Pierson announced her arrival and stepped aside, granting her entry. Her senses sprang to awareness, skin pricking against the fine muslin of her gown while her chest suddenly seemed constricted against her stays. For there he was, casually leaning against the piano, his eyes following her into the room, watching as she surveyed the space. “Where are your sisters?” she asked while looking anywhere but at him.
“They got delayed. Thought I’d keep you company until they arrive.” Straightening, he came toward her, closing the distance until she fairly trembled with alertness. He touched her elbow, and she practically leapt away, only staying in place out of sheer force of will. “Please . . .” He guided her forward toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”
She did, relieved that she no longer had to rely on her legs. “Will they be long?” She glanced at the door once more.
“I can’t say,” he replied as he lowered himself into an adjacent armchair. Tea had already been brought in, but she didn’t trust herself to pour without spilling. Thankfully, she didn’t have to since he did it for her—an unusual task for a man but one that he didn’t seem to mind, as though he was quite accustomed to making himself useful. “It’s hot,” he said as he set her cup before her. “Mind you don’t burn yerself.”
“Thank you.” She took a careful sip. Aaah. Much better.
Leaning back against his chair, he crossed his legs, considered her for a second and finally said, “I’d like to apologize to you.”
This, she had not expected. With no effort to hide her surprise, she raised her gaze toward his. “Whatever for?”
“I think you know.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “It was terribly wrong of me to engage you in conversation earlier, given the state I was in.”
A feverish flush flared from Gabriella’s chest all the way up to the edge of her hairline. She hadn’t wanted to address the issue—had hoped it would simply be forgotten or ignored by both of them. Since that was no longer possible, she did her best to school her features before saying, “While you could certainly have done with more clothes, I intruded upon you, Your Grace, not the other way around.” She averted her gaze, training it on a vase. “I should have left the moment I spotted you.”
“Why didn’t you?” There was an almost abrasive touch to his voice. It suited his rugged style, accentuating a virile masculinity that was rare to Mayfair, where the leisurely lives of gentlemen resulted in slighter frames. Compared to Fielding, for instance, whose body was slim and elegant, Huntley looked like a hardened fighter. And, though she was loath to admit it, there was something elementally attractive about that.
“I was surprised and intrigued. Do you box like that often?” Her attempt to steer the conversation toward a more concrete subject was deliberate. It was safer that way, and would hopefully make her blush less.
“The exercise is satisfying,” he told her evenly. “I enjoy it.”
Not a direct answer, but certainly one that explained the physical shape he was in. “I’m sorry I watched,” she said with honesty.
“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,” he told her wryly.
She didn’t dare tell him that there was nothing to forgive, so she gave him a smile. “You have a deal.”
“Very good.” He smiled as well for a moment, but then turned pensive. “We grew up in the slums, you know.”
The suddenness with which he said it completely threw her. If she had to guess, she’d say it took a full minute for her brain to absorb the comment before she was ready to respond. “How can that be?”
His jaw tightened, just enough to inform her that he didn’t enjoy sharing this part of himself. And yet he was sitting there offering the information to her as though her knowing about it mattered. “My father took his own life when I was eight.”
Oh God! She hadn’t known. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it. Please. It’s in the past and as awful as it was, my sisters and I managed to go on without him.”
“What about your mother?”
Something dark crossed his face. He frowned, his eyes growing distant. “She left us shortly before—ran away with another man as far as I recall.”
“But . . .” She shook her head, unable to fathom the struggle of losing both parents at such a young age.
“There was a debt and no one to pay it—no one to take us in.” He drummed his fingers against the armrest, then halted the action. “I was worried that we’d be separated, sent into care with different families, so I ran.”
“With your sisters . . . they can’t have been more than five and seven,” she said, doing the math.
He gave a quick nod. “It wasn’t easy.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “In fact, I’d say it’s a miracle we survived.”
It seemed an impossible struggle for such young children to go through, a hardship that no one should have to endure. She met his gaze, his dark eyes gleaming like rich drops of honey. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s important,” he told her simply. “And because friends don’t lie to each other.”
Her mouth went dry. “Friends?” Such a foreign concept.
He nodded. “If you like.”
