“With actions,” he replies. “A person can prove themselves trustworthy through daily life. There’s no need to dig into the past and root out ugly, uncomfortable things.”
I fall silent, wondering what past ugliness he wants to hide.
“You’re curious right now, aren’t you?” he says ruefully. “You’re imagining all the reasons I might be saying this, all the things I might wish to conceal.”
“Maybe. But there are things I don’t want to reveal either, so I understand.”
I don’t want to tell anyone about the starving demon-wolf, Herron of the bulging eyes, or Grandmother’s new set of hideous teeth. I don’t want to know why I make creatures appear, or where they come from—I just want it to stop.
I’d rather hold those things inside myself, tuck them away in a locked chest in my mind. Then maybe I could simply focus on how Beresford makes me feel: happy, hopeful, and admired.
“I won’t ask you about your past,” I tell him. “If you refrain from questioning me about any oddities of mine. As you said, we’ll build mutual trust based on our actions, our kept promises. Are you still mine alone, as you swore to be?”
He looks me straight in the eyes, not a trace of guile in his blue gaze. “I am. Being true to you is the easiest thing in the world. I could do it for a lifetime.”
My heart flutters wildly in my chest. “That’s not the impression you gave me last night.”
“I was testing you. Gauging what your reaction would be to the suggestion of me fucking another woman. You were bold enough to state what you wanted from me, and you didn’t back down. You earned my respect, and I’m proving that you can trust my word.”
We talk a little more, mostly about music and games, which we both love. He also tells me about the lengthy process of cleaning, repairing, and decorating the barn for the purpose ofhosting his parties. He’s proud of how the building turned out, how beautiful and comfortable it is.
His rolling gait carries us swiftly through the forest, and soon we’re emerging from beneath the eaves of Wormsloe Wood. Being under the open sky feels safer, even though the clouds are heavy and the world is darkening as evening approaches.
I can breathe more easily without the stifling influence of the trees. As far as I can tell, no part of me has been changed by the forest… except my ankle, of course, but that’s a normal injury, nothing horrifying or supernatural.
When Beresford reaches the front door of my house, he knocks with the toe of his boot.
Anne arrives within seconds. “Good gods, what happened?”
“Just a sprained ankle,” I reassure her. “If Beresford hadn’t come along, I might have been out there all night. I could hardly move.”
He carries me into the parlor, lays me on the sofa, and bends to place a swift kiss on my forehead. Anne doesn’t miss it. She watches him, interest and calculation in her gaze. She’s a shrewd one, my sister—kind as summer but keen as winter wind.
“Can I get you some water, Mr. Beresford?” she asks. “Tea? Anything?”
“No, thank you. I should be going.”
“Won’t you wait for Mama to return? She should be back soon from looking after a friend’s children.”
The “friend” is a local lady who pays Mama to watch her little ones while she’s off to the city on business. Mama never asks Essienne what business she does in the city that pays so well, nor does Essienne look down on Mama for earning money where she can. It’s a perfect arrangement.
Beresford bows slightly to my sister. “Much as I would enjoy seeing your mother again, I must head home.”
“But you have no coat or shirt, and it’s getting cold,” I protest. “Anne, don’t we have an old cloak he could borrow?”
Anne surveys Beresford’s wide shoulders. “Nothing we have would fit him. I could fetch a blanket, perhaps, or a curtain.”
“We aren’t sending him home wrapped in a curtain,” I exclaim. “Really, Anne.”
She smirks. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine,” Beresford says. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow, Sybil, if I may.”
“Of course.”
“Until then.”
The instant the door closes behind him, Anne gives me a wicked smile. “He likes you.”
