Mr. Sutton was losing some of his polish. The h had vanished once more. He was upset, she realized. On her behalf.
When all she had done thus far was pour laudanum into his brandy and lie to him.
A rush of shame made her cheeks go hot. She had done nothing to deserve his sympathy.
“I am sorry,” she managed. “I should not have assumed you would be the same. When I realized I had poured too much into your brandy, I did not know what to do. I need this post quite desperately. I cannot afford to have to secure another, so I took you to my chamber, fearing Mr. Sutton would see the state you were in and guess at what I had done. I needed to hide you until the effects had worn off, and I was desperately hoping you would not remember what had happened.”
Except, she had not planned on him being so stubbornly determined to wrest the truth from her.
Miraculously, his slow, steady caress up and down her back continued, in spite of her revelations. “When did you knock me on the knowledge box?”
“I did not hit you,” she hastened to explain, wincing as she recalled the sickening thud of his head hitting her bedside table. “You were removing your clothes because you wished to sleep, and I could not persuade you against the wisdom of disrobing regardless of how hard I tried. You lost your balance, striking your head on a piece of furniture as you fell.”
“Little wonder it still hurts like the bleeding devil.”
She had no doubt it would. “The blow was strong enough to knock you insensate for a few moments. I had to watch over you, so I managed to help you into the bed, and there you remained for the night. I did not dare risk sleeping anywhere else for fear of discovery.”
“That explains the wall of pillows you built.”
“I had to be certain there was a boundary.”
“You trusted me enough to sleep at my side the entire night?”
“I had no choice,” she admitted. “But I realized, too late of course, and only after I had poured the laudanum into your glass, that I was allowing my fear of what had happened before to inform my judgment. You had given me no reason to suspect you would force yourself upon me. I simply… I panicked.”
“You were attacked by that vile swine. It is understandable that you would not soon trust another man.”
His calm understanding was almost more than she could bear. “You are being kind to me. Why?”
“I’m a kind chap.” His easy grin returned.
Something in her heart shifted. Slid into place. How she wished she were someone else, and that she could simply revel in this man’s charm.
But she could not fall beneath the easy spell of a man like Rafe Sutton.
Just two more months, Persephone, she reminded herself. When she turned five-and-twenty, Cousin Bartholomew could no longer be a threat to her inheritance. Still, her birthday seemed a lifetime away.
“I do not deserve your kindness.” The words escaped her, the closest she dared come to a complete confession.
The truth was, she was continuing to deceive him, just as she was deceiving Mr. Jasper Sutton and Lady Octavia. Her currency had become lies and manipulation. Anything to protect herself. She was little better than Cousin Bartholomew.
“Everyone in this mad world of ours deserves some kindness and understanding, Miss Wren,” Rafe Sutton said, his hand stilling on her back at last. “With the exception of bloody Lord Gregson. That bastard deserves what is coming to ’im.”
The menace had returned to his words, as had the stiffness to his bearing. She shivered, and it was not entirely from the cold. “What do you mean, Mr. Sutton?”
Surely he did not intend to exact vengeance upon Lord Gregson on her behalf.
Did he?
His response was a grim smile. “You needn’t worry, my dear.” With that, he rapped on the carriage roof thrice, and the vehicle slowed before coming to a halt. “Good day, Miss Wren. I’ll take my leave.”
The carriage door opened, sending in the sunlight and a burst of cool air, along with the undiluted noise of the street.
He rose from the bench, then descended from the vehicle in one fluid motion, all lean strength as he leapt to the street below. When his boots planted on terra firma, he turned to give her a tip of his hat.
And then he simply walked away.
The door closed, the carriage lumbering on.