Where could he have gone?
When would he return?
Before her troubled mind could continue whirling with any more questions, the door swung open at last. And there he stood.
A gasp tore from her.
His face was bloodied, his white cravat hanging loosely about his neck, also stained scarlet, as if it had been sprayed with blood. The linen of his shirt was similarly marred. A dark bruise colored the flesh beneath his left eye, rendering the blue more startling as their gazes clashed.
“Christ,” he muttered. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? I told you never to come to my chamber again.”
She swept forward as he kicked the door closed behind him without caring to blunt the sound. The portal slammed shut, echoing in the stillness of the night. The worry that had sunk its vicious teeth into her over the course of the night relented, but only a bit. He was injured. She had no idea where he had been, what he had done, or how he had received his injuries.
But he had returned.
He was here with her now, and that was the most important fact. She would fret over the rest later.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, not giving a care for propriety or the manner in which they had last parted.
She reached for him, rising on her toes to cup his face in her hands.
He winced. “Careful, milady. I’m a bit bruised.”
“Where were you, Theo?” She searched his gaze, frantic for answers, heart thudding rapidly. “Have you been set upon by footpads? Are you injured anywhere else? How can I help you?”
As she fired off the questions, she made certain her fingers were gentle. They traveled over his jaw, finding a lump hidden by the layer of whiskers which had grown since the morning.
“Too many questions, milady.” He winced again as her fingertips skimmed his cheekbone, where another purple bruise appeared to be forming beneath a cut. “And you have yet to answer mine. What the hell are you doing in my chamber? Again?”
If she were not so worried about him, mayhap she would have allowed the curtness in his voice to hurt her. However, after spending hours fearing the worst, she did not care if his tone carried the stinging lash of a whip. Her pride fled. He was all she cared about.
“I was here awaiting you, of course,” she answered him primly. “Where have you been? Where did you go? I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me.” He released a bitter laugh, then winced when the action apparently caused him pain.
“You have cuts and bruises all over your face,” she pointed out.
All over his beautiful face. And despite the blood and lacerations, he was the most handsome man she had ever beheld. A rush of forbidden longing hit her as she held his face in her hands. Their lips were so near, his gaze fierce and intense upon hers.
“Aye,” he said.
One word.
Low.
Dangerous.
There was an indefinable menace rolling off him this evening. All the tenderness he had shown her during the last fortnight, the gentle side he possessed, seemed to have disappeared. In its place was a stark, angry, wounded man.
Had she done this to him? Had she pushed him too far? Was this her fault?
“What happened?” she asked him again.
His lip curled. “Nothing for you to worry over, milady. I ain’t your betrothed, am I?”
There was an edge in his voice she did not think she misunderstood. Jealousy. But surely not, from this enigmatic man who could not stop reminding her about the disparate worlds they inhabited.
“No,” she agreed. “You are not.”
