can search all you like for proof of my guilt. It doesn’t exist.”
“Doesn’t it?” He stretched his hands toward the fire. She found herself unable to look away from the splotches of faded ink along his first finger. The slight rosy color along his knuckles from the cold.
She felt an unfamiliar desire for him to touch her. She could imagine those hands skimming along her neck and down to her breasts. Always pleasure. Never any fear of pain. “No.” She wasn’t sure whether her answer was in response to his question or to her own thoughts.
He brushed the back of his finger against her cheek in a caress so light, so fleeting that she wasn’t entirely sure if he had touched her or if she’d imagined it. “I hope for your sake that it does not.”
His hand hovered an inch from her cheek. If she shifted she could press her cheek against it. She cleared her throat. “It’s getting late. You should be going.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re the one in my house.”
That surprised an exhale of laughter from her.
“You think I’m humorous?”
She paused, disconcerted. “I suppose I should be the one to go.”
“That would simplify things.” But then he stilled. “I’ll take you.”
She shook her head. “I will accept the loan of your coach. But I won’t impose on you more than that.”
His hands gently cupped her shoulders. “You were shot at this morning. Have you forgotten?”
No. Lord Grey’s body on top of hers—protecting her—was proving a rather difficult thing to forget. “I sincerely doubt anyone wants to kill me enough to be waiting out in this.” She glanced toward the ribbons of rain snaking down the windows.
“I’m not willing to risk that.”
His words cut a slice in her heart. Once, when she was a child, her nurse had lanced a blister on her hand and it had felt like this—stinging, terrifying, and yet cathartic.
“Lady Harding’s groom has arrived.” The butler spoke from the doorway.
She’d forgotten the open door. Not that she’d been about do anything that she couldn’t have done with an open door. “I’ll be on my way then.”
The butler cleared his throat. “No, my lady. Just your groom has arrived. Your coach became mired in the mud. When they tried to free it, it broke an axle.”
“Is everyone unharmed?” she asked.
“Indeed. The coachman walked the horses back to Harding House while the groom came the remaining distance on foot to inform us.”
“And he suffered no ill effects from the storm?”
The lines on the butler’s face softened slightly. “The housekeeper has him well in hand, my lady.”
“The roads are impassable?” Lord Grey asked.
Only then did it occur to her the further implication of the butler’s report.
“I am afraid so, sir. I have had the blue room prepared.”
Lord Grey nodded as the butler bowed and backed from the room.
“I can make it home on foot. After all, the groom made it here.”
“The groom whose survival you just inquired about?”
It was hard to maintain her fierce glare.
“Besides, I’m exhausted, and in all ungentlemanly honesty, I was dreading having to escort you out into the storm.”
How could she argue with that? Besides, she was a widow. She didn’t have a reputation for other people to worry about. “Perhaps the butler can show me to my room?”
Lord Grey shrugged. “I can show you. It’s only a few doors down from mine.”
The words hung there in the air. Heavy, near-tangible things.
“Thank you,” she finally managed to say, pretending that five seconds hadn’t just elapsed since he’d spoken.
There was another moment of awkwardness when Lord Grey offered her his arm, only to belatedly remember she was still clutching a blanket around her.
He grimaced. “As you can see, I’m not precisely known for my social graces, Lady Harding.”
She found it refreshing. Richard had known every single blasted rule. And punished her for every lapse. She was glad there
“Doesn’t it?” He stretched his hands toward the fire. She found herself unable to look away from the splotches of faded ink along his first finger. The slight rosy color along his knuckles from the cold.
She felt an unfamiliar desire for him to touch her. She could imagine those hands skimming along her neck and down to her breasts. Always pleasure. Never any fear of pain. “No.” She wasn’t sure whether her answer was in response to his question or to her own thoughts.
He brushed the back of his finger against her cheek in a caress so light, so fleeting that she wasn’t entirely sure if he had touched her or if she’d imagined it. “I hope for your sake that it does not.”
His hand hovered an inch from her cheek. If she shifted she could press her cheek against it. She cleared her throat. “It’s getting late. You should be going.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re the one in my house.”
That surprised an exhale of laughter from her.
“You think I’m humorous?”
She paused, disconcerted. “I suppose I should be the one to go.”
“That would simplify things.” But then he stilled. “I’ll take you.”
She shook her head. “I will accept the loan of your coach. But I won’t impose on you more than that.”
His hands gently cupped her shoulders. “You were shot at this morning. Have you forgotten?”
No. Lord Grey’s body on top of hers—protecting her—was proving a rather difficult thing to forget. “I sincerely doubt anyone wants to kill me enough to be waiting out in this.” She glanced toward the ribbons of rain snaking down the windows.
“I’m not willing to risk that.”
His words cut a slice in her heart. Once, when she was a child, her nurse had lanced a blister on her hand and it had felt like this—stinging, terrifying, and yet cathartic.
“Lady Harding’s groom has arrived.” The butler spoke from the doorway.
She’d forgotten the open door. Not that she’d been about do anything that she couldn’t have done with an open door. “I’ll be on my way then.”
The butler cleared his throat. “No, my lady. Just your groom has arrived. Your coach became mired in the mud. When they tried to free it, it broke an axle.”
“Is everyone unharmed?” she asked.
“Indeed. The coachman walked the horses back to Harding House while the groom came the remaining distance on foot to inform us.”
“And he suffered no ill effects from the storm?”
The lines on the butler’s face softened slightly. “The housekeeper has him well in hand, my lady.”
“The roads are impassable?” Lord Grey asked.
Only then did it occur to her the further implication of the butler’s report.
“I am afraid so, sir. I have had the blue room prepared.”
Lord Grey nodded as the butler bowed and backed from the room.
“I can make it home on foot. After all, the groom made it here.”
“The groom whose survival you just inquired about?”
It was hard to maintain her fierce glare.
“Besides, I’m exhausted, and in all ungentlemanly honesty, I was dreading having to escort you out into the storm.”
How could she argue with that? Besides, she was a widow. She didn’t have a reputation for other people to worry about. “Perhaps the butler can show me to my room?”
Lord Grey shrugged. “I can show you. It’s only a few doors down from mine.”
The words hung there in the air. Heavy, near-tangible things.
“Thank you,” she finally managed to say, pretending that five seconds hadn’t just elapsed since he’d spoken.
There was another moment of awkwardness when Lord Grey offered her his arm, only to belatedly remember she was still clutching a blanket around her.
He grimaced. “As you can see, I’m not precisely known for my social graces, Lady Harding.”
She found it refreshing. Richard had known every single blasted rule. And punished her for every lapse. She was glad there
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