“Lord Blackburne?” A voice at his elbow reminded him where he was, and he nodded to Miss Rowland briskly.
“Let’s go outside. The coach should be there already.”
He walked stiff-legged to the doorway, standing back for Miss Rowland and her chaperone. His mind was in turmoil.
How could I have believed Emily?he asked himself in the darkness as he climbed into the coach.She acknowledged my scars as flaws, just with those words that she said, and I should already have realized that they were something bad in her eyes.
He blinked in the uncertain darkness of the coach and made himself focus on the present moment. Opposite him, Miss Rowland was staring ahead, seeming to gaze raptly at the coach wall above him. The chaperone was looking out of the window, gazing with unashamed interest at the London nightlife as the coach moved down the street by the theater.
Nicholas straightened his back, feeling abruptly guilty. Miss Rowland must be confused. She had to wonder what happened to him to make him change from talkative to completely withdrawn. He cleared his throat.
“Miss Rowland? I...” He began, but the moment he started talking he felt silly. Why was he even trying? She would see the scars just like Emily did. She probably already wished she was elsewhere. Emily had seemed a sweet woman, and yet she couldn’t look past his marred face and hands.
“What is it?” Her voice was soft.
Nicholas recalled another sweet, soft voice and bit his lip. He shouldn’t have believed her words, and he likely shouldn’t be believing this woman either.
“Nothing. Just wondering if you’d noticed the coach is going slowly,” he said woodenly.
“No,” Miss Rowland said, seeming confused by his sudden withdrawal into banal conversation again. Nicholas felt his cheeks burn. It was too dark for her to be able to see him clearly, and he was glad. He wished he could blend into the leather seat like an exotic lizard his uncle had told him about.
“I’m tired,” she said in that soft, halting way. Nicholas looked out of the window uncomfortably.
She’s scared, and no wonder, he thought sadly. I probably look monstrous to her. She likely wishes she could get out of this coach and run home.
The coach slowed down and Nicholas spotted the street corner near Miss Rowland’s townhouse. When it stopped, he climbed out swiftly to help her down.
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
Her hand in his traced fire up his veins, but he ignored it. Why let himself feel so much when she probably felt only mild revulsion?
The sight of Emily in the foyer had brought back all his self-doubt.
“I wish you a pleasant sleep,” Nicholas murmured as she walked to the stairs with her chaperone.
“Good night, Lord Blackburne.”
They reached the door and Nicholas waited for a moment, assuring himself that they were safe inside. Then he swung up into the coach.
“Blackburne House, please,” he called up briskly.
“At once, my lord.”
He leaned back, eyes closed. He was terribly tired. Stifling a yawn, he tried to remain awake until they reached the house, where he walked briskly indoors and marched up to his bedroom. He shut the door and sat down on the bed, exhausted.
Emily tormented him, her sweet smile reaching him across the foyer as though the two years meant nothing, and she’d never loved Quintus.
“Dash it all,” he swore under his breath, rolling over and dragging the coverlet with him. “Go to sleep,” he told himself crossly.
He lay there, his thoughts all blurring with weariness so that images of Emily’s face mixed with those of Miss Rowland. It felt as though they were the same—Emily's judgments and coldness and Miss Rowland’s timid silences were all ways of showing their disgust.
That’s not true,he thought sleepily.We talked. She wasinteresting. She was unusual.
“Stop it and go to sleep,” he told himself again.
He shivered. Springtime in London was always cold, even though a fire burned in the room, casting a warm glow and shedding a red light on the mat.
He rolled over again and tried to stop thinking, and slowly the images in his head became confused and stretched out and he fell into a deep sleep.
