She rolled her eyes at the vanity in his statement. Although she couldn’t help but agree that he was, indeed, a fine specimen. Cocksure gentleman that he was.
“I attracted the worst of the bullies at school. It was something of a nightmare. I’d lay in my bed at night fearful of what they would do to me the next day. Would they steal my food, my clothes? Would they take turns beating me? Often the scenarios I created in my mind were far worse than reality.”
He tipped his champagne glass to his lips and swallowed. “Although, not always. After a particularly brutal beating, I arrived at the conclusion that they couldn’t hurt me if they couldn’t catch me. So I took to running. And they still managed to catch me. But the chase wore them out. I was smaller and weaker than all of them, but eventually, they couldn’t capture me without using some sort of trick. I got faster and faster. I believe I became more trouble than I was worth. In time, I suppose, the running came to mean more to me than escape… It chased my fears away.”
Bethany tilted her head, imagining a young boy running in order to save himself. “Chase. Even before your father passed, Westerley and the others called youChase.”
He lifted his glass and winked. “Clever girl.”
“But you can’t run everywhere.”
“I ran to our wedding.”
Her heart hitched. “You were anxious?”
“I was not.”
She sighed, unable to imagine herself scampering hastily along the walkways of Mayfair. “We shall both have to run to this party tomorrow night and then around the ballroom in circles if I’m to make it through the evening.”
“That would be a sight.” He chuckled softly.
“Lady Ravensdale insists we must appear publicly together—as a married couple. She says it’s imperative we don’t hide.” The memory of all that had transpired behind the Willoughbys’ folly caused her stomach to leap. Her voice broke. “I can’t do it.”
“You can, and you will.” It was different for men. But then he added, “There are other ways to release your tension than running, you know.” He lifted his drink and flicked his gaze at it meaningfully, leaning back from the table.
“I’m not good with spirits. I can’t imagine what would happen if I arrived at Heart Place foxed.” Already the champagne had her head floating and her feet tingling. “Or even half-sprung.”
He grinned. “We’ll figure something out, Bethany Corbet.”
The reminder that she had married him sent a weakness through her limbs, and she nearly dropped her spoon. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you play any instruments? There must be something that relaxes you? Reading? Singing?”
“I like all of those. But…” She inhaled a deep breath and held up her hand. “I count the letters in words.”
He rubbed his chin as though trying to work out a puzzle.
Holding her hand up, she tapped each of her fingers to her thumb as she counted out loud. “L-e-t-t-e-r-s. Seven letters. It’s a particularly good one. “W-e-d-d-i-n-g. Another seven-letter one, not so bad after all.”
“And this soothes you?”
She nodded, suddenly embarrassed at her disclosure. Not so much at the counting, but at the fact that she’d told him she preferred the seven-letter words. For some reason, that information seemed more intimate.
“I’ve noticed it before, and I wondered.”
She nodded, keeping her head down until she realized he wasn’t watching her as though she was fit for Bedlam but finishing up his soup.
She prevented her fingers from counting every word in her head by spooning sips of the savory liquid into her mouth.
“Do you like any other numbers?” he asked as the footmen removed their empty dishes and replaced them with four small new plates. Ham. A fricassee of chicken and mushrooms. Sautéed lamb and thinly sliced carrots and asparagus arranged symmetrically.
“I like five. I don’t particularly like six and eight.”
“Of course not, they’ve just edged out number seven.” He snagged a bite of ham off his fork with his teeth, not showing the slightest humor at her confession.
But a light danced in his eyes.
“Are you laughing at me?”
