“She needs rest, my lord.”
“Step aside, Gable.”
The marquess’ voice was throaty and deep, with a musical British accent. It held the command of a confident king and Will obeyed and moved out of his path.
Aria’s blood burned, coursing through her veins. She met Will’s gaze and then tossed the marquess a distasteful glare.
In truth, she could hardly breathe. Her thoughts ended and all her clarity of mind went into soaking up his appearance, beginning with his face when he pushed back his fur-lined hood. She’d never seen such a starkly handsome man before. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t look away. He belonged on the cover ofGQor something devoted to ruggedly handsome noblemen.
He moved with a grace and masculinity that made her knees shake. Good thing she was in bed, or she would have been on her backside. He was lean and about six feet tall in his red overcoat that tapered slightly at his waist and then fanned outward, reaching his boots. Up close, she could see the beautiful, full roses and green leaves sewn into the left breast of the outside. His hair was black, cut shorter in the back and left to fall over his brow and eclipse his turquoise-colored eyes.
“Where did you come from?”
Her mouth went dry at the husky depth of his voice and his lips that formed his words.
They were full—both top and bottom—to the degree of being luscious and spellbindingly inviting.
“Are you going to answer me or lay there as if the sight before you has made you go dull.”
She blinked. Dull? Son of a—“The sight before me being you?”
He shifted on his feet and gave her an impatient look. “I saw you come into the forest that day,” he let her know, leaning in a bit closer so that only she would hear. “Where did you come from?”
She imagined she must have appeared as if she’d been spit out of time’s mouth. He had seen her. Did that mean it was all real, provided he was telling her the truth? What was she supposed to tell him now? “I…I don’t remember.”
“Of course you do,” he countered smoothly. Then, “Why do you wear the clothes of Dartmouth? Do you belong to me?”
“What?” she demanded with a tight laugh. “I don’t belong to anyone. Understand?”
“Alright, little lion,” he mused, but there was nothing soft or warm in the steel of his eyes or the unyielding cut of his jawline.
Now she was sure none of this was real. Men that looked like him didn’t exist and if they did, it was thanks to lots of makeup. He was close enough to see he wore no makeup.
“Forget the shirt you wear with my name scribed across it. Just tell me the truth about how you appeared out of thin air.”
Was it real then? Was it real?
“I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t even know who you are. You’re very threatening, all big and brooding, and…cold.” She almost said sinfully attractive.
He ground his teeth, making his jawline twitch. “Very well. I’ll return every day to ask you again.” He flicked his gaze, along with a smirk out of the corner of his mouth, to Will. “I’m certain the Gables won’t mind having me visit their home on a more regular basis.”
Aria looked past him at Will. He was pale. His eyes were squeezed shut. He appeared extremely unhappy about the prospect of having the marquess here.
“Listen here,” she commanded again, “You’re not going to march into my life and start making demands. I don’t care what century this is. I don’t belong to you. Understand? The Gables have been very kind to me. You don’t get to threaten people who help me. If you wanted to make the point that you’re a crappy human, you succeeded. But you still don’t get to threaten me. You can come here until you’ve wasted a year of your life—I’ll tell you nothing.”
He didn’t move but simply stared at her. He didn’t look angry or impatient, nor did he appear to be amused. For a second, she thought she saw something glint across his penetrating gaze. What was it? Something roiling within, churning just beyond the veil.
“Are you finished?” he asked calmly.
Oh, how she wished she was on her feet and not helpless in a stranger’s bed. “That depends on if you are.”
His expression didn’t change. In fact, he barely revealed any emotion at all. If “deadpan” was a person, it would be the Marquess of Dartmouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about getting answers. The lackadaisical intensity of his gaze proved that he did. Just another guy unable to express his emotions. Aria scoffed and was about to roll her eyes at him when he began to turn away from her without another word. Except that she caught the faint smile forming on his lips.
So then, he did feel something.
She watched him walk away, toward the outside where his pale gray horse waited. He was fascinating to look at, even from behind. The red tails of his coat snapped out around his boots; his hood, lined in black fur, fell between his broad shoulders, along with his bow and quiver of red feathered arrows, but it was his gait that trumpeted his virility.
He didn’t return the next day as he’d threatened, or the day after that. Mrs. Gable, Will’s mother, wouldn’t hear of Aria leaving in her condition—which was no longer dangerous. Her feet were almost completely healed, and she hadn’t had the chills in two nights. But she had to find a way home and stop infringing on this poor family. And poor, they were.