Reaching the yard to the inn, Thea paused and breathed deeply, shoving away the grim thoughts before she once more faced the world.
Then a shadowy figure caught her eye, slinking between the carriages. Pausing at the Earl of Luxborough’s carriage. Easing the door open, disappearing inside.
“Hey you!” she called out. “Stop! Thief!”
She ran in search of help, one eye on the carriage, one on the figure emerging with a box of plants. Again she called out, as the thief ran. And ran.
And stopped.
For his way was blocked by a tall, broad man with tousled hair.
“Put down that box,” the earl said calmly.
The thief nimbly darted to the side. Luxborough was there before him. The thief darted back the other way; his path was once more blocked.
“I do not much care for dancing,” Luxborough said. “So put down that box and if you run very fast, perhaps you’ll escape with your life.”
He loomed, head raised, the moonlight hitting his scarred cheek. Thea heard a whimper and the sound of the box hitting the ground and then footsteps as the thief fled. Luxborough immediately dropped into a crouch by the plants and began inspecting them. He did not look up as Thea approached.
“Are they unharmed?” she asked.
“Hmm.”
“Would you really have killed him?”
“Hmm?”
“You threatened to kill a man over some plants.”
“The plants are irreplaceable,” Luxborough said. “Yet that ignorant thief would probably just feed them to the pigs.”
“And then what?” she demanded. “The pigs would poop diamonds?”
He shot her one of his looks, and went back to tenderly inspecting each plant, each clay pot. Hands that a moment ago had been ready to take a man’s life now cupped a yellow flower as tenderly as if it were a newborn kitten.
“Those plants are so fortunate,” Thea heard herself say softly. “To have you to protect them and look after them.”
In a swift, fluid movement, he stood, and she realized again how big he was. His chest and shoulders were vast and his arms looked strong. Perfect for hugging, really. How selfish of him not to invite closeness. Surely it was his civic duty as an earl to offer a hug to any citizen who required one.
Starting with her.
“That story you told in there,” he started.
“It was the truth, you know.” Belligerence made her voice too loud. “I suppose you think it’s silly, for m–my sister to cry over a ruined reputation.”
“Hmm?”
“‘By George, you think someone laughing at you is bad. You should try being attacked by a wild animal.’”
“Hmm.”
“Forgive me.” She glanced down at the flowers and back up. “It is impolite to mention it.”
“I imagine scars this pronounced are difficult to ignore.”
Behind them, the inn door opened, releasing the noise inside, which became muted again as the door slammed shut. The inn was settling for the night, and the yard was quiet but for them and the owl.
“Yet why should we ignore them?” she asked. “I do not wish to pretend your scars are not there. Our scars are our stories, and stories should be told.”
“Then my story must be a frightening one, to match my face.”
“But that’s it.” She stepped closer to him. “The attack must have been horrific, but now you seem so strong and fearless, and I wish I knew how to… You wear those scars like a challenge. As if to say, ‘Yes, I tussled with a wild animal with paws as big as my head. What did you do this morning before breakfast?’”
He did not seem to mind her words, for that half smile curled his lips, and the corners of her own mouth tugged upward in response. The streaks of his scars looked almost shiny in the moonlight. She was already used to them, she realized, yet she longed to touch them, to pretend she could ease his past pain, to pretend he gave a flying farthing for hers.
She tangled her fingers together at her waist.
“Actually, I find it a benefit, that my face makes children run away,” he said. “Although their screaming gives me a headache.”
Encouraged by his self-deprecating joke, Thea ventured a reply. “And if ladies swoon at the sight of you, you are spared from having to talk to them.”
“Precisely. Although that raises the question of the etiquette of stepping over their prone bodies.”
“And the men?”
“Ah, the men.” He scratched his chin. “They say something jovial, like, ‘Spot of bad luck there, what?’ as if my cricket match was rained out.”
Thea laughed, the sound a lonely one in the deserted yard, but he was smiling, just a little, and she liked having someone to smile with again. Then his smile faded, for he was searching her face with questions in his eyes, and the silence grew as heavy as the dark. She should go in, but she was not ready to leave him, not while there was the smallest chance they might smile together again.