Page 18 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
He stepped forward again, looked down at her work and atthe book to compare it. ‘In all seriousness, you are certainly capturing it. It is a charming flower…’ He straightened and threw her another smile. ‘Which is something I cannot say for the painter.’
She stuck her tongue out at him as she would have done as a child. He was infuriating, it was his own fault she lost her temper and struck him.
His eyes opened wide, expressing mocked shock. Then his smile broadened and illuminated the brown in his eyes.
When her tongue slipped back into her mouth, the glint in his eyes became a glow with a greater depth, making his brown eyes as rich in colour as polished mahogany. He was very close. She could see every detail of his eyelashes and every shade within his brown eyes. As the scent of his expensive London cologne enveloped her, awkwardness prodded her to speak again. ‘I hope you are feeling better.’
‘I am feeling better than I was the day you came to my room, thank you.’ His voice held a dry note that sought to highlight again how inappropriate her behaviour had been that day.
Rebellious. She heard the word in his voice, as it had been said a moment ago when he’d leaned to her ear. Perhaps she was – just a little.
‘You could have said do not come in, you know?’
‘I thought it was the footman come to take away the tea tray.’
‘You knew it was me when I entered.’
‘And perhaps then it was more amusing to not send you away.’ His voice had lost its mocking edge and dropped into a low pitch. ‘The lesson was better taught by leaving you to discover what your rebellious nature led you into.’
‘Sayeth Lord Henry Marlow, the prodigal son. He who has recently been thrown from his curricle in a race and nearlybroken his neck and admitted he has probably learned no lessons at all.’
His eyes seemed to fill with questions as his gaze travelled across her face, studying her as closely as he had studied her painting. Then, he said, ‘Quite,’ and turned and walked away, with Samson in his wake.
‘I truly am sorry you were so badly hurt, Henry!’ Susan called after him. She needed to say something to turn whatever had just happened back into something tangible that she could understand. ‘But I do not agree that anything I do compares!’
He turned and walked a couple of steps backwards, with his free hand cradling his poorly arm. ‘I truly am sorry…’He mimicked her voice. ‘Your words ring with guilt, Susan, as they did yesterday when you saw my bruises. Did you think I was acting out my pain, and wearing a sling for my pleasure? You… The rescuer of every wounded thing, wild or tame…’
‘No.’ Her instinctive denial cut through the air. It stopped him moving.
He smiled in that hideous mocking way, that said,I know I am right.
Oh, be honest with him, he would be honest with her. ‘I thought you deserved to be injured. You are the reckless one. It is you who needed to be taught a lesson. But I would not have wished your life endangered. I came to your room yesterday as much to apologise for the meanness of my thoughts as to fetch Samson.’
The rogue looked at the ceiling and laughed for an instant before looking back at her. The amusement had brightened his eyes again. ‘Think as meanly as you wish, it will not do me any greater harm than I have done myself. I dare say, on this occasion, I may have finally learned the lesson you wished me taught.’ He turned away once more.
‘Where are we eating?’ she called before he left the room.
‘In the formal dining room. Papa is home.’
When they ate, she had intended to sit beside Sarah, but Alethea drew Susan’s attention, and so she could not then walk around the table to sit with Christine and Sarah. She ended up taking a seat on the opposite side of Henry to her sister.
Alethea spoke to Aunt Jane as Henry silently fought to eat his food one-handed.
Susan swallowed. She wished to make conversation, to stop herself from suffering with the awkwardness that hung over her. ‘How are your bruises today? Are they improving?’ she said lamely in a quiet voice that would not rise about the other conversations about the table.
‘Turning from almost black to a lighter purple, but perhaps I have a new one since you struck me,’ he replied as quietly.
She looked at him. ‘Sorry.’
He smiled. ‘If we are on the grounds of apologies, then I owe you one too. I am sorry I did not tell you to go away the other day. I should have done,’ he continued their conversation in a hushed tone. ‘I did not mean my teasing to discompose you earlier, but I can see it has done because every time you look at me you turn a greater shade of pink.’
Oh, now she wanted to smack him again.
‘You are forgiven for striking me, if I am forgiven,’ he concluded.
‘You are forgiven only if you agree never to mention that I went to your room again.’
A half laugh rumbled from his chest.
