“You look as if you will ask me something, and then — through apprehension, I must suppose — you withhold it. Be plain with me, Rosina. I am not a monster.”
She met his gaze fully. “Then why did you think so badly of yourself to wish to become riveted only to a stranger?”
“Because I could rather bear the cringing revulsion of a stranger, than that of some society damsel,” he flashed back before he could stop himself.
Rosina threw her hands over her face, her breath unsteady. Her eyes closed, and she shook her head against the hurt. He was impossible!
“Forgive me!” Hoarseness in his voice. “I did not mean to throw that at you.”
Her hands dropped, and she regarded him with a sense of hopelessness. “I did not cringe, Raith. I was only shocked to see it.”
He looked a trifle less harsh. “I know. I beg your pardon.” He gave an unconvincing laugh. “Ottery will have it I am over-sensitive. Perhaps he is right.”
Rosina bit her lip, and gave him a direct look. “No, you were right earlier. It is better if we do not speak of it.”
She meant that his sensitivity made him too difficult to discourse with on the subject, but she was unsurprised, even after this little acquaintance, to see him retire again behind his wall of bitterness. She felt too tired to deal with it.
Surprising her, he relaxed slightly, giving a laugh which sounded a trifle more genuine. “I should not stiffen up so readily. You meant nothing untoward, I realise that. Foolish of me to be taking needless offence.” She saw him draw a breath. “The truth is, I think, that most society damsels would be affronted if I were to offer for the reasons I have given. Worse, they would expect me to alter my whole way of life to suit them.”
“I am hardly in a position to do that,” Rosina conceded, adding darkly, “and the last thing I wish for is to flaunt myself in society.” To encounter that man? No, a thousand times!
Raith was again struck by a queer intensity in her response. She had a particular reason for that remark, he was sure of it. Dared he probe?
“Why so?”
Rosina shifted in her seat, and took up her wineglass, not looking at him. “I am not equipped for it, my lord.”
“In what way?”
She was sipping at the wine. To gain time? She looked as if the question rattled her unduly. When she answered at last, Raith was convinced she was prevaricating.
“I have been out of the expectation of anything of the kind for many years. I should not know how to go on.”
He did not pursue it. Where was the point? He watched her as she glanced at the timepiece on the mantelshelf, its dial lit by the glow from candles in the near wall-sconce.
It was growing late. Rosina knew she could not avoid the dread question of the coming night for much longer. She sought for a neutral subject, anything bar what was in her mind. Anything too that did not touch upon her reason for agreeing to this marriage. Difficult, when it seemed that anything she said was like to rouse demons in this man to whom she was now irrevocably tied. She tried the only thing to enter her mind, innocuous enough, she hoped.
“Is your home a large place?”
“It is vast,” he said, an edge of bitterness in his tone, “but I dare say you may find the situation there less attractive than you anticipate. I think I will let it speak for itself.”
Even this? The mystery deepened. His home had been unimportant up until this moment, a haven only. But his attitude gave rise to the liveliest apprehensions.
It was all too much for one day. She wanted very much to leave him, but the consciousness of his right to enter her bedchamber at any time he chose kept her glued to her seat. She toyed with the wineglass, fidgeting.
Raith saw it with a growing sense of disappointment. Yes, she might disclaim her fears, but he was no fool. What had he expected? Let him at least try to keep his unamiable tongue in check. He tried for a soft approach.
“You must be tired. Why do you not retire?”
He noted the faint colour that rose to her cheek. Hell and damnation! What did she suppose he was going to do? Did she truly believe him such a monster? Hurt rose up, and he could not help himself. A mocking laugh escaped him.
“Don’t look so dismayed. I will not inflict myself on you tonight. You may go to bed with a quiet mind.”
She rose to her feet in haste and he followed suit. “Good night.”
He heard the husky note and his conscience flicked as she made for the door. He checked her before she could reach it. “Rosina!”
She halted, but she did not look round. Raith caught up with her, put a hand on her shoulder and turned her towards him. The candlelight was stronger near the door, and he could see the wetness under the coal-black eyes. His chest felt as if it caved in. He groped for her hand, and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly.
“I’ve made you weep. A bride should not weep on her wedding day.” He summoned a smile. “Save it for tomorrow. I have no doubt I’ll give you cause.”
Her eyes appeared to search his. For once, Raith all but forgot his disfigurement, hardly aware that she looked full at him without flinching. She smiled, a smile so sweet that something leapt in his chest. “Rosina, we can deal better together. We will, I promise.”
Her face altered. “Until I speak out of turn. Do not promise what you cannot keep. Sleep well, my lord.”
Next moment she was gone. Raith was left to gaze at the closed door, his heart despondent. Then he returned to the table and once more took up the bottle of claret.
