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She looked thoughtfully at the fading bruises on his jaw. “You were in a fight recently.”
He merely raised his eyebrows.
She pointed with her chin. “Those marks on your jaw. Someone hit you.”
“Samuel?” Rebecca was staring at her brother, too, now.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“You keep so much of yourself hidden from me, don’t you?” Rebecca whispered. “Most of yourself, in fact.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Becca—”
“No.” She turned her face to the window. “I’m too tired to argue tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Rebecca gave a great sigh as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “I didn’t even get to dance.”
Samuel looked at Emeline as if for help, but she was no more in sympathy with him than his sister. She stared out the black window, watching her own reflection. She noticed that the small lines about her mouth made her look particularly old tonight.
They traveled the remainder of the journey home in silence, the carriage rocking and swaying as it rattled through the nighttime London streets. By the time they pulled up in front of her house, Emeline felt stiff and sore and as if she’d be quite happy never to attend another ball in her life. The carriage door opened, and the footman pulled down the metal steps. Samuel got out and helped his sister descend. Rebecca didn’t wait but immediately ran up the steps to her brother’s town house and disappeared inside. Samuel stared after her, frowning, but didn’t move to follow. He held out his hand to Emeline.
She inhaled and carefully placed her fingertips in his. Despite her precaution, he pulled her close as she stepped down.
“Ask me in,” he murmured as she passed him.
Cheek! She made the cobblestones in front of her own home and attempted to withdraw her hand. He wouldn’t let her. She raised her head and met his eyes. His were slightly narrowed, his mouth a determined horizontal line.
“Mr. Hartley,” she said coldly. “Will you come inside for a moment? I have a painting in my sitting room that I would like to have your opinion on.”
He nodded and released her hand. But he followed her closely as she mounted the steps to her house, as if he suspected a trick.
Inside, Emeline gave her wrap to Crabs. “Prepare the sitting room, please.”
Crabs had been with her since before her marriage, and in all those years, Emeline had yet to see him surprised. Tonight was no different.
“My lady.” The butler snapped his fingers, and two footmen ran to begin lighting candles and setting the fire.
Emeline glided after them. She went straight across the dark room and stood by the window, pretending to look out, although of course all she could see was her own ghostly reflection. After a while, the bustling behind her died and she heard the door shut. She turned.
Samuel was stalking toward her, his face quite grim in the candlelight. “Why Vale?”
“What?”
He continued coming, his footsteps disconcertingly silent on the sitting room carpet. “Vale. Why marry him?”
She clutched the fabric of her overskirt in her right hand and tilted her chin up. “Why not? I’ve known him since childhood.”
He halted in front of her finally, much, much too close, damn him, and she was forced to crane her neck up in order to meet his eyes.
His angry eyes. “Do you love him?”
“How dare you?” she breathed.
His nostrils flared, but that was his only reaction. “Do you love him?”
She swallowed. “Of course I love him. Jasper is like a brother to me—”
