To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

She extended her hand to him across the window, “Do we have a deal then?”

Carver’s eyes looked down at her hand, the hint of a smirk still marking his mouth. His gaze held her hand for a moment longer before his eyes narrowed on it and his brows pulled together. He reached out and she expected him to shake it in agreement of their wager, but her heart sunk when he instead cupped his hand around the backside of hers and tipped it over so that he could look closely at her palm.

She stiffened, knowing exactly what had caught his eye.

Rose tried to yank her hand away but Carver’s grip tightened and he tugged her more fully toward him. It was not a painful or violent motion, but it certainly conveyed that he didn’t mean to let her get away easily. She quit resisting and resigned her gaze to the floor as Carver lifted her hand up to look closer at it.

“What happened here?” he asked in a low husky voice.

Rose didn’t need to look to know what he was referring to. It was the thick, rippling, purple and white scar winding its way from her middle finger down to her wrist. How had she been so careless to extend that hand to him? She usually tried to keep it hidden. The memories associated with that time of her life were not ones that she enjoyed reliving. They reflected her years of vulnerability and uncertainty. Times of grieving and heartbreak before she leaned to pick up her own pieces and become who she was now.

“An accident,” she said still looking at the floor.

“Try again,” his voice was tender but authoritative. He had a way of making her feel both completely safe and also horribly off-balance at the same time.

Rose pressed her lips together. He was evidently not going to let her go until she told him the truth. But she didn’t want to tell him anything about herself. Easier to walk away when everything was done. And no matter how much she liked being around Carver or his family, she would walk away when this was all done. She had to.

Still, something inside her ached to be known by him, even if only in the slightest.

She kept her eyes focused on the floor, bouncing her gaze back and forth between Carver’s black top boots and the swirling designs on the light blue rug. “I…was orphaned at ten years old when my papa died. I needed to find work. I did not enjoy living in the streets as a young vulnerable girl so I opted instead to cut my hair and wear a pair of breeches. I pretended to be a boy for the next two years…”

She tried to push away the horrifying memories of those first two weeks after Papa’s unexpected death. She had quickly gone from a girl who was loved and cared for to a girl who was completely alone in cold dark alleys. She could still remember how badly her stomach ached from hunger. And the intense discomfort that crawled over her skin when she received ogling looks from the men when they passed her in the streets. She was exposed. Scared. Hungry. Alone.

Carver was still and quiet, holding her hand gently as he waited for her to talk again. “During those years I worked as a climbing boy.” She took a deep breath. She was almost done with the story. The last part of the story all came out fast. “I was high up on a third story roof when I slipped. I slid down the roof and would have fallen to my death had I not caught a shingle that was protruding off the edge.” She gestured toward the hand he was holding. “And I came away with a trophy for the whole adventure.”

Carver remained perfectly still, not saying anything. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. They were standing too close, and she feared that if she let him look at her eyes, he would see the pain and fear that she tried to keep hidden. Rose had kept her heart guarded for nearly all of her life. She knew that if she let this man in, it would come at a high cost, just like the scar twisting down her palm.

But when Rose felt Carver’s callused finger gently trace the line of her scar, she couldn’t help but look up at him. His touch was so tender and sweet, that she was almost shaken to see the fierce look in his eyes and the firm set of his jaws. Was he angry? She swallowed and tried to not think about how much his touch affected her. How much she liked it.

“I’m sorry. I wish…” he let the words hang a moment as if hoping to find better ones. “I wish your life hadn’t been that way.” It was simple, but his voice, low and soft, drew her in. She wanted to lay her head against his strong chest and let him comfort her. The last time Rose had been comforted was the day before her papa’s heart had abruptly stopped working. He had held her in his arms and sang her a lullaby after she had woken from a bad dream.

She tried to tug her hand away. She needed space to remember her rules. But he still refused to let her go. “I don’t need your pity, Carver,” she said, trying to push him away the only way she knew how.

He gently lifted her hand to his lips where he kissed not the back of her hand as was customary, but the inside of her palm where her scar twisted and buckled. “Good,” his breath washed across the skin of her hand. “Because I will never give you pity. I promise you that.” What, then, would he give her? Rose couldn’t let herself think about it.

Chapter 19

Carver watched in the mirror as Brandon, his valet, finished tying the knot around his neck for the fifth time. The man stood back with a weary expression while Carver looked at the linen again in the mirror. He was in a mood, and unfortunately for Brandon, the only thing that soothed his annoyance was ripping off his cravat over and over.

He needed to rip it off again. He lifted his hand but Brandon spoke up with wide nervous eyes. “My lord! If we have to start over again, I’m afraid that you will be late for dinner.”

Carver eyed his valet, and Robert, sunk lazily into a chair by the fireplace, interjected with a chuckle. “Poor Brandon. You’re setting him in a quake with that thunderous look, Kensworth.”

Carver turned. His brother-in-law was smirking. “Do you not have a wife somewhere to annoy?” asked Carver.

But Robert just smiled at the valet. “Best leave us, Brandon, before you’re made to tie a sixth knot. Or worse—find a new post.”

A nervous-looking Brandon bowed and hurried to the door.

Coward.

Once the door was shut behind the servant, Robert re-situated onto his hip and leaned his elbow on the armrest. “Now, what’s put you in such a devilish mood, Kensworth?”

Carver kept his eyes on his reflection in the looking glass as he messed with his hair. He let something of a growl escape, but no words. He didn’t feel like talking. The afternoon with Daphney had upended him in a way that he hadn't seen coming. It had ruined everything.

“Come on,” Robert said, in a tone that was probably meant to be rallying. “Get it off your chest. I don’t know how much longer I can t

ake seeing you this moody.”