Cyrus puffed out an irritated breath. “And if you had waited outside the door a minute longer, listening in as is clearly your habit, you would have heard me say that.” He realized she had not yet looked in his direction, bracing for the reaction he knew would come. “Only you have the luxury of refusing me, for the consequences are entirely yours.”
She seemed to be frozen for a moment, her eyes searching her brother’s face, as if he were the one who had spoken and not Cyrus. In that moment of stillness, he observed her, maskless, for the first time.
She was not at all what he had expected.
Then again, he had already discovered she was notquitethe bore that Anthony had described. A woman who would be gray if she were a color would not have come so close, or protested so fiercely about that list, or met his gaze without fear. A spinyweed of a woman that no one wanted in their garden would not have compelled him to bend his head closer, leaning into the kiss that had been interrupted before it could begin. A snail tucked into its shell she was not, though he suspected she wore some armor of the unseen kind.
“My dear mother would be more likely to find herself in the midst of a scandal than Teresa Wilds.”Anthony’s other words came back to bite Cyrus, the irony so perfect that he had to fight a smirk at the memory of it.
Indeed, Cyrus was beginning to wonder ifAnthonyhad been the one scheming by putting Teresa’s name last on that list, knowing that his friend would look at it first.
Beneath the bear mask, there had been beauty all along. She was not pretty, the way that a thousand London ladies were pretty, but truly, uniquely beautiful. He could not put his finger on what it was, but she was unlike any lady he had seen before. She was like the muse of a painting, set apart from those viewing the artwork, drawing the eye again and again.
She was neither tall nor short, though he had already known that, with the most luminescent skin he had ever beheld. Her rounded cheeks were dusted with pink and dotted with freckles, while her eyes were feverishly bright, as though she had just come in from a brisk winter walk. Eyes the color of a summer dusk, blue and somehow golden, though he could not understand how; he was not close enough to find out.
Her nose was almost feline, her chin and cheekbones and jaw defined—a sculptor’s dream muse—while her full lips brought his mind rushing back to the night before. He had not noticed then, in the low light and obscured by the shadow of her bear mask, that she had a small mole, just above the right curve of her top lip.
“So, Lady Teresa?” he said, waiting for the shock when she finally looked at him. “Will you refuse me?”
Slowly, she turned to face him, her extraordinary eyes widening as if she had just seen a ghost… or a monster.
CHAPTER SIX
Goodness…
Teresa could not speak, her breath stuck somewhere between her mouth and her lungs, blocking any words from escaping. All she could do was stare, though every instinct of her upbringing told her it was the rudest thing she could have done.
But how could she not stare, when he looked likethat? He was Captain Frostheart made real. He was the hero of all her daydreams, standing right there, framed by the study windows, silhouetted by the gauzy light that spilled in from the overcast sky. He was the reason her eyes glazed over and her mouth quirked into a smile whenever she had reached a particularly delicious part of her latest chapter.
The captain is a fiction, you dolt!Her mind shoved her out of her dreamy thoughts. Of course, the Duke of Darnley was not Captain Frostheart. Instead, he was her fate, staring back at her,tossing an imaginary coin between an unwelcome marriage or complete ruination.
Blushing furiously, she lowered her gaze, though the image of him continued to burn in her mind: he was as tall as she remembered, and as broad and powerfully built as a warrior of old, his waistcoat straining at the buttons as if they, too, knew he was supposed to be wearing chainmail, or a flowing shirt instead. His wavy hair fell to his shoulders, longer than the fashion of the day, and was so black it appeared to have an almost blue hue when it caught the light.
And his eyes…
She had not seen their color last night, but she saw it now: eyes of the darkest blue, with a lighter ring around the iris, almost like a star with a core of black, surrounded by the night.
What happened to him?She envisioned the scarring that covered the upper quarter of his right side, from the top of his cheek to his hairline, curving around his eye as if the injury had intended to leave it untouched. It had taken the tail of his eyebrow, nothing more; the skin patchworked red and pink and brown, rippling as if it did not quite fit the bone structure anymore. Yet, it did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. If anything, he looked even more like she had imagined her beloved captain.
“I need to hear you speak, one way or the other,” Cyrus pressed, his voice a low rumble.
“Go on, Teresa—answer him,” Vincent replied urgently, giving Teresa a nudge in the arm.
“Do not speak again, Lord Grayling. Hers is the only voice I care to hear,” Cyrus growled, his words catching Teresa off-guard.
Vincent’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. Instead, the furious red of his face spoke for him, a muscle twitching in the corner of his eye, his posture rigid with the grip of his anger. He had never been spoken to like that in his own home. Teresa could not think of anyone, aside from maybe Prudence, who would have dared.
Why does he care what my opinion is?She scrunched her eyes shut, hoping it might push back the bewilderment that swarmed in her mind. She had assumed that her fate was a foregone conclusion, so why was he offering her a choice at all?
“No,” she said quietly.
“Speak louder,” Cyrus replied.
Clearing her throat, Teresa opened her eyes, though she did not return her gaze to his face; it was too distracting, too confusing. “I will not marry you, Your Grace.” She felt her brother bristle at her side. “As this unpleasantness was all my fault, you should not have to involve yourself in the remedy of it. I cannot, in good conscience, condemn you to a forced marriage. So… I am refusing you; it is the only fair thing to do.”
Vincent promptly exploded. “Are you mad, Tessie? Have you taken leave of your senses? You will condemn yourselfif you do this!” He grasped her by the arms, shaking her a little. “Tell him you accept. I do not care who is at fault, I do not care if you are solely to blame, but Idocare about your future. I care about your safety and security and… Tessie, it will break my heart if you do this. It will break my heart if I have to watch society’s cruelty toward you and, sweet sister, theywillbe cruel.”
His voice hitched and a wave of guilt crashed into Teresa’s chest, knocking the breath out of her. She knew her brother cared deeply for all of his sisters, but she had never seen him lose his composure like this before. She had seen his anger and his protectiveness, but not in this way, not with such sincere emotion bubbling to the surface.
