He sucked in his cheeks and swallowed. “I trust you.”
She frowned, glancing to the razor.
“You can’t think I would—” She gazed back into his eyes. “Good God, youdo.You think I could actuallyhurtyou.”
He didn’t believe Penelope would plunge that razor into his neck. His body, however, responded as if he did.
“You can hurt me”—his voice lurched—“more than anyone else. I fear,”—panic and mastery teetered on the pivot point of his trust—“but I place myself in your hands.”
She took a step back. “Perhaps another time—”
He seized her by her wrist.
“Now.” He spoke gruffly. “I trust you.” He released her. “I trust you with my life and IswearI will never doubt again.”
She glanced down at the razor in her hands. If she refused, he would not force.
“You told me to go to my love,” he said. “I listened. I’m here.” He held her pained gaze as long as he was able. Then, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Show me it’s not too late.”
His ears attuned to her movement, the gentle whisper of her skirts, the trickle of water off the razor.
She will not hurt me.
He could expose his scars, his neck, his heart, and still, she would not hurt him.
She touched him beneath his chin and moved his face to the side.She will not hurt me. Breathe in. Breathe out.
The warm razor skimmed slowly across his cheek. The scraping sound crackled in his ears.She will not hurt me. Breathe in. Breathe out.
If he moved, if he even flinched, he’d be cut.She will not hurt me. Breathe in. Breathe out.
With infinite care, she sliced away the past.She will not hurt me.
Another swish of water. She lifted his chin and lathered beneath his throat.
The thin line of the razor’s edge traveled up his throat once—the water swished again—then twice, then a third and final time.
She wiped his now-smooth cheeks with a warm towel.
He exhaled.
“Cheverley,” she whispered. “There you are, my love.”
Chapter Sixteen
PENELOPE HELPED HERhusband rise from the chair and then she led him into the duchess’s bedchamber. She placed the candle she carried on the bedside table and then looked up into his eyes.
She’d never asked her husband to lie with her.
She didn’t even know how.
She reached up and removed the pins from her hair.
The first—her bun grew heavy—the second, a lock drifted down onto her neck—the third—the knot unraveled, and her hair fell down onto her back.
She put the three pins next to the candle and withdrew the rest. Then, she sat down on the bed.
Wariness remained within her husband’s gaze.
