“Ow,” he groaned.
“You deserved that,” Liza said, wriggling through the crack. Her blonde hair was pulled back elegantly, and she wore a slim blue dress with a white ribbon around the middle. Then she looked down at me, and her bright eyes widened. “Rosalind?”
I swallowed hard to find my voice, but she pushed the man aside and was already upon me, arms encircling me with the familiar scent of honey and lavender.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” She pressed her cheek against mine, then abruptly pulled back. “But what are you doing on the servants’ stairs?”
I winced. The heat of humiliation crept up my neck and into my cheeks. “Derricks would not let me in the front,” I admitted. “But I had to see you.”
She groaned. “The nerve of that man. He was instructed to keepvisitorsout, not family. Here.” She took my hand and pulled me up a step, and just like that, everything was right again. My tense muscles seemed to sigh with relief. “Move, Charlie. We are coming up. And you had better follow this time.”
The strange man flattened himself against the wall as we passed, and we exchanged a glance. I’d never seen him before, but Liza spoke to him with such familiarity. Who was he?
Liza led us into the library and toward the cream-colored settee in the center of the room. “I must apologize for my cousin’s appearance. As frightening as he looks, he is quite harmless.” She took a seat and patted the spot beside her. “I should thank you for blocking his escape.”
“That man is your cousin?” I could not hide the surprise in my voice.
“Yes. Though I hesitate to claim him.” Her gaze flicked sideways as he sat down in a velvet blue chair opposite us. “Ros, this is Mr. Charles Winston. Charlie, my dearest friend—”
“You must be the famous Miss Newbury I’ve heard so much about,” he said. He twirled something between his fingers.
I stiffened at his forwardness and at the strangeness of meeting a cousin of Liza’s who knew my name.
The light from the tall windows fell on the bruise on his face. I swallowed, mesmerized by the dark purple and deep blue that swirled together and spread from under his eye across his cheek. If it didn’t look so menacing, I’d almost want to blend the colors on paper.
“Are you the reason Ivy Manor is closed to visitors?” I asked.
He watched me with his light-brown eyes. There was a subtle scar in his left brow, and a cut healing along his lower lip. “Too brutish to allow visitors.” He motioned to his face. “Can’t have my good looks frightening the good people of Ashford.”
I could not blame them. In truth, I could not decide whether to fear this man—Mr. Winston—or pity him.
Liza drew my attention. “I meant to visit directly, Ros, but we were in the middle of a discussion on what to do while Charlie heals—and afterward.”
Mr. Winston twirled the little something around and around listlessly. “There won’t be much of an afterward. I simply need a plan.”
“A plan?” Liza laughed. “You’ve no money and Uncle has cut you off, so unless he dies soon, you are without a home or resources. And last I checked, you are not qualified for any decent occupation. So unless you intend to live on the streets of London, you ought to consider reform.”
Mr. Winston harrumphed and sat back in his chair.
When no one spoke for a time, I leaned toward Liza and whispered, “What has he done?”
“I am guilty of having too much fun, Miss Newbury,” Mr. Winston answered. “That is all.”
“Breaking the Earl of Langdon’s arm is fun?” Liza asked. Taunted, more like. With derision.
“That wouldn’t have happened had he been fighting fair. He wagered he could beat me at Jackson’s, then he grabbed my hair and gave me this bruise. I had no choice but to engage him. And, as always, I left a richer man.”
I looked at Mr. Winston. “You look like that on purpose?” I asked, and Liza snorted.
“One day soon, your fighting will catch up with you,” she said with raised brows. “What will happen if you anger someone more powerful than you who wishes to strike back? Perhaps in a way that can truly harm you?”
Mr. Winston squinted. “Lord Langdon was not exactly pleased.”
She groaned, and he laughed. “Come, Liza. Try to understand my perspective.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. I cannot. No one in this world will ever understand you, Charlie.”
“Then I suppose we can agree on something,” he muttered. Slowly, he stood, and though his lips smiled, his expression was tight. He stepped around our settee and moved to the little table and chair by the window where the newspaper waited.
