She had no choice. Refusing would be strange, would invite questions she could not answer. She rose on unsteady legs and placed her hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of him even through the layers of fabric.
They walked in silence through the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Vanessa was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the height of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to his clothes. Each step felt precarious, as though she were walking a tightrope over a vast chasm.
He has not read them. He does not know.
The thought was a lifeline, and she clung to it desperately.
"You have been avoiding society," Martin observed, his voice casual. "I noticed your absence at the Haberton musicale last evening."
"I was not well enough to attend."
"And yet you seem perfectly well now. Remarkable how quickly these mysterious ailments resolve themselves."
"It comes and goes."
"Does it?" He glanced down at her, something unreadable in his expression. "I hope it does not come back before Thursday. I am rather looking forward to dinner."
"I am certain I will be fully recovered by then."
"Good. It would be terribly dull without you there to scowl at me from across the table."
"I do not scowl."
"You absolutely scowl. You have been scowling at me for years. It is one of your most endearing qualities." His smile widened, showing teeth. "I would miss it terribly if you were to stop."
They had reached the foot of the main staircase, and Vanessa realised belatedly that she had been leading him in the wrong direction entirely. The front door was behind them, not ahead.
"I…forgive me. I was not paying attention. The door is…"
"I know where the door is." He had not released her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, solid and steady. "I wanted to ask you something."
Her heart stopped. Actually stopped, she was certain of it. "Ask me what?"
"At the ball. When we danced." His voice had changed, dropping lower, losing some of its usual lightness. He sounded almost hesitant, so unlike his usual confident drawl. "I said some things. Things I perhaps should not have said."
I am not the man I ought to be.
"I remember," she whispered.
"I wanted to…" He stopped, shook his head. Some internal struggle played across his features, there and gone too quickly to identify. "No. Never mind. It is not important."
"Martin…"
"I should go." He released her hand abruptly, stepping back as though burned. "I will see you Thursday, Lady Vanessa. Until then."
He turned and strode toward the door with uncharacteristic haste and Vanessa, without thinking, took a step after him.
"Wait…"
Her foot caught on the edge of the bottom stair. The world tilted. Her arms pin wheeled, grasping for balance that was not there. The marble floor rushed up to meet her, and she had time to thinkthis is going to hurtbefore…
Strong arms caught her from behind.
She was pulled back against a solid chest, her fall arrested with shocking suddenness. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other bracing across her shoulders, holding her secure against a body that felt like warm stone.
A low voice spoke directly into her ear, so close she could feel the warmth of breath against her skin.
"Careful, little Wayworth. I would hate to see you damage that sharp tongue of yours."
