CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The rest of the morning, into the early afternoon, passed by without incident. Teresa had not mentioned the word that Cyrus had written on her palm, and he had not considered it important to discuss, assuming that he had made his point: she was under his protection now, for as long as she wanted it.
Mine…
Indeed, spending a few hours in town with Teresa had been something of a revelation for him, for he had imagined it quite differently. He had assumed that they would go their separate ways and reconvene when both were done with their respective errands, but her presence had not been at all bothersome. Rather, her company had been a very pleasant thing indeed.
She joked and laughed and chattered, charming the exceedingly dull men of business who usually had nothing extraneous to say. His accountant—a notoriously glib and tedious man—had snorted so hard at one of her jests that he had been forcedto excuse himself to find a handkerchief. The lawyer, only marginally less boring on an ordinary day, had regaled them with a story of his time as a soldier, making Cyrus wonder if the man was more interesting than he had first thought.
Indeed, how Teresa could ever believe that she was not capable and confident was beyond him, when even the dressmaker had added a bonnet and some ribbons for free. Enchanted by the Duchess of Darnley, as keenly as everyone else seemed to be.
“That was… exactly what I needed,” Teresa said, resting her head against the squabs. “It reminded me a lot of a town near Grayling that I used to visit now and then. The people here are nicer, though.”
Their adventures had come to an end, and now they were back in the carriage, making the return journey to Darnley Castle. Back there, he hoped she would not be bored, now that she had experienced the outside world again.
“Must I visit this town and have a stern word with its inhabitants?” he asked, his own mood rather cheerful.
Teresa chuckled. “No, I think they can be forgiven. I was not well known to them, after all.”
“You were not well known tothosepeople,” he pointed out, gesturing vaguely.
She tilted her head from side to side, her bonnet slipping. “A fair remark. In truth, I do not know where all of that chatter came from. I am not usually so verbose.” A mischievous glint flashed in her extraordinary, golden-blue eyes. “I think it must be the flowers in the hallways. Their cheer has passed to me.”
“I had no idea that flowers could be so influential,” he said, suppressing a smile.
“Oh, then you must speak with Mr. Brewster. He will tell you that flowers areextremelyinfluential, and I have come to agree with him.” She smiled to herself, as if she had a secret.
A smile that slowly began to fade, her radiant glow dimming as her face fell into something akin to sadness. And when her eyes met his, they did not glimmer with merriment, but with the damp shine of sorrow.
“What happened in your nightmare, Cyrus?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He would have said it had come out of nowhere, if he had not just watched her face transform.
“I do not remember,” he replied brusquely, his own mood darkening.
She sat up straighter on the velvet squabs. “You said you did not want to die. You kept repeating it.” She paused. “Was someone trying to kill you?”
“I would rather talk of what you purchased in town,” he said, as invisible hands slithered through his ribs and grasped his lungs in their clawed grip, squeezing.
With a determined breath, Teresa moved herself to his side of the carriage and took hold of his hand, writing a word that he understood immediately:Please.
“I want to understand you,” she urged. “You know of my torments. I would know yours.”
She wrote the word again with her fingertip, her expression so sincere, so earnest, that he did not know how he was supposed to refuse. Indeed, she had given no indication that she would ever use his past against him, or that she wanted to know so she could gossip about it.
“Have you heardanystories about me?” he asked, sliding his fingers into his collar to loosen the strangling thing.
She shook her head. “My brother said therewerestories about you, but he told me none of them. He mentioned they were worrisome, nothing more.”
Then, I truly have no choice now.He knew of those awful stories well enough. The thought of her hearing a corrupt version from someone else and believing he was dangerous or worse was not something he could bring himself to tolerate, even if it meant she would willingly put distance between them.
“For a time, it was alleged that I had killed my father and grandfather in order to gain the title of Duke of Darnley for myself,” he began stiffly, the old story rusty on his tongue. “What was not written, or was cleverly altered, was the fact that I was three-and-ten. A boy.”
Teresa had grown very still at his side, but her hand remained in his. A good sign, if she had not jerked her hand away yet.
“A boy who would have exchanged everything he possessed tonotbe the Duke of Darnley,” he continued. “It was my father who desperately longed for that title, but it was not just greed that turned him into a monster.”
“Tell me of him,” Teresa encouraged, shuffling a little closer.
