“Then you don’t want regrets,” Charlie said softly. “Trust me. Regret is far heavier than embarrassment.”
The fire crackled again, the sound sharp in the quiet. “What should I do?” Ruby asked.
Charlie’s answer was simple. “Go and talk to him.”
Ruby hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. Giving her cousin’s shoulder a grateful squeeze, she stepped out of the room and found Flora, the housekeeper, coming down the corridor outside carrying a pile of linen.
“Ye aright, miss?” she asked.
“I...um...I was wondering if you knew where Evan might be?”
“In his room most likely.” The housekeeper gave her a quick, knowing smile. “Come. I’ll show ye the way.”
Ruby nodded and followed the housekeeper through the house and up the stairs. Flora stopped outside a door at the end of the corridor.
“This one,” she said. “Well, these sheets willnae fold themselves. I’ll leave ye to it.” She glided off down the corridor, leaving Ruby alone outside Evan’s door.
What was she doing here? This was a bad idea. Perhaps she should go back downstairs. She bit her lip. Then, before she could lose her courage, she pushed the door open, stepped inside.
And froze.
Evan was sitting in a copper bathtub near the hearth, steam curling up around him.
Very much naked.
Ruby gasped and spun around so quickly she nearly tripped over the rug. “Oh my God! I didn’t mean—”
“For the love of—” Evan’s voice cut off sharply. “Do ye ever knock?”
“Sorry!” she squeaked, mortified. “I’ll just go—”
“Wait.”
The word stopped her. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. He had risen halfway out of the tub, water sliding over his shoulders as he reached for a towel. That was when she saw them.
Scars. Lots and lots of scars.
They marked him everywhere—across his ribs, his back, one jagged line slicing over his shoulder. Old and new, thin and thick, pale against his skin. Her mortification dissolved into something else entirely.
Horror.
Her breath caught. Evan followed her gaze, and something shuttered in his expression. He wrapped the towel around himself with clipped efficiency.
“I’ve seen worse,” he said tersely.
“I haven’t,” she whispered. “Oh my God, Evan.”
He turned away briefly, as if gathering himself, then stepped out of the tub fully, tying the towel more securely before crossing to the chair where he began pulling on his tunic, hiding the marks that covered his skin.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said quietly. “I came to apologize.”
That made him look up.
“For not telling you the truth,” she continued. “For not trusting you.”
Silence stretched between them.
“And I shouldnae have snapped at ye,” he said at last. “I’ve no right to demand truths I wasnae offering myself.”
