Page 28

He laughed. “Do you need to? Must I leave if you cannot?”

“No,” said Mariah with reluctant honesty, “but I want to see you.”

“Because you want to be certain you’re not wasting your time speaking to a coarse, common fellow with enormous ears and missing teeth.”

“Because I think I deserve that small courtesy,” she said, trying not to laugh again. “No matter how large your ears may be.”

“No, no. I’ll tell you if I must. Big ears, several missing teeth, thinning hair. A crooked leg. Spots on my face, naturally⁠—”

“Stop.” She couldn’t resist laughing now. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He laughed. “Am I?” A pause. “Does it matter what I look like?”

Mariah sobered. She peered into the shadows that cloaked him and considered Joan’s question again: would she lose interest if he were beastly?

“No,” she said at last. No one else she had met in London mocked himself just for her amusement. Whatever he might look like, he made her laugh.

He got to his feet, still in shadow. He seemed to find the darkest parts of the room, preventing her from catching even the most fleeting glimpse of his features. Mariah vowed to sleep with the lamps lit every night from now on. “Close your eyes,” he said.

She blinked. “Why? I cannot see you anyway.”

“Do you trust me? Can I trust you?”

Mariah hesitated, then closed her eyes. “Yes.”

For a long moment all was quiet. What was he doing, she wondered. “Harry?” she whispered uncertainly. Had he left?

“Yes,” he said, and the mattress dipped. He was sitting on her bed, within arm’s reach. Her breath came faster and her skin prickled all over with awareness. There was a man in her bed, and she was wearing only a fine lawn nightdress. She felt exposed and vulnerable; this was shockingly improper, far more so than inviting him into her room in the first place...

“When you cannot see with your eyes, you must trust your other senses.” He took her wrist lightly between his fingertips and brought her hand to his face.

Mariah’s eyelashes trembled, but she didn’t open her eyes. Gingerly, tentatively, she let her fingers drift over his face. His skin was warm, especially given how chilly and rainy it was outside. She touched his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his upper lip. There was the beginning of a beard on his jaw, a roughness she had never felt before. Of course, she had not touched a man’s face since she was a child, and then it was her father’s face—not the face of an enigmatic stranger who slipped into her bedroom only under cover of night to fascinate her until she could hardly bear it.

He sat patiently under her hand, not speaking or moving. She grew a little bolder and explored his forehead, running her fingers along his brows and even delicately touching his short, thick eyelashes. Gradually an image formed in her mind, still somewhat indistinct but more definite than before. He had a smooth, straight scar at his temple, and she wondered how he’d got it. His nose was straight and his jaw was square. It was... She scrunched up her face in thought. It was a strong face. It wasn’t the same as seeing him in the light, but it made her feel that she knew his features better than if she had simply lit the lamp.

“What made you think of this?” she asked as her fingers brushed over his lips; softer than she had expected, but still firm.

“My sister,” he said. “She is blind, and this is how she sees.”

“You have a sister.” She smiled, pleased to have learned even that minor fact about him.

He laughed quietly. “Two, actually. The bane of any man’s life, sisters.”

“Are you a good brother?” Mariah touched his jaw again, fascinated by the texture of his skin, the shape of his face. She felt his grin lift his cheeks.

“Not the worst, I suppose. They might have a different answer, of course.”

Mariah laughed, too. “I daresay you torment them and tease them, as you do me⁠—”

“I can safely promise that I tease them in entirely different ways, Mariah.” That flicker of awareness licked her skin again, but he went on in the same light tone. “They are the ones who torment me.”

“Well, who would not,” she said airily, “when faced with such a brother: warts, missing teeth, thinning hair⁠—”

“True, they caused all that.”

Mariah choked on a laugh that burst out as a giggle. “And shockingly impertinent, too! I feel no evidence of any of it, sir.” She rested her fingers lightly on his lips. “Although I have not checked your teeth...”

Harry’s breathing changed, and Mariah’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you satisfied?” he whispered, his lips barely moving under her fingertips.