He paused and turned slowly back, straining to see her face in the dark. “On the mend.”
“You shouldn’t even be on your feet,” she chided softly. “Come. Sit down beside me and rest for a while before you leave.”
Her offer made him think of the Christmas mornings of his childhood. Before his father had died. Before he’d been burned. When he’d still believed anything was possible.
As he crossed the room, he flicked on the gas, illuminating the room in soft light. He sank stiffly onto the edge of her bed, breathing deeply as her feminine scent enveloped him. Vanilla and a light hint of cinnamon. Warm, homey smells, not the heavy floral perfume he’d expected.
“Is the mask really necessary?”
“I don’t want to put you at risk,” he asserted, sickness blooming in the pit of his stomach at the thought of facing her without the safety of his disguise.
“I read about what you did the other night. It was very foolish. Why do you take such risks?”
For a moment, he considered telling her the truth. What was it about this woman that made him such a stranger to himself? Never before had he felt the urge to reveal himself in such a way. “Someone has to do it,” he answered vaguely instead. “I like doing it.”
She shook her head with a faint smile. “I’m used to narcissistic actors. Altruistic behavior confounds me, but I find it refreshing. And admirable.”
Beneath the mask, heat burned his cheeks at her unexpected praise. “My actions are far from altruistic, I can assure you. I do it less for those unfortunate wretches I rescue than from the need to destroy the evil men who prey on the weak and innocent.”
She leaned toward him and squeezed his hand. “You’re a hero in my eyes. I don’t care about your motives.”
He twined his fingers with hers, not such a hero that he wasn’t fully prepared to take advantage of her misconceptions. “You’ve haunted me since I last saw you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you.”
“I’ve thought about you, too,” she admitted with a half-smile. “I’m glad you came back. I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”
Her words thrilled him, but he stopped himself from saying something about that kiss. He didn’t want to scare her away or for her to think he’d come here with thoughts of getting another one, even though he wanted nothing more.
“I hear you’ve been visiting the boy,” he said instead. “Fiona says you’ve been there every day.”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling with obvious affection. “He’s such an amazing child. I wish I could take him in, but the life of an actress is not suited for raising children.”
He heard an underlying note of bitterness. “Was your mother an actress?”
“My father was an actor. He and my mother were never married, so I never even met him until she died.” She released his hand and folded her slim arms defensively, obviously unsure how he would take the news that she was a bastard. “He had no idea how to be a parent. He left me in dressing rooms and empty flats, forgot about me completely more often than not. I would never want that for a child of my own.”
He wished she hadn’t let go of his hand. He wanted to offer her comfort. “Don’t say such things,” he chided gently. “You’re not your father. The boy thinks the world of you. I’m sure you’d be a wonderful mother.”
Her dark eyes sparkled with a sheen of tears, which she quickly blinked away. “Thank you. I hope so. One day, perhaps.”
“One day,” he repeated, throwing caution to the wind and once again reaching for her hand. She surrendered it reluctantly, still rather defensive. He sensed she hadn’t volunteered so much to anyone in quite some time and still wasn’t sure why she’d opened up to him. He couldn’t imagine why she’d chosen to trust him, but her story touched him deeply.
He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. “When I watched you on stage, I was certain you loved being an actress.”
She shrugged, dropping her gaze. “It’s my job to make you think that. But in truth, I hate the uncertainty, the lack of stability. I’ve lived in this flat for two years, and that’s the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place in my life. All I want is a home, a family...” She trailed off in embarrassment.
“Any man would be glad to start a family with you,” he told her in a hushed voice, wishing he could be that man.
She cleared her throat. “I wish you’d take off that mask. Maybe it’s the anonymity that has allowed me to talk to you this way, but it’s a little disconcerting.”
He lifted his hand, automatically checking to make sure the fabric hadn’t shifted. “I’m sorry, Miss Bourke. I can’t take that risk.”
Her face fell, and he knew he’d disappointed her. “I understand,” she said, but it was obvious that she didn’t. She’d opened herself up to him and apparently hoped he would do so in return. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know if he knew how.
“I should go,” he said abruptly, wondering why the hell he’d come. He could never have a real relationship with this woman. Not with the mask and definitely not without it.
“Don’t go,” she told him, tightening her grip on his hand briefly before letting go. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong. You don’t have to take off the mask.”
“It’s nothing you did,” he assured her, getting to his feet and trying to hide his wince when he put his weight on his wounded leg. “I never should have come here. It’s not safe for either of us. I just wanted to say thank you, for all you did for me and the child.”
