He couldn’t help himself and pushed back that errant tendril that fell upon her scar. The long dark mark made by that foul trunk was vicious, so deep. “I like you as you are.”
Her lip trembled. “Let’s walk some more.”
He led her past the refreshment table. On the other side was a big, tall, solid-looking man. His skin was polished jet. He balanced a young boy on his lap and a babe in his arms.
That was Mr. Croome and both children, his grandchildren—either could be Christopher. But only the older boy could possibly be Wycliff’s son. A newborn couldn’t be the seed of a man dead four years.
He wanted to stare at the older lad, to look for hints of his mother or father in the young scamp’s gold complexion, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready to meet Mr. Croome or Christopher, not until he made Ruth comfortable.
She clutched at his arm. Again, her nails pinched through his jacket. “Are you done staring at the food? Do you need a plate? Mama’s party fare is quite nice.”
Ruth knew where they walked. Good she was aware of her location. He pried at her thumb. “The biscuits and cakes look quite good, but your grip has me thinking I’ll forego eating for now.”
“Tell me what else the McAllister’s tattlers said? What have they hidden from me?”
“Hidden? Mrs. Wilky, your fingernails are sharp. That’s not a sculpture beneath the wool. It’s a true arm, flesh and blood.”
She let go. “What did they say? How long did they give me before I’m blind? They may have given you a direct answer. They don’t say everything sometimes to Blackamoors.”
It was humorous and tragic how she didn’t know him and how she assumed his race.Ruth, we are the same.
He pressed her palm flat on his arm, pumping his forearm to prepare for more abuse. “The physician was unclear. He said it could degenerate in a year or remain as it is forever.”
“Oh. That’s the same as what they told me.”
There was an air of disappointment in her voice. It reminded him of waiting for word from his father on the HMSLiverpool, waiting every day for Captain Collier to come to him and say Wycliff was freed.
“Take me back to the house, my lord. I’m done out here.”
“We have quite an audience watching us. Going back now will seem as if we’ve had words. That’s not a good cousin or the makings of a character witness. I’m your proof, remember.”
She bit her lip.
Her mouth was still the same, a magnificent wonder of taupey-pink flesh in desperate need of exploration.
Soon. Very soon. Then he’d know if he had a chance of winning her from the barrister.
He steadied Ruth, weaving his fingers with hers. “Just a little longer, Mrs. Wilky. I haven’t visited with your parents. Trust me.”
“Then take me closer to the house. I want to feel its shadow. Then we’ll get you to my parents.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Wilky.”
“See, my lord. You are good at being at my beck and call.”
He couldn’t stop his laughter, nor could he miss the number of people watching them.
He bent his head close to her ear but became distracted by the scent of roses clinging to her long neck. “There is a group of women looking this way.”
“Old or young?”
“Young. They’re smiling. Must like what they see. I do.”
“You’re a bad flirt with terriblesightjokes.”
“I’m a terrible flirt, and I’ve been known to be punny. It covers my discomfort. My voice is grating, but I’d never joke about your sight. I’m like you. I don’t trust easily, either. My guard is a thick shield.”
She pivoted and crashed into him.
