CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Following the post-dancing parting of the men and women, Amelia was back at Graham’s side.
He leaned in to her as they walked out of the foyer and to the top of the outside stairs to access their carriage.
“How terrible was it in the drawing room?” he asked her, and there was a tightness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before he was pulled to the parlor with the rest of the men.
“As much as I feared,” she admitted. “I suspect that Lady Cassandra bears ill will towards me. It is not unfounded, for I did unwittingly turn the occasion of her parents’ garden party into the backdrop for our scandal. However, I daresay she harbours a particular affection for you.”
“She was rather persistent at the party.” He grimaced. “But I would rather think a marquess’s daughter as cunning as she appears to be would revel in the talk surrounding an event she hosted.”
Amelia laughed bitterly. “Unfortunately not. She was trying to appear sweet but a lady’s gift is to know when another lady is being rather snide.”
“I think that sounds much worse, that game of guessing, than the men’s outright insults. They accused me of several awful things. Rake was not the worst of them. I believe that the consensus was that I have ruined you in… well, in unspeakable ways.”
The meaning trickled into Amelia’s expression, her realization dawning slowly, until he wished he had not said it at all.
“Let us depart,” he said quickly, leading her to their carriage. “I do not wish to dwell on their words.”
“Graham,” she began but stopped halfway on the carriage stairs when a hand swung through the darkness, a man coming from the other side of the carriage.
Fingers dug into Graham’s shoulder, and Amelia cried out while Graham slammed the carriage door shut after pushing her through, protecting her before swinging around to his assailant.
A hand clasped over her mouth, Amelia listened as there was several thuds and groans, before the door opened.
“Set off,” Graham snapped at the coachman, spitting blood, as he climbed into the carriage. There was no sign of his attacker, but as Graham got into the carriage and slumped onto the bench, Amelia got a look at the bruises on his face. His eye was injured, and his lip had already begun to swell.
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Heavens, I do not know where he came from.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice faint, looking at a cut through his forehead. She winced, reaching for her handkerchief.
“I have no idea. He came out of nowhere and attempted to slip a hand into my jacket pocket. Perhaps a man trying his luck at finding anything.”
“Did he take anything at all?”
Graham shook his head, his eyes closing. Without his gaze on her, Amelia felt calmer, as if the carriage, as it took them back to Blackthorn, was a sacred space that she might find with him where the rest of the world did not matter.
Moving closer, Amelia reached out to dab her handkerchief on the cut on his forehead. Graham’s eyes flew open, his hand reaching out to clasp her wrist. It wasn’t to hurt her, only a warning, a show of his surprise.
Amelia froze nonetheless, her eyes falling to his.
“I—I only wished to stop the blood from dripping into your eyes,” she whispered. Graham looked at where he held her wrist, noticing how his thumb pressed into her skin. He pulled away, nodding once. His eyes closed once again as he let her dab at the wound.
Amelia’s heartbeat hammered in her chest as she realized how close they were in the small space.
And then Graham spoke, his voice flat and monotone, as if he struggled to get the words out.
“I believe that I carry a curse,” he spoke into the silence.
“And, in a way, that fear has been heightened by that attacker. It may have only been a moment but had it been you behind me… I do not know what I would have done if I had not seen him in time. I… I have a fear that I am destined to hurt those around me.”
With his eyes remaining shut, and his voice nothing more than a murmur, Amelia could not help the emotion rising in her as she listened.
“It is why I push those I care about away. My mother is my strength and yet I am short with her. I believe that the closer someone gets to me then the more they are hurt. I—Amelia, I do not wish you to have to endure that. I have already damned your life.”
“You say you are destined to hurt others,” she whispered, drawing back so he could sit up and look at her.
Those eyes were dark and intense, fixed on her.
“And yet when I fell, you picked me up. And when the crowd gathered that day in the maze, your first move was to move in front of me and try to keep me calm. And when the gossip came for my reputation, you were honourable and selfless even if this… our marriage… means your own misery.”
His mouth parted as he met her eyes. “I am not miserable. I am… I struggle to know how to care for others. How to show it. I cannot handle the darkness that I feel follows me wherever I go.”
“Then you may always tell me when you feel that darkness,” she told him, wanting to reach out for his hand. “And we shall face it together, for you are not alone anymore, Graham. I wish to get close, but I do not think that is at the expense of my safety.”
Graham reached out for her, and tucked a piece of hair back, away from her face. Amelia was stunned by the sudden movement, and only gazed back at him.
“Like this,” Graham murmured, “I can pretend that I have not ruined what this could have been.”
Amelia shook her head, sitting next to him. “Nothing is ruined.”
He said nothing, only shook his head, and let her dab his forehead again. When their eyes next met, he did not look away first.
***
Percival Randall watched the departing Blackthorn carriage with a gleeful smile, having finally gotten the new duchess warming up to him, and his cousin’s suspicions abated once more. He watched Graham’s attacker hurry off, wounded and defeated.
Yet Percival’s smirk only grew as he, too, melted into the shadows.