The earl smiled. “For an artist, you are remarkably unobservant. It is a rich burnt umber, with highlights of sienna.” He held a strand up to the candlelight. “And perhaps a touch of cinnabar with?—”
“H-How do you know the palette so well?”
Instead of answering, Branford rose abruptly. “Come,” he said, “We can’t linger a moment longer.”
Perhaps was just another fitful flutter of chill air, but Alex thought she heard him add, “Or else there may be hell to pay.”
Once they were in the carriage and making their way through the darkened streets, Alex slanted a sideways glance at Branford. He seemed lost in thought, his brow slightly furrowed as he stared, unseeing, at the curtained window. She felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. Had he formed a disgust of her, thinking her no better than a …
A tremor ran through her. Feeling confused and miserable, she shrank back into the leather seat.
“Are you chilled?” he asked softly.
It was the first words he had spoken since they had entered the carriage.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice to mask her inner turmoil.
He gave small nod but made no move to bridge the gap between them.
No comforting shoulder to lean on … no comforting warmth from his arm round her waist.
Clack-clack—the wheels clattered over the uneven cobblestones.
The carriage pulled to a halt by the opening to the back alley that ran behind her aunt’s rented townhouse. Branford alighted and helped her down. They were in an unlit side street and all nearby residences were dark as well, and looked to be deep in slumber.
“You’re sure that you need no accompaniment?”
“As you’ve said, sir, the less risk of being observed, the better,” answered Alex. “The scullery door is always left open for Justin when he’s out for an evening with his friends. I can manage quite well.”
“Your shoulder …”
“Is not a matter for concern,” she interjected. “As you pointed out, it’s hardly more than a scratch, and as I said earlier, I’m experienced in medicinal matters.”
Alex took a deep breath. “Thank you for your … assistance tonight.” She was aware of how painfully stilted the words sounded, but she was too unsettled to know what else to say or do. “Good night—” She paused, and then added, “Milord.”
“Good night, Miss Chilton.”
Turning quickly, she passed through a small side gate and into the rear garden.
Branford watchedher hurry through the shadowed greenery and disappear into the back of the house. Letting out a ragged sigh, he climbed back into the carriage.
What a devil of a night! Pressing back against the squabs, he closed his eyes, unsure of what to think …
Or feel.
It seemed that they had both dodged a lethal bullet—in more ways than one. Alex’s wound was superficial, and she seemed perfectly capable of concealing it. There was every reason to believe that nobody would ever learn of her reckless foray into the stews, or its scandalous aftermath—for there was no question that the knowledge of his taking her to his townhouse would have irreparably ruined her reputation.
Branford forced himself to exhale. Their secret was safe. No real harm had been done.
As for the kiss …
She had been frightened, and he had only meant to comfort her, nothing more. Any yet, even as he thought it, Branford knew it was a damnable lie. Though he had tried so hard to steel himself against having any emotional attachments, Alex’s raw courage and love for her family had found a way into his heart.
A self-mocking smile pulled at his lips—he hadn’t realized that he still had one!
The carriage jolted as the wheels clattered over a stretch of even cobblestones, mirroring his own rattled thoughts.
What to do about the conundrum?
