7
THE ALLURE OF IRON
Why was she running?Diana had no clue.But when a man looked at you likethat—like you were the thing he’d been waiting for, like the world spun into motion as soon as he caught sight of you—you ran.Didn’t you?
Diana did.
The plant bounced beneath her arm as she took the stairs two at a time.He followed close behind, his footsteps heavy, loud, slow.Tenacious.He would catch her.
Of course he bloody would, she was running toward the roof!She threw the door open, and London’s hot air hit her like a wall.She placed the plant down and studied the door.Surely there was a lock of some sort.Or a brick she could wedge up against it, or?—
It swung open, and Lord Knightly stepped through, closing it behind him, leaning against it.He grinned, ever so slightly.
“You look well,” he said.
“You are blocking my way, my lord.”
“You’re headed in the opposite direction.”
She pointed to the plant.“I’ve finished my task.I must go back downstairs now.”
He stepped away from the door.He seemed much too hard a man to exist in the soft, green light of the roof garden.And he seemed so much bigger now than he had that night at the ball.Darkness had hugged him, then, the flames of the nearby fire limning his sharp profile, his shoulders.
To see him in the light of day an entirely different experience.He seemed honed from the earth.His hair the rich brown of rain-soaked soil, and his eyes gray storm clouds.She’d not been able to see them clearly in the dark, but now they gleamed, striking with the lightning of intelligence.And curiosity.
“May I have a word?”he asked.“I’ve been worried.”
That stopped her.“Worried?Why?”Her hand was at her throat.How had it gotten there?She slipped it into her apron pocket.“You’re not angry with me?You’re not here to charge me with illegal potion use?”
“Good God, no.Of course not.”
“Oh.”She sagged a bit, pressing her hand to her heart.“Thank goodness.”
“I was here when you arrived, trying to discover your identity.But Lady Guinevere sent me away.You sounded… scared.And that man you were with, he said…”
Ned had announced to everyone that her groom had tried todo her in.
He searched every inch of her face.“Your color has improved.Your eyes are focused.Is there any more pain?”
She shook her head.
“Good.”He studied the garden, each potted plant seeming to bow beneath his consideration.Diana didn’t know their names.She was learning them, but obscure historical facts stuck with more ease than plant nomenclature.
She wandered down a low row of herbs, pretending to check on them.If he saw her pink cheeks, he’d know that her heart thumped.“That day was… a trying one.I am embarrassed you were privy to it.But…” She peeked at him over her shoulder.“Thank you for your concern.You no longer need worry over me.”She headed for the far reaches of the garden where the lattice dipped low enough to see into the square.
“Hm.”He followed her down the path, not too close to worry her, but close enough she felt him.Not the heat of his body, but the sizzle of his regard.Her body buzzed like it had behind the curtain.They’d been much closer then.But this seemed more intimate.The sun watched.The open sky watched.Beyond the ivy-laced lattice work, Finsbury Square looked on.
This man, newly anointed into the ton, knew where she was, and a shiver ran like a skeletal finger down her spine.She turned and nearly bumped into him.He rocked back a step.She had to crane her neck to look up into his face, but he lessened her work by curving over a bit.Marble bending would look like him, hard yet moving with liquid grace.Despite her fear, her pulse raced.
Or perhaps because of her fear.
“Please,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “you cannot tell anyone I am here.I hope you have not already.”
Silence, the day quiet and somehow still around them.
Then the rustle of fabric before his hand landed softly at the tip of her chin.He wore no gloves, as was alchemist practice, and the heat of rough skin scorched her.With the slightest pressure, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
And, oh, it was soft.The kind of gray that made a misty morning a favorite memory.
