His stomach roiled against the food. The memories. The cutting shards that had lodged themselves into his chest, until even breathing drew pain.
“Who are your parents?”
Sweat dampened his cravat. “My mother is dead.”
“And your father?”
Silence.
He laid down his fork. He had no intention of sitting here and allowing himself to be torn apart. Be hanged if he’d satisfy them—
“Mr. Kensley, won’t you pass the sweetbread au jus?”
He glanced back at Miss Gresham. Her eyes were on him again, but with more than curiosity or amusement. Warmth softened her stare.
As if she’d understood.
And put an end to the questions on his behalf.
What was she doing?
As the servants brought in the second course, even Lilias shot her a puzzled glance, as if to ask what in the world Isabella was thinking.
She hardly knew herself. But as the stranger sat in her dining room, two chairs down, with one question after another being hurled at him …
Well, enough was simply enough. She desired answers more than the rest of them, but even she could not sit and allow this. His eyes bore grief. She had not noticed until this very moment, but now she saw it so clearly that it could not be undone.
The way the vein bulged in his forehead. The tense bearing. The haunted expression, concealed so well, well enough she would never have noticed had it not been for his eyes.
Under the table, Lord Livingstone’s hand snatched hers.
She sucked in a breath and glanced at him.
“You are infatuated.”
She blinked at the quiet words, and as the footman lowered a platter of turkey in the center of the table, she made certain no one else had overheard.
They hadn’t.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Your guest. The one of mystery.” His fingers tightened around hers. “He has been the object of your interest all evening.”
“You are mistaken, my lord.” Heat tickled along the back of her neck. She tugged against his grasp, but he did not release her fingers. “I admit to curiosity, but even Miss Trewman and Miss Kettlewell are guilty of those charges.”
“I do not trust him.”
“Why should you say such a thing?”
“Because it is definite in my mind. I wish you to stay away from him.”
This time, she pulled her hand away hard enough for him to let go. Defiance sparked. “You need not take the part of my father just because he is absent. I assure you I am quite capable of remaining far from harm’s way.”
The skin tightened along his forehead. His eyes speared her, and for the first time, she noticed sweat beads above his lip. He opened his mouth, sucked in air—then turned his profile to her and said nothing.
Isabella flexed her fingers beneath the tablecloth, and for the remainder of the evening, her mind was jostled between the stranger two seats down …
And the stranger sitting next to her.
