“My family would have kept me a child forever if they could have.”
“They only sought to protect you.”
“Because they all knew the truth about my father. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.” She took a long sip of the wine, nearly emptying her glass. He promptly refilled it.
She ran her finger up and down the stem, and he couldn’t help but think about how much he’d like her stroking it over his jaw. Only he wasn’t here for his needs. He was here for hers. “He’s not worth your thoughts.”
“I know, and yet I hardly know who I am any longer.”
He hated that the blighter caused her to have so much as a single doubt about herself. “You’re Fancy Trewlove of the Fancy Book Emporium. Fancy Trewlove who is taking London Society by storm.”
She gave a small laugh. “More like a gentle breeze.”
“In the life of a Season, two balls hardly signifies. By its end, you’ll have won them all over.”
She looked at him, averted her gaze, sipped her wine. “Today I received an invitation to the Fairhaven ball.”
So Sylvie, bless her, in spite of her protests had issued the invitation at his request. He would have to send her a gift. Although Fancy didn’t seem as pleased as he’d expected her to be.
“I met the marquess and marchioness at Gillie’s ball,” she continued. “None of my relations are related to them. It’s the first sign that I’m being accepted.”
“And that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Normally, yes. But I’ve been reflecting on the Collinsworth ball, the next for which I have an invitation. I’m thinking of not going, of ending my Season.”
He didn’t like the thought of her flirting with other men but preferred even less that she would give up on something she’d worked so hard to attain. “You’re intending to let him win?”
“No, I just... in a year or two I’ll go back. Maybe. I’ve been ruminating about what you told me earlier. I could keep this secret, but I worry it would fester and that I would live in fear of it coming out. Would it not be better to admit the truth of things? Especially if I am to have any hope at all of having the sort of marriage I desire.”
Weary of going through the motions of eating when his entire focus was on her, he shoved his plate aside and leaned toward her. “What sort of marriage do you desire?”
“One of love, respect, admiration. Honesty. Devoid of secrets.”
“People seldom share everything.”
“But this isn’t some trifling thing, Matthew. It’s the ugly truth of how I came to be.” She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “I told you earlier how dirty I feel, tainted. I took yet another bath this afternoon and failed once again to rid myself of the filth. It inhabits me.” Tears gathered along her lashes, and it was as though a storm pounded against him. “I’m ashamed. Ashamed that he’s part of me. Ashamed that I haven’t the strength to cast him off. That he continues to haunt me. How can I burden a husband, a family, with all that?”
He thought he knew her, understood, and he realized her devotion to those she cared for was far greater than any he’d ever known. She couldn’t shake off what she’d learned of her father because of her realization regarding the price her mother had paid and her worry for those who had yet to become a part of her life. She humbled him with her unselfishness, with her ability to always put others first.
She was struggling to adjust to what she now knew of herself, thought herself different because she wasn’t the result of a fairy tale, but of a nightmare. Yet she couldn’t see that the heart and soul of her remained the same. Because the maggot had not only touched her but her world, and in so doing, he’d coated her with his filth, and it had gone so deep that she couldn’t wash it off. But he knew how to rid her of it.
Shoving back his chair, he stood. “Where do you store your tub?”
Clearly taken aback, she blinked up at him. “I have a bathing room. Why?”
“I’m going to bathe you, and when I’m done, you’ll be so clean your skin will squeak.”
Fancy didn’t know whether to be horrified, wary, or intrigued as Matthew draped his jacket over the back of the chair, removed his neck cloth, unbuttoned three buttons, rolled up his sleeves, made himself at home within her small kitchen area, and began heating water. She decided on intrigued with a hint of wariness. “You can’t be serious.”
Settling his hips against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, and she fought not to notice how the action made his forearms appear as though they’d been cut from stone. “When I came out of the mines, I was covered in grime, so much so that every crevice and fold was filled with dirt. It was the one thing about working down there that I abhorred. I became very skilled at bathing thoroughly, and when I was done the water was murky.”
“But I’m not literally covered in dirt.”
“No, but you feel as though you are. You’ve confided that your own efforts have failed to yield results. So where’s the harm in letting me give it a try?”
“Through my clothing?”
Uncrossing those lovely arms, he approached her slowly as though she were a skittish mare that might bolt at any unexpected movement or sound. He stopped just shy of his chest brushing over her breasts, and her blasted nipples immediately puckered and strained toward him. He held her gaze with raw honesty. “My mouth has known a good deal of you intimately. You must know I will not take what you are not willing to give.”
