His gaze flicked to the servant, who had the beginnings of a fire kindling in the grate, before returning to her. “It is my duty to remain near to your side, madam.”
Something flashed in those violet-blue orbs, but just as quickly, it was gone. “No, Mr. Ludlow, it is not.”
He would not argue with her before the domestic. He did not want the staff to become aware of the enmity between them, for it would undermine his authority in the household, and the last thing he needed was to perpetuate any vulnerability. “I am afraid the matter is not open for discussion.”
She paled. “How do you dare, sir?”
He said nothing, maintaining his silence.
The longer the quiet between them stretched, punctuated by the scraping and toiling of the footman stoking the fire, the more pinched her lips became. At last, a roaring, snapping fire filled the fireplace, sending a burst of warmth into the chamber. The servant bowed and excused himself.
They were alone. Again.
With nothing to stop him from giving in to his instincts to take her in his arms.
Nothing except his sanity, that was.
The door had scarcely clicked closed behind the footman when she unleashed her ire upon him. “If you returned thinking to offer me further remonstration, you may go, Mr. Ludlow. I neither require nor want to hear your warnings concerning the ruffians who plot against me.”
“Ruffians.” The bitter bark of his laughter was torn from him. “The men who want you dead are barbaric murderers, Your Grace. The sooner you acquaint yourself with your new reality, the better each day shall go for you.”
“I am already more than acquainted,” she snapped. “Do not think to condescend to me or I shall contact someone at the Home Office myself and have you removed from this post for insubordination.”
“How amusing, Your Grace.” The smile he gave her was equally dark and mirthless. “Do you not think that I have already attempted to have myself removed from this most unwanted post? Did you not imagine I would have done everything in my power to avoid being tasked with the protection of the woman I loathe?”
She froze at his queries, going paler still at the last. Was it his fanciful imagination, or did he see hurt in her expression for a fleeting moment? And if so, why? She had to know he would hate the sight of her after what she had done. After not only her betrayal but also his scarring. To this day, he did not know whether or not the knife to his face had been her idea or her darling papa’s, but if he ever needed a reminder of why she could not be trusted, he only had to look upon his reflection.
Did she view the evidence of her treachery with shame, he wondered, or with pride? His scar burned and throbbed on his cheek. For a moment, he could feel the blade again, slicing through his flesh, leaving behind the permanent mark of his stupidity. Anaide-mémoirehe could have done without.
“If you do not wish to be here, then why do you remain, Mr. Ludlow?” Her question cut through the grim silence that had descended.
“Duty,” he answered swiftly. “Unlike most, when I make a vow, I honor it.”
Damn it.He had not meant to speak with such candor. Had not meant to even hint at their shared past. Their shared sins.
She inhaled as if he had struck her. “Forgive me, Mr. Ludlow, but I seem to recall a vow you did not honor. I will ask you again. Why do you remain here if you do not want either this task or my loathsome presence? Why are you here now, within this chamber, with me?”
How dare she suggest he had not honored his every vow? He had made many vows to her, and he had remained true to them all with the exception of one.I vow to you I will always love you, Ara. You will have my heart forever and the century next.
But of course he had stopped loving her. He had needed to after what she had done to him. To them. He could still recall each word of the letter she had written as if it had been branded into his skin.
He ground his jaw. “Do not presume to speak to me of such matters, madam, when the evidence of your duplicity is plain for all to see.”
“How dare you?” She moved at last, stalking forward, her skirts swishing, fire in her cheeks.
He knew what she intended before she had even reached him. He caught her wrist easily, deflecting the blow she would have delivered. How small she was, how fine-boned beneath his grip. His hands swallowed her. If he exerted enough pressure, he could crush her as if she were as delicate as a baby bird.
He could not hurt her. Would never hurt her.
“It would not go well for you, Your Grace, were you to strike me,” he warned.
“I want you gone!”
Her anguished cry echoed in the room, the first real display of emotion she had shown since he had first laid eyes upon her yesterday. Did she hate him that much? Or, like him, did she hate the weakness that lingered?
Unlike time and the two of them, her scent had not changed: vibrant summer blossoms of a rose merged with a hint of orange. It hit him then, along with a wall of memories. Dancing in the forest, her eyes laughing up at him, stealing his first kiss from her soft, supple lips. Riding with her beneath a black velvet sky studded with glittering stars.
How brilliant the future had seemed then. How rife with possibility.
