She swiveled on her heel and strode back across the room, coming to a stop in front of him. “How could you be so reckless?” She poked a finger in his chest.
“How I spend my evenings is none of your concern.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“None of my concern? How incorrect you are, sir.” Lucy pulled the torn-out page of newsprint from her jacket pocket and slapped it against his chest. Then she turned to leave. To hell with him. She was too angry to stay and watch him put two and two together.
“Lucy, wait. This is ridiculous. Luring young maidens into my carriage.” He chuckled.
“Aunt Trudy didn’t think it ridiculous. She said that everyone would know it was me. She was quite upset.”
Hart moved to block her from leaving. “No one of substance reads these gossip rags anyway. You must ignore it.”
He really didn’t understand.
She clenched her hands into fists. “Everyone reads this paper. You read the false announcement of my engagement to Lord Fitzwilliam just last week.”
“I’m sorry that your reputation was called into question because you were simply being a good friend.” He reached for one of her hands, gently uncurling her fingers. “Our conversation last night did help me. In fact, because I felt much improved, I decided to go to the club and renew my investigation.”
The warmth of his gaze held her in a thrall. His thumb brushed gently across the hand he held, and her breath caught in her throat. What was she mad about? Certainly not about the way it felt to stand so close to him. To feel petite against the breadth of his chest and to see his grey eyes turn molten. She took a step back. No, she must not get distracted.
“Well, um, we must have a plan to show that there is nothing untoward happening. Everyone knows that your father was my guardian. We must show that your interest is purely in helping me in my season.”
Hart stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “Yes, of course. How do we do that?”
“I think it would be good if you escorted your aunt and me to a social function. Something respectable, something a brother type would do.”
Hart nodded tightly. “Whatever you need. Let me know which function. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to clean up.”
“Of course.” She started for the door but turned back to send him a stern look. “And eat some breakfast.”
*
Hart rose fromhis bath and grabbed the towel off the nearby chair. He roughly ran it over his head to dry his hair. Then was more careful as he dried his torso, gently blotting at the stitches that sewed up the four-inch gash in his side. He walked out of the bathing room and across his bedroom to the tall mirror next to his bureau. The angry red mark under his ribcage stood out against the pale pink waxy burns that swathed his right side. Another scar to add to his collection. His lips pursed as he surveyed his disfigured body.
The smooth unnatural skin of the scar tissue twisted around his shoulder and down his arm. His right pectoral was similarly swathed by burns, the hair that should cover his chest refusing to grow through the thick scars. He ran a hand over the marks, tracing their winding path down his abdomen and around his hip bone. They were repulsive. Logically, he knew he should be glad to be alive. Glad that his body was still strong and capable. Except for the eye, of course. But whenever he looked in the mirror, he was reminded that he was damaged. His scars an outside reflection of his battered soul.
The horror of that night enveloped him. The flash of the explosion so bright. The acrid smell of smoke. The tearing pain in his eye, and later the agonizing torture as the doctor peeled away his charred clothing from burned skin. The weeks that followed were a hazy mix of pain and feverish nightmares that could only be dulled by laudanum. He had only patchy memories of gentle fingers across his brow and a sweet voice, which had soothed some of his terrible dreams. Hart shook his head to clear the memories he knew would suck him down into a spiral of despondency. He turned from the mirror.
Slowly, he raised his right arm up over his head, stretching the skin and joint while his body was still warm from his soak. Then he rolled his shoulder, his arm following the path in a circular motion that ached, but gradually released the tension that seemed a constant companion there. Hart moved through the stretches the doctor had suggested to keep the skin from tightening to a point where his right arm would be useless. He grimaced at the painful twinges as he pushed through the exercises.
Lucy had been right; he’d left whatever good sense he had in a bottle of brandy last night. Bad habits were so easy to fall back into. Especially with fucking friends like his. He shook his head. No, he shouldn’t blame anyone but himself. His focus should be on his task to find out what happened to his father and brother. And those responsible were clearly not done trying to be rid of him. God, Lucy had been so angry. Magnificently so. Her blue eyes spitting fire as she pushed at him. Even hungover and covered in blood, his body responded to her.
Hart scraped a hand down over his face. His attraction to Lucy had been a thorn in his side for years. He should stay away from her, but now he would have to attend social functions with her as, what had she called it—a brother type. A dry laugh erupted from his chest. If Lucy had any idea how very un-brother-like his thoughts were, she would turn tail and run. No, more likely, she would just punch him ballocks.
Chapter Ten
“He is sofrustrating,” Lucy complained to her friends as they sat in Violet’s pretty receiving room having tea. She took a bracing sip. “He was attacked but then proceeded to get drunk with his friends?”
Violet and Adeline exchanged a look between them. “Dear, he and his friends were rather famous for their carousing,” Violet said.
“Yes, I know, but he seemed so sad earlier in the evening. I’ve never seen him be so vulnerable. I guess I thought… oh, I don’t know what I thought. He needs to be careful, is all,” she muttered.
“Do you think it was more than an attempted theft?” Adeline asked.
“Not necessarily,” Lucy said carefully. She, of course, couldn’t share Hart’s suspicions about his family’s deaths and his own accident. “But if he hadn’t been sloshed, perhaps he could have heard the culprit approach.”
Both ladies nodded.
“Men.” Violet rolled her eyes.
