“Yes, of course.”
“But… Wouldn’t that be expensive?”
Rhys exhaled slowly.
“I don’t think so. Given that I had planned to do most of the work myself, I think this would be sort of fiscally responsible.”
“So, our marriage would be more contractual than romantic?”
“Yes,” he said, taking a step towards her. “Practicality outweighs emotion. Don’t you agree?”
Louisa did agree, and nodded, but a small, inconsequential part of her worried that marrying a man like the lieutenant might not be in her best interest. Her hesitation was clear, because in the next moment, Rhys shook his head.
“I suppose marrying a man who’s defective would give you some pause, but I assure you. While I lack the ability to be a social husband, I would be an honest one.”
“I do not think you are defective.”
He sneered at her, seemingly unamused.
“I’m not particular to flattery—”
“I’m not trying to flatter you. But your hearing or lack thereof hasn’t stopped us from speaking. I wonder if there is even a lack of hearing on your part.”
A glint of cheeky mischief flashed in the man’s eyes and Louisa swallowed.
“You don’t think I’m deaf?”
“I know you’re not,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “We are speaking to one another, just as easily as if I were speaking to my sister.”
Rhys stared at her for a moment before he took another step towards her. His long, thick legs were clad in buckskin breeches, and she had to refocus her eyes on his face lest she look like a fool.
To her utter terror, Rhys towered over her, at least a full head taller than she. Shadows of his whiskers were speckled with tiny white dots along his chin, as though something small, hot, and plentiful had burned him. Curious, she clenched her hands into fists lest she reached out and touched him.
Now, standing only inches from her, he bent down, his right ear coming close to her mouth.
“Speak. I promise, I won’t hear anything.”
Confused by the challenge, Louisa looked at his profile. Goodness, had she ever been so close to a man before? She couldn’t remember. Her uncle’s house did not believe in frivolities like hugs or kisses, and her father rarely even acknowledged her, let alone held her.
She inhaled then and he smelled of cinnamon and brandy. What a divine combination, she thought as she looked at his ear. It was a perfectly normal ear, though she could see more tiny white scars around his cheek and neck.
“Are you saying something yet?” he asked.
“No,” she answered immediately, but he only blinked, as if waiting for her to answer.
He really couldn’t hear her.
“I think,” she started, her tone low. “I think I should be frightened by you, by this idea of marriage. But I’m not. Which makes me concerned about my own judgment.”
She craned her neck around to face him, so his eyes could see her lips.
“Did you hear that?”
“Not a word.”
“Truly?”
“I don’t know how to get you to believe me. This ear,” he said, pointing to it, “is completely useless. My left ear can hear partially, but it’s difficult, like hearing someone speak through water.”
