Theo narrowed his eyes. “That’s where it belongs.”
Swinton affected a placid smile. “I am certain a grateful guest would never imply that his wishes outranked those of my master, the duke.”
At once, Virginia’s cat streaked into the room, hissed at them all, paused for effect, and ran off.
“Never say ‘duke,’” Theo said wearily.
Swinton tucked the letter safely inside his jacket and quit the room.
“Can you send someone to fetch the bird?” Theo called after him. “He belongs in an outbuilding.”
“Partridge,” Virginia corrected. “His name is Dancer.”
Dancer perched atop one of Azureford’s decorative folding screens. Theo hoped the delicate design wasn’t about to get even more decorative.
Virginia rose from her chair, stepping forward until the soft folds of her gown rustled between Theo’s legs.
“I told you,” she said softly. “No more hiding your wounds. They need to breathe.”
Theo wasn’t hiding his wounds. He was hiding himself. Protecting others from being frightened by a beast.
She unwrapped the thin strips of cloth from his face. “Don’t do it again. Have you more bandages somewhere?”
He would not lie to her, so he said nothing.
Virginia strode from the drawing room and returned bearing the spare rolls of cloth strips that had been on the dressing table in Theo’s guest chamber.
He wondered if she’d sent a footman or if she walked in herself. Perhaps when he entered, the room would now smell like Virginia.
She tossed the bandages into her basket and closed the lid.
He sighed. “Are you ever going to bring ice cream again?”
“When you earn it,” she replied. “Does your face feel better without all that cloth covering it?”
His face did not feel better. His misshapen countenance felt naked. Exposed. Ghastly.
If Virginia found him as such, she made no sign. She neither recoiled from his wounds nor twisted her face in disgust. Instead, she cupped her hand to his good cheek.
“Scars aren’t evidence of failure,” she said softly. “They are proof of survival.”
Any brusque response he might have given tangled in his chest at her gentleness. He lifted his hand to cover hers. She had not just seen through the bandages, but understood his fears, his doubts, his guilt. And washed them all away with a touch and an insightful word.
How did she know so much? His blood pulsed faster. Had someone hurt her?
“Do you have a scar?” He meant the question to be as warm and protective as her hand on his face, but the words clawed from his throat in a growl.
Without answering the question, she slipped her fingers from beneath his and sank to her knees. “I am pleased you are no longer wearing those useless Hessians.”
“Yes, well.” He gestured at their replacement. “Dancing slippers are just as unnecessary.”
She slipped them off and began to massage his muscles. “You feel even better this time.”
Theo tightened his jaw.Shefelt better every time she touched him. It was as if his flesh not only remembered her hands but yearned for them. He melted into each stroke. He would do anything she asked as long as she kept touching him.
“Tell me about the castle,” he said gruffly. “Do you like living here?”
“I love it,” she answered.
