When she didn’t answer after a few minutes, he spoke again. “Well, you won’t have time to be lonely this week. My rather enormous and doting family will be all too eager to monopolize your time.” Enormous family.
Rose wasn’t sure she was comfortable with that thought. No, actually
, she knew she wasn’t. Even when her family was still living, it had only ever been her and Papa. She swallowed at the familiar lump that formed in her throat. How was it possible to still miss someone after so much time?
She was well aware that it wasn’t just Papa that she missed, but her life that died along with him. The day before he was taken from her, she had been cared for, comforted, safe, and happy. The very next day, she had been left orphaned, penniless, homeless, and scared. She had learned quickly to take care of herself. To close off her heart in attempt to protect herself from ever feeling the pain and vulnerability she felt the day her sweet Papa died. And it worked. If she kept people at arm’s length, she never grew attached. And if she never grew attached, she never had to feel the sting of loss again.
“I cannot imagine that your family will be pleased to see me show up unannounced at their doorstep,” said Rose, pulling her thoughts away from her past. She didn’t know much about polite society, but she did know that they were often very stuffy about propriety and protocol.
He smiled. “You don’t know my family.” After a pause, he added, “Besides, it’s been three years since I’ve been home. They will just be pleased that I finally managed to make the trip in its entirety this time.” That was an interesting confession. And one that he looked to instantly regret admitting just as much as she had regretted her words a moment ago.
“Three years seems like a long time to stay away. What’s been keeping you from returning?” Rose asked and then noticed Carver’s face harden. “Forgive me, it’s no business of mine.” Could it be another scandal with yet another maid? She hoped not, for the maid’s sake. Not because she had begun to like the man in any way.
He surprised her by continuing the topic. “Do you have any memories you’d rather never re-live?” And again, the air in the carriage felt too thick and suffocating. She looked him in the eyes but didn’t dare speak. Her emotions felt too close to the surface. And she was always careful to never let them reach the top. So instead, she just looked to him and gave a brief nod.
“I do as well. And they all live in that house.” Rose could almost feel his anguish. It was the oddest sensation. She barely knew this man, and yet, she was beginning to feel a tether to him that she couldn’t explain. It was not good. Not good at all.
She watched as he harshly rubbed his hands over his face and then back through his hair. When his hands fell back to his side, Rose noticed a streak of blood running down this face.
“Your cut is bleeding,” she said motioning toward the wound above his eyebrow. It must have been fresh to have bled so easily.
Carver dabbed the cut with his finger and then looked down at the blood as if to verify she was telling the truth and not just playing some sort of prank on him. “Blast,” he said.
“Do you have a handkerchief? Hurry—it’s about to drip on your jacket,” she said looking around for something to put on it but coming up empty. He pulled a linen from his jacket pocket and dabbed around his forehead to find the cut. It was miserable to watch. Could he not feel where the wound was? Was he purposely trying to annoy her? If so, it was working.
“Here,” she said impatiently while scooting over to his bench and taking the linen from his hand. She placed it on his cut and applied pressure.
It was when she smelled the cool clean scent of his shaving soap that she realized just how close she had sat to him. An odd warmth surged through her. When she looked down at his eyes, she saw that there was a deep crease between his brows and again he looked as if he were searching her face for something important. It was most uncomfortable to be looked at like that. Somehow she felt as if he were seeing into her very thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Hold it there for a few minutes,” and shifted away but not back to her own seat. Why? Now it would look odd if she decided to move across the carriage after sitting for several seconds in that spot.
“Has the sight of my blood offended your sensibilities?” he said, eyeing her with a playful look.
She chuckled and felt herself relax a little. “Perhaps it would have, had I any sensibilities to offend.”
He smiled inquisitively. “Blood doesn’t make you squeamish?”
“Not a bit.” She looked again to the cut he was dabbing with the handkerchief. “Do you box often?”
His brows lowered. “How did you know that I box?”
It was her job to know. She was constantly reading people and their body language for clues on how they were feeling, what they would do next, and how to interact with them. “You have that cut above your eye, and I’m assuming from the way you wince and bend to the right every time we hit a bump, you have something of a bruised rib. At first, I thought that you’d taken a toss from your horse, but then I noticed your swollen red knuckles and realized that you must have been in a fight recently.” She decided not to mention that his muscular physique also lent itself to her conclusion.
He smiled, a touch smug. “Last night, in fact.”
“Did you win?”
A bigger smile. “I did. But it was a near-run thing.”
“Is your rib broken?” Not that she cared. It was just a long journey, and she needed to make conversation. Better to talk about him than herself.
“I don’t think so.” A mischievous twinkle entered his grey eyes. “Do you want to assess it for yourself?”
She narrowed her eyes and resisted the blush she felt sweeping over her skin. Who knew ears could feel like they were on fire? “No. I do not. And if you’re not careful, you will find yourself with a matching bruised rib on the other side.” But the more he said things like that, the more she had the feeling he was teasing her rather than flirting or trying to seduce her. Something was not adding up about Lord Newburry. Most rakes exuded villainous airs. Carver did not. What game was he playing?
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be good, Daphney.” Never had a name felt less like her own.
Rose looked back out the window for a time and allowed a comfortable silence to blanket the carriage. When she finally glanced sideways at him, she noticed that he was staring at her middle. She covered it with her hand and hoped to God it wasn’t crooked again. He blinked and looked away. Was he suspicious? Or simply curious at the idea of a pregnancy? Either way, she did not want to risk him detecting that she was only warming a pillow under her dress instead of a baby.