ His clever gaze dipped down to her tray. ‘Is that hot chocolate?’
Instinctively, she turned away, hiding part of the tray from him as if he might take it.
Laughing, he put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I won’t steal your precious treat, Lady Ivy. My sister was mad for the stuff when she was a girl.’ He stiffened and pressed his mouth together.
Ivy quirked her head to the side. ‘You have a sister?’
‘Had.’ One word spoke volumes when paired with the flash of anguish in his eyes. The lines in his face instantly deepened.
Grief. She knew that emotion intimately. Loss. Sorrow. All the feelings one experiences when someone they love is ripped away. She felt the fierceness of it when she was only a child of eight and her mother died. A pain too big to fit inside her body, and yet she stuffed it there with determination because it was all she had left of the woman who loved her with nothing but gentle touches, warm smiles, tight hugs. Worthington carried that same agony and, while his body was much bigger than hers, it still wasn’t big enough to contain it. She saw it pushing out of him like a ropey vine.
She would have to be a true skinflint to deny him a little of her chocolate. And while Ivy was many terrible things, she wasn’t selfish. Dipping her chin in a sharp nod, she turned back toward him. ‘I’m sure I can find another cup. If you’d like some, that is.’
The small smile creasing his cheeks was so sad, Ivy felt compelled to reach out to him. Offer some kind of comfort. Which was impossible.
I’m carrying a tray, after all.
‘I wouldn’t dream of depriving you, Lady Ivy. Perhaps we should postpone our planning of the investigation until the morrow. You’ve had a long day. And I find myself in need of rest.’
A pang of disappointment cut through her before she remembered to be relieved. ‘Yes, that would be… I mean to say, I am rather weary. Err, well. I hope you find your rest. If your room is not as it should be, you need only let me know.’
He nodded. ‘Is it just up the stairs?’
‘Oh. Of course. You haven’t had a chance to explore the house. Please, follow me. All of the rooms are on the eastern wing. The western wing has more rooms, but we’ve left those largely untouched for now.’ Turning, Ivy hastily ascended the stairs, not looking back to see if he was following her. There was something incredibly intimate about guiding a man to her bedchamber. Or at least, the hallway leading to her bedchamber. Ivy refused to think about it any further. She couldn’t. All the particles of her body might fly apart if she did, releasing her soul to rise into the night air like mist and dissipate into eternity.
When she reached the second floor, she made a fast right turn. Her swift steps matched her heartbeat as she counted each footfall. Sometimes, frightening tasks were best done quickly. Seven long strides from the stairs to the hallway. Four more to room number ten. She turned partly and noted he was close behind her. Close enough that she could discern where his neck turned from golden honey to pale eggshell. ‘Your room is here.’
‘And yours?’
Ivy’s shoulders tightened.
‘Should there be any trouble, I would need to know where you are. Only for that, Lady Ivy. I swear it.’
