Mr. Lenning ran a comforting hand over Miss Prudence’s hair. “But what if it swells?”
Hamdon rushed in at that moment and assessed the situation quickly. His gaze rose to Alan’s and his mouth pulled down at the corners. Alan turned away, unable to look his brother-in-law in the eyes.
Advancing to the window, he took several deep breaths. A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, but he pulled away. He deserved no comfort, nor anyone’s pity. Spinning toward the door, he rushed out, only vaguely aware of Grace’s surprise at his rejection. It was all for the best.
Now she knew what sort of beast he was.
Grace sat with Prudence until she fell asleep. Somehow, the knife had gone in just to the right of her big toe, cutting the connecting skin between it and the second toe. It was a wonder so little damage had happened after Prudence told her the story.
It had been hours since anyone had seen Alan. Had she really been brave enough to use his given name? She wrapped her arms around her middle. She’d hardly dared to think of him as Alan, let alone use it without his permission.
Her gaze strayed to the window. The day that had started out sunny now mimicked her mood with grey skies and clouds that looked as ready to cry as she felt.
Alan had been so distraught over his reaction, so consumed with remorse. Was this what Lady Hamdon had meant by his need to push people away?
Grace had awoken early this morning thinking she’d heard someone call her name, but when no other sounds filtered into her room, she’d drifted off again until Prudence bounced her awake and begged her to visit the stables.
She should have said no. Should have reined in her sister’s enthusiasm. Who wouldn’t be startled by Prudence barging in so fast that she’d knocked over a stack of wooden buckets?
It was no wonder Alan had reacted so quickly, but according to Prudence, he’d also tried to pull back his hand. It was just too late.
Tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Grace slipped out of the room, hoping an afternoon nap would return Prudence to her usual self, one that was slightly more careful about what corners she charged around.
The front door opened and shut. Grace peered over the balustrade to see who had arrived. Alan peered down at thelower court but thankfully didn’t look up as he ascended the steps of the family wing. She watched him, his steps purposeful, but shoulders slumped like it was hard to carry the burden that rested there. In his arms, he carried a large wooden box.
When he entered his study, she decided on a course of action. He may not want to see her, but she needed to speak to him, whether he liked it or not. So she pushed against the bounds of propriety and crossed to the other side of the house.
Rapping on the door, she heard a curt, “Enter.”
She opened the door.
Alan retrieved a knife from the drawer of his desk and dropped it into the box without looking up. “I only have a few more to gather and then you can take them away.”
“To where?” she asked.
He whirled around in surprise. “Grace.”
The reverent way he said her name with heartache in his eyes stopped her.
He straightened. “Forgive me. I thought you were Gibbons.”
The pain in his expression pulled her into the room. “What are you doing?”
His gaze dropped to the box and his hands curled around it like he was cradling something precious. Grace drew closer to see the contents. Her jaw dropped. There had to be over twenty knives and daggers of different lengths.
“I—” His throat bobbed and he stared at the floor between them. “I am not a safe person to be around. Your sister’s injury is my fault, all because I cannot control my blasted fear.” His head shot up. “Forgive me, I should not have used such coarse language.”
“Use whatever language you must if it will help chase away the memories that torture you. Perhaps we should sit down and you can tell me about it.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I have already troubled you too much. It would be safer for you to leave.”
Against her own instinct, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “And if I will not?”
He winced. “I must insist that you do. I may be dressed in gentlemen’s clothing, Grace, but I am a monster. A creature who cannot always control his actions, especially when I sleep.”
His continued use of her name solidified a suspicion that had been dancing at the forefront of her mind. It slipped so naturally from his lips that she was certain he thought of her in far more intimate terms than she’d allowed herself to hope. A tiny smile pulled at her lips, and with it, the need to lighten the mood.
“Well then, it is good you are not sleeping now.”
