‘Nothing,’ Rebecca said, a second too late.
Something of her fear must have shown, for she saw in his eyes a flash of triumph.
‘Mrs Hardwicke, you find yourself faced with a choice. The truth, or your dismissal.’
‘My secrets are my own, my lord,’ Rebecca said flatly, numb and hurt beyond what she thought possible.
She did not want to leave Thornhallow—not for the world—but neither could she tell him the truth he demanded. Even if, for the first time in her life, she was sorely tempted to. Something about this man made her want to give up her secrets, to entrust them, and herself, to his strength and protection.
Dullard.
‘I will not be bullied, threatened or blackmailed into relinquishing any part of myself I do not wish to give freely.’
Liam’s jaw clenched, as though he was biting back some choice words, but Rebecca left him no chance to find better ones.
‘I shall write an advertisement for the post immediately and find my replacement, should you wish. I would appreciate being allowed to remain until I have elsewhere to go. However, if you would prefer I quit the house immediately, I will make do.’
They stood there, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, until finally Rebecca took his silence, indeed his entire behaviour, for what it was, and nodded sadly.
‘I shall collect my things and be gone within the hour. Mr Brown will, as before, ensure things run smoothly until a replacement can be found. Good day, my lord.’
Turning on her heel, standing as proudly as she could muster despite the growing ache of her heart, Rebecca made for the door, willing the tears which were stinging her eyes, threatening to fall and humiliate her even more, to return from whence they came.
What was the matter with her? She’d been here barely over a month. Why did it feel as though she was losing the closest thing to a home she’d ever had? And why did the thought of leaving that odious, presumptuous, condescending, proud brute make her feel so...so...
Another hand was on her own before she could turn the knob and open the door. Rebecca jumped back with a squeal, bumping into a large, unmoving wall of muscle. Liam was staring down at her, a dark, menacing expression in his eyes. She took another step back, much preferring to be against the wall than to spend another second with her body in contact with his.
Rebecca tried to speak, but found she could not. She was like some hypnotised animal, with his aurous eyes affixed on her own, freezing her to the spot while at the same time heating her blood. Instead of speaking, she focused on breathing. Why was she so breathless? He was close. Too close.
Why is he so close?
Slowly his hand lifted from the door, and moved towards her neck. Then, ever so gently, without ever touching her skin, without moving his eyes from her own lest she bolt, he untied her scarf and slid it from her neck. Then and only then did his eyes wander down.
Rebecca saw his eyes darken with shame as they found the bruises. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that she did not blame him, that she could never, even if she wished to, but no words came.
And then, with the lightest, feathery touch, his fingers traced the marks they had left on her skin. It wasn’t even really a touch, and yet, Rebecca felt it searing through her to the bone, marking her more efficiently than any brand might have.
Unable to bear it any longer, she turned her head away and gazed at the floor. The movement was just enough to bring Liam back to the room. His hand fell, still clutching her scarf. Again Rebecca reminded herself to breathe, and found she was finally able to do so somewhat properly.
‘Your tale,’ he said, in a whisper that somehow filled the room. ‘Does it present a danger to this house?’
‘No,’ Rebecca breathed, meeting his gaze again, wishing that she hadn’t. Swallowing hard, she continued. ‘I would never bring danger, or dishonour, to any house I served. Should there ever be a risk I would be gone in an instant.’
‘You may stay, Mrs Hardwicke.’ He nodded, offering her the scarf. ‘And keep your secrets, if that is what you wish. Perhaps one day you might entrust me with them, or, at the very least with your true name. Tell Mrs Murray the menus are acceptable.’
How did he know?
Oh, no matter, Rebecca thought, rushing from the room as soon as Liam stepped away, caring little how much dignity she managed to maintain.
Ducking into the shadowed corner under the stairs, she leaned against the cold wood and retied the scarf.
Why was she behaving like this?
Frightened.
She had been frightened. That was it. That was why her body was flushed and her heart was beating too hard against her chest, and why she was still not wholly able to breathe.
Yes. You were terrified of losing the place.
