But it was difficult not to smile, considering how wonderful he felt. Mary was a godsend, her positive nature brightening his nights, chipping away at the melancholy and the constant anger with which he’d grown accustomed. And her voice! She’d sung for him these past few nights, and as she did, it was almost as if he could feel her reaching out and touching his heart with her very soul. That part of him beat loudly now at the thought of seeing her again soon. He glanced toward the clock on the mantel. Just another hour and they would be alone again, able to share each other’s company while hope blossomed around them.
Passing the palm of his hand across his face, he considered what she’d told him a few days earlier:take courage and trust that all will be well. It was time, he realized as he pushed himself away from the door and went to retrieve his cloak and mask. Tonight, he would show her his face and pray that she would indeed accept him for who he was. Sarah had been surprisingly unappalled when Spencer had introduced her to him, but then again, she’d had no romantic aspirations as far as he was concerned, whereas Mary... He feared that she was about to be terribly disappointed—that she imagined him to be something more than what he was, and that she’d try to hide her shock as politely as possible while contemplating the number of ways in which she might escape his company.
Fastening his cape at the nape of his neck, he slid the mask into place and pulled the hood over his head. He then gave the wall panel next to his bed a gentle push and slipped out into the passageway beyond.
It was later than Mary had hoped by the time she was able to sneak out of her bedchamber and make her way to the room where Richard would be waiting. After dinner, her aunt had insisted that she join her for a game of cards—an invitation that had been difficult to turn down without raising any questions. Especially since Mary had claimed to be feeling perfectly fine earlier in the day.
The soles of her shoes tapped lightly against the stone steps as she made her way down through the hidden stairwell at the far right corner of the house, her stomach already forming a complicated knot at the thought of the man who awaited her arrival. Hewouldstill be there, wouldn’t he? It was an hour later than they’d discussed, so she couldn’t be certain. She could only hope.
With rising excitement, she hurried forward, the glow of her lantern preceding her arrival.
A deep rumble greeted her. “I was beginning to worry that you might not come.”
Mary breathed an instant sigh of relief upon seeing Richard, his shoulder resting casually against the wall as he leaned up against it. He’d waited.
“I apologize for being so late,” she said, her eyes following his every movement as he straightened himself and came toward her. “My aunt—”
“You need not explain.” Reaching for her hand, he turned it over and pressed the inside of her bare wrist to his lips. “I am sure that you have a good reason for not arriving sooner.” He released her hand, producing an inexplicable flutter in her chest. “It cannot be easy for you to get away unnoticed. At least not until your aunt has retired for the evening.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Think nothing of it.” He dropped his gaze. “How is your ankle?”
“Much better. It no longer hurts me to walk, so you won’t have to carry me anymore.” Her words were softly strung with silken strands of regret.
Raising his gaze, the shimmer in his eyes plucked at her skin, the pull between them so achingly hard to resist. “A pity.” She held her breath, her heart like a caged bird inside her chest longing to be set free. The moment stretched until he turned away, picking up a case that Mary hadn’t noticed before. “I have brought my violin with me. I thought perhaps you might like some accompaniment.”
“Your violin?” She looked down at the case he was holding, then returned her eyes to his. “I was not aware that you played. You never mentioned it.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I am not the sort of man who believes in pressing his achievements upon others. On the contrary, I generally disapprove of such tactics.” She could only stare at him, puzzled by the fact that he’d said absolutely nothing before. Not one word even as he’d encouraged her to sing. “But I am letting you know now,” he added.
“By bringing your violin with you,” she murmured.
He gave a curt nod. “Precisely.”
In a peculiar way, she understood. She wasn’t one to tell others about her singing either. An easy moment of silence passed between them, and then she smiled and asked, “Are you any good?”
“I think I will let you be the judge of that.”
His voice held a note of humor, which led her to believe that he was smiling too. A pleasant thought, that—the idea that she was able to bring some joy to a man who’d clearly lived without it for a very long time.
He offered her his arm, which she accepted, her hand slipping comfortably into place, just as it had done the evening before, and the evening before that. And as was always the case whenever they touched, Mary’s stomach trembled a little while heat rose to her cheeks, her heart rate accelerating just enough to leave her feeling breathless. Of course, it didn’t help that she’d decided to tell him the truth about herself, and by the time they reached the cave, her nerves had become a tangled mess.
“What is the matter?” he asked when they reached the place that amplified her voice the best. “You seem distressed.”
She pulled her arm away from his, simply because she could not seem to think very clearly when he was that close. “Do you...”
“Do I what?” His voice was strong but gentle.
Mary focused on her breaths. Slow and steady. “Do you remember when I told you that you are not the only one with secrets? That I have mine as well?”
“Of course.” Some of the softness left his voice, cooling it a fraction. “You said you would tell me what it was as soon as I was ready to show you my face—one secret in return for another.”
“As well as a sign of complete devotion and trust.” Stepping toward the ledge, she glanced down toward the river below, the water barely visible, like a flat piece of glass in the dim tones of gray that surrounded it. “You might not be ready to share your secret with me. Indeed, it is possible that you never will be. But I am ready to share mine with you.”
“Mary, you—”
“It is important,” she said, cutting him off as she turned back to face him. “Because until the truth is out in the open, until we are each given the choice that we deserve, then we cannot possibly try to move forward.”
