“If you wanted him to know the truth, you would have told him. Seeing how you made yourself forget, I’msureit’s something you don’t want him to find out.”
He looked at her with a surprised smile and something else in his eyes. She wasn’t sure what it was, but if a man in the future had ever looked at her the same way, she would be married by now.
He turned to the door, and then returned his attention to her, the residue of his smile evident in his eyes. “Come have a cup of wine with me in my private solar.”
Drinking alone with him was thelastthing she should do. She shouldn’t. But instead of refusing, she nodded her head and followed him as one hypnotized. She realized miserably that deep down, she didn’t want their time together to be over so quickly. And even though it was best over now, she clung to something that may have been possible in another time and place.
His private solar ended up being below stairs. She knew where to find it since it was one of the first of over fifty doors he’d allowed her to open—in the cellars, close to where dozens of casks of wine were stored.
“I thought solars were usually situated on the upper floors,” she remarked as they reached the door.
“I prefer the unusual,” he remarked. He lifted his arm over her head and pushed the door open. Aria looked up at him, so close she could make out flecks of gold in his cerulean eyes.
When he dipped his gaze to hers after a moment without her moving, she cleared her throat and stepped inside. The interior was bathed in the light of a slow burning tallow candle and a low hearth fire instead of sunshine from a world two-hundred and twenty-nine years in the future. He moved past her and entered the room.
Unlike the large sitting room above the cliffs where she had sat with Harper, the marquess’ solar was a small, cozy sanctuary for one. One oversized, cushioned chair with a woolen blanket thrown over the top was set before the carved-out hearth. A full bookcase lined another wall, and a small, polished walnut writing desk was set against another wall with a window.
“You come here alone,” she ventured.
“Yes.” He poured her a drink from a decanter on a small table near the chair, then poured a cup for himself as well. Aria watched him, wondering how far she should go with her questions. She wasn’t one to hold back. “My lord—”
“Gray. Call me Gray,” he offered along with the chair.
Would speaking his name make it that much harder to forget him?
“I—” he sealed his lips and then began again. “Harry killed Abigail. He told me that he planned to eat her and warned me to dig her up from where I buried her. We fought. I asked for help. I—I asked the animals to avenge me and Abigail. They did. Not because they obey. They came because I was their friend. Abigail was their friend. George Gable died because he shot Davith, a black wolf, whose fur lines my hood. He died because of my call. By the next morning, most of my friends were dead. The villagers hunted the rest and on the second day, nearly every one of them was dead.”
He lowered his head for a moment as if looking at her was too difficult. A moment later he lifted his macabre grin and wide eyes and pointed to his head.
That time must have been unbearable for a boy of ten. He’d gotten all his friends killed. He couldn’t live with it. Aria could tell by his red, glassy eyes. He wouldn’t let any tears fall though.
Aria didn’t know why he was confessing all this to her. Was she the first to hear it?
“You were just a child,” she said softly. “That experience shaped your life. I’m sorry it was so difficult for you, Gray.”
“Not all my friends perished though,” he said, more to himself than to her. It was as if he was remembering everything as the moments passed.
“The raven that follows you,” she guessed.
He nodded. “Toric.”
Aria wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry about the coffee house,” she said quietly, remembering birds smashing into the window. “My determination not to be unfairly excluded cost a lot of birds their lives.”
A trace of his warmest smile shone on his face. “You did the right thing. Those men chose violence against me. That’s what caused everything. It was nothing you did.”
The birds protected him, some giving their lives to do so.
Who was he that he had such a powerful gift to be able to communicate with animals? And why had Mrs. B. sent her, of all people, back to him? Was it because they both loved dancing? Or was she sent back to have his sons? Would the key work on any of the doors, or would Mrs. B. close the way to ensure the marquess’ sons were born? Knowing now the powers the marquess possessed, she understood why his heirs would be so important. She didn’t believe she was the one to give him his sons. She had a mountain of responsibility to her family. She wouldn’t let them down. But could she let Gray die an early death if he didn’t have sons with Sarah Gable?
The thought of Sarah Gable having his children made her blood boil.
“Tell me what it’s like—your home.”
She nodded, happy to change the subject.
They didn’t hear Timothy Cavendish creeping around outside the solar door.
Chapter Sixteen