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“I wish you had just told me,” he said. “You announced it to everyone in there, but you could not tell me in private.”
“I had to say it, for Freddie and Matilda. Mama started whispers at the ball, so word would have spread and thwarted him, but so long as it was only whispers, I could pretend no one knew.”
“I wish you had trusted me with the truth, rather than try to convince me you’re a cold-hearted, amoral blackmailer.”
“Better than you sneer at me for being helpless and weak.”
The words had a surprising effect: They seemed to wash away his heated tension like summer rain. His eyes were intent, uncomfortably so, but thankfully, the sash on the curtain was crooked: a reason to look away, to busy herself with setting it straight.
“So that’s it,” he finally said. “You sneer at me.”
She spun around. “I what?”
He advanced a couple of steps. “You know Sculthorpe beat me when I was younger. He had me curled up in a ball on the ground, whimpering like a lost puppy. How you must disdain me for that.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then why is it any different for you?”
Oh. That was a trap, and she had stumbled right into it. How shaken she must be, to fall for such a trick! She turned away, but she heard him approach. He stopped behind her, close enough for her to feel his warmth.
Already he knew her body so well that when he rested his hand on her side, he unerringly found her bruise. The pain was long since gone; all that remained was a stain like spilt tea. It would be no surprise if his touch healed her even further, so she would undress that night to find even the last discoloration of the bruise gone.
“These impossible standards you hold yourself to,” he murmured.
“It was not severe,” she said. “I’ve been hurt worse.”
Something brushed her hair: his cheek or his chin. He stood closer now, his scent sliding over her, his heat engulfing her.
“The pain is not merely physical,” he said. “It is an additional shock, to be confronted with one’s own weakness, especially for those of us accustomed to thinking ourselves strong. When he first beat me, I had never lost a fight. It never occurred to me I might not win. When our bodies are overpowered so swiftly our mind can hardly comprehend it… The shock is not that our body has been battered, but that our whole view of the world has changed. Then we recall that we survived and they did not diminish us, and that knowledge alone makes us stronger.”
Arabella closed her eyes and listened for the beat of his heart. “He wanted to own me.”
“The fool. One could as easily own the stars.”
She eased back against his chest. He held her against his sure, solid strength, strong despite a hundred beatings, strong even after confessing to be weak. None of it had diminished him; none of it need diminish her.
In halting words, she told him everything: about Clare’s advice, her victory, those minutes in the garden, how Sculthorpe had wept, and the command she had issued.
“Oh stars above, that night outside my room.” His arms tightened around her. “I was playing with Ursula and wondering where you were, and the whole time… You came to me for comfort and I accused you. Arabella, if only you’d told me then!”
“And have you haring off to attack him.”
“He deserved it.”
“Then I’d have that on my conscience too. I do have a conscience, you know.”
“I know.”
“We must work out what to do with him, so he does not hurt anyone else,” she added. “As a peer, he will not be held accountable, and there will always be those willing to overlook his violence for their own advancement.”
We. How presumptuous of her, to speak as if they were still allies. Maybe they were. She no longer knew. Experience had only taught her how to issue commands and solve problems alone. Yet after embrangling him in her mess, after all he had given, she had no right to ask for anything more.
She tugged away from him; he dropped his arms and let her go. She drifted to the window and waited for him to speak. To announce his next move.
But he said nothing. He simply studied her.
When other men looked at her, she wanted to deflect their gaze. Even without meaning to, she had. So they had found easier, more soothing places to rest their eyes, more willing recipients for their smiles and wit. It was a triumph of sorts, for if they did not look at her, they would not see her, and if they did not see her, they would not notice her flaws. It was difficult to maintain a charade of perfection; if anyone examined her too closely, they might see the cracks.
