I looked down at my tray. Everything looked delicious, and I hadn’t eaten anything that day. But I couldn’t bring myself to take a single bite. The pain in my hand was far too distracting. My arm shook as I lifted it close to my face.
I was unbearably curious.
There was a piece of me that wouldn’t be able to believe what had happened until I saw it with my own eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to move each of my fingers inside the wrappings. I stifled a cry as a circle of blood appeared, soaking through the thinnest layer. My stomach lurched in disgust.
Unable to sit still any longer, I summoned all my strength and lifted the tray off my lap, biting my lower lip against the pain. The dishes rattled against each other as the tray landed harder than I had anticipated on the table. But at least my head was feeling clearer by the minute, so I sat up straight and eased my way to the edge of the cushion.
Pushing up with my good hand, I planted my feet on the ground and stood. The room spun for a few seconds, but I stabilized myself on the arm of the sofa. When I felt in control, I walked slowly toward the pianoforte. I sat on the bench. Tears clouded my vision, blurring the black and white of the keys together into a murky grey. And then I placed my left hand on the keys and plinked out a plain melody.
I closed my eyes and tried to feel the music, to let it heal me, but nothing happened. Without both hands playing in unison, the song was bleak. I pressed harder on the keys, pounding, as sudden anger coursed through my veins. My hand tensed into a fist, and I hit the keys three more times, until my knuckles were red. Then I dropped my face down to my arm and sobbed.
The door to the room opened, and I heard someone enter. I lifted my eyes, squinting through angry, hot tears.
My eyes immediately widened when I saw Mr. Wortham. He stopped beside the pianoforte, brows drawn together with concern. I straightened my posture and breathed deeply. The pain in my hand sliced through the ache in my heart, and I was relieved that I could stop feeling it for a moment.
Mr. Wortham was silent, standing above me. He looked like he was about to say something, but I spoke first.
“Why did you do it?” My voice was a hoarse croak, almost a whisper.
He looked confused. “What?”
I leaned my arm against the keys, creating an ugly sound of mismatched notes. I cringed. Why did he make me so nervous? My heart thrummed fast. “Why did you rescue me from the docks? Why would you help me after how I have…behaved toward you?” Admitting my mistakes had never come easily to me. I swallowed hard.
Mr. Wortham rubbed the back of his neck and gestured at the bench. I scowled in confusion, but realized he was asking to sit. Pushing my dress out of the way, I moved over, and he sat beside me. His jacket grazed my elbow—a mere jacket—yet I felt every hair stand on end across my arm. Glancing at the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was wide open. At least something was bordering on proper.
Mr. Wortham turned his eyes on me, and I could hardly look at them. Why did he have to sit so close? There was somethingso very disarming about his gaze—the green of his eyes and the softness behind them. He confused me. That was the only reason he affected me at all. Even so, my heart beat a little faster.
“I wouldneverleave a person in your situation, Charlotte. Not even my greatest enemy.”
I sneaked a look at his face. He was sincere. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the least bit inclined to correct his use of my Christian name. I would allow it since he had come to my rescue…butonlyfor that reason. I cleared my throat. “Am I your greatest enemy then?”
A smile touched his lips. “Only if you wish to be.”
I moved my gaze to the lump of white bandages around my hand. Everything about this day was so very confusing, and all of it terrifying. So I couldn’t blame myself for thinking, in that moment, that no, I didn’t wish to be his enemy. But I would never admit to it, of course.
When I didn’t reply, Mr. Wortham stood and offered his arm. “You really should be resting. Watkins will be stopping by soon to assist with your bandages.”
I looked up at him and back at the keys of the pianoforte. Every inch of me ached knowing I could never play the same again. The accident that morning had stolen my beauty and my greatest talent. I was nothing now. I had nothing left.
I stood slowly and wrapped my good hand around Mr. Wortham’s arm. We stepped up to the sofa and I sat down, keeping my posture straight until he moved to leave the room.
“Mr. Wortham—” I stopped when he turned around. “I—er…” I tried to collect my thoughts, unsure of what I meant to say. Had I ever stumbled so badly over my words before now? I felt completely ridiculous.
“Call me James,” he said in the silence.
I shook my head fast. “I could not.”
“I insist.”
I locked eyes with him again, my throat suddenly dry. “Very well.”
He seemed somewhat amused by my hesitation as he awaited the words I didn’t know I meant to say. Finally, I managed to speak. “I wish to thank you for what you did today. It was the way of a gentleman, and I am…sorry that I ever thought you otherwise. And please—please do not blame yourself for the events of this morning. You did challenge me to it, but it was still my decision.” My voice came out soft and weak. It was humiliating and pathetic that I had even tried to carry out his challenge. Surely he never expected that I would. “I could never repay you for your kindness.”
He stood there, a shadow of surprise crossing his expression. “But are you willing to try?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.
I scowled. “If you are going to ask for another secret…”
He laughed. “How did you know?”
