“Unfortunately, it made you very unapproachable.”
He was right. She didn’t dance with anyone during her adopted parents’ illnesses. “And then,” he continued, “your parents died so you were in mourning. By that time, you would scowl at me as if I was a disreputable highwayman. In many ways, I was. Disreputable, that is. Not a highwayman. You were too good for me, Clarissa.”
“I didn’t think that.” And then she said, “I just assumed you didn’t like me.”
“You didn’t like me,” he countered.
“Maybe... I was wrong?” Her voice lifted on the last word. “I didn’t mean to give that impression. Of course, then I was promised to Mr. Thurlowe and—”
And dancing with the handsome earl would have seemed a bit like being unfaithful to the good doctor. Or a disloyal. After all, they were best friends.
Then again, last year at the Cotillion, Mars had been the one to force her to question whether she should marry the doctor. She hadn’t liked Mars much for it. He’d made her feel shallow for wanting a marriage because she had nowhere else to go. She’d counted on the marriage to Mr. Thurlowe to give herstability, even when she realized his heart belonged to another.
And in a contrary way, probably no one else but the earl could have made her see what was obvious to everyone else.
“Sometimes,” she said, “you make me think in ways I don’t want to. You prod my conscience. I haven’t always appreciated you for it.” This was easier to say thanyou are too handsome for me. Too bold. Too worldly. Too, too, too.
She’d said enough. She kicked her horse forward and rode on. A beat later, he followed. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him watch her—and she wondered what he was thinking.
Dora was asleep by the time they reached the house. They gave her over to Mrs. Rucker before enjoying a light supper the staff had recovered enough to prepare.
Clarissa noticed that Mars barely touched his wine and didn’t request Port after dinner. Instead, he suggested they adjourn to the library and she quickly agreed.
To her surprise, Mars wore reading spectacles. Clarissa was charmed to know this detail. She also thought the wire frames made him appear quite scholarly, and there was a strong appeal to that.
Several times, she almost brought up their earlier conversation. She didn’t have the courage until they were in bed.
This time, he had undressed behind the privacy screen. She certainly heard all the same noises, but they didn’t embarrass her as much. He came out wearing his breeches.
“Your turn,” he said pleasantly. “Nelson hung your nun’s habit on a hook behind the screen.”
Clarissa had been wondering where it had gone off to. Nelson had been busy packing for them both. Her fear had been that he had packed her nightdress and she hadn’t been certain what she would do. She could have slept in one of her old dresses although she was growing heartily sick of them with more lovely gowns in her wardrobe.
While she was changing behind the screen, Mars said, “We need to hire a lady’s maid for you in London.”
“I don’t need one,” she answered, rinsing the tooth polish out of her mouth with water from a pitcher on the washstand.
“I argue you do. Nelson will not like seeing after both of us.”
Clarissa came out from behind the screen, no longer embarrassed to be this undressed in front of him. As he had pointed out, the material of her night clothing was thicker than anything else she owned. She didn’t even feel bothered by her feet being bare.
“I can take care of myself,” she informed him, noting that he had built her pillow wall on the bed, and appreciating him for it. “You aren’t the only one who can dress herself.”
“I am certain you can,” he said from his sideof the wall. He was on his back, the sheets up to his waist. His bits well covered. She had looked, guiltily. “However, we will need a temporary abigail in London for whatever my mother has planned. London is full of the very critical who will judge you by your style.”
She’d forgotten what all the trip to London would entail. “A temporary lady’s maid might be wise.”
“Thank you,” he said as if she had granted a request. “Ready for me to blow out the lamp?”
She climbed into bed, not worrying so much whether he caught a glimpse of ankles or a bit of leg as she did so. “Yes.”
The room went dark.
“Good night, Mars,” she whispered.
There was a stretch of silence where she thought he might have fallen asleep. Then, he said, just as quietly, “Good night, Clarissa.”
And then, she had to ask, “Do you still dislike my name?”
