Page 36 of A Devil in Silk
A laugh burst from her lips. “You’re on form tonight.”
“Don’t forget excitement comes at a price,” he said, referring to the list he’d concocted in his head. “For every adventure you complete, you’ll help me accomplish one of mine.”
“What exactly is on your list? You’ve not told me.”
He glanced towards the edge. “Let’s admire the view first. When you hear what it is, you might be tempted to jump.”
London was a vast patchwork of rooftops and lamplit streets, the flicker of gaslight threading through the darkness like veins of gold. In the distance, St James’s Park stretched westward, its trees a silent sea against the night sky. At the park’s edge, Buckingham?Palace stood faintly regal, as if guarding the sleeping city.
“It’s strange,” Clara said, daring to look over the huge stone parapet. “By daylight, the city is so loud. So full of people rushing about, never taking a moment to look up. But like this …”
“It looks peaceful.”
“Like there isn’t a problem in the world.”
Being with her made every problem seem insignificant.
They stood in silence, the world below them hushed and distant, as if they weren’t part of it at all. No expectations. No pressures. Just two souls suspended, untouched by duty and demand.
“Has the view lived up to your expectations?”
She smiled faintly, her gaze drifting over the city. “It has. But it also reminds me that being alone in the countryside is the only way I will ever know peace.”
He felt a pang of despair. “Some say peace is a state of mind.”
Clara let out a quiet breath. “Then mine must be buried somewhere deep. I only seem to find it in fleeting moments like this.”
He wanted to ask questions, to press for more information. But she would retreat behind her composure, say she’d grown cold, and it was time to leave.
So instead, he said the one thing that had lingered in his thoughts since the moment she’d sat opposite him in the Spread Eagle Inn. “You don’t need to wear that eye patch when you’re with me.”
She jolted, almost losing her footing, but he steadied her, firming his grip on her waist.
“I—I don’t wear it for your sake. I’d rather rouse intrigue or fear than pity. Pity reminds me I’m broken. And it’s easier to hold myself together when no one can see the cracks.”
He considered his next comment carefully. “Then you probably won’t like what I’m going to ask, but we had a bargain, Clara. The first task on my list is to stroke your scar.”
Her breath hissed through her teeth. “What? No! No, my lord?—”
“Bentley,” he corrected. “We agreed to use our given names. We’re colleagues, friends, partners when it comes to pursuing our wildest dreams, remember?”
She gulped. “You ask the impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. I’ve seen you without it before.”
She turned her face away, but not before he caught the flicker of panic like a wall beginning to crack, like she was crumbling from the inside out.
“I—I can’t—” Her voice broke. “Not when you’re looking at me.”
“You can. You’re a strong woman, Clara. You’re only showing me what I’ve already seen.”
She didn’t respond at once. He could see the war behind her silence, the shame, the pride, the raw wound she tried so hard to conceal. Then, with a frustrated breath and a stiff lift of her chin, she muttered, “Fine. But only for a moment.”
She hesitated, fingers trembling as they rose to the ribbon securing it in place. Slowly, she untied it and drew the patch away.
Bentley braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the ache that struck his chest.
Her left eye, once bright blue like the other, was clouded by a milky veil. A jagged scar cut through her brow, down past the lid, a cruel reminder of all she’d endured.
