“Come in,” he called after a moment, and Christiana opened the door—unlocked, she noticed—to find Hugh standing in the middle of the room before a mirror. His valet whisked out of sight, evidently dismissed, though Hugh was in the midst of changing; he wore only a shirt, his cravat hanging loosely around his neck. Here, he looked relaxed and utterly wonderful.
Her heart gave a traitorous leap.
“I am so sorry,” she said, stepping back out of instinct. “I hadn’t realized you were busy. Forgive me—”
He caught her elbow as she made to leave. “Does the sight of my undress offend you so much you can’t look at me, Chris? What is it you came to say?” His gaze swept over her face, and as always, he saw more there than she could ever have supposed. “Did your friend arrive safely?”
“Of course.”
“And you were treated well at the Black Horse?”
“As though you would have allowed me to return without immediately questioning Matthew about the entire affair,” Christiana said teasingly. The only way Hugh had allowed Christiana to go was if she had taken a footman, and she had no doubt he had been under instruction to relay everything to his master.
“There was a period where you were in the parlor and he waited outside.”
“And there was no one else there to cause offense,” she said, placing an affectionate hand lightly on his arm. He glanceddown at the contact, and she retracted her hand immediately, suddenly self-conscious. The truth was, she hadn’t seen a man—except for her father—in nothing but a shirt. And although she had seen statues and knew, supposedly, what gentlemen looked like, she hadn’t ever come to appreciate the broadness of a gentleman’s chest, or how his skin might appear through his translucent shirt. Just the baresthintof tan. Or perhaps peach. Every time she looked, she felt her unexpected shyness grow.
“What did you wish to talk to me about?” he prompted gently.
In her confusion, the words tumbled free without constraint. “Please treat her well and don’t be standoffish. I know you don’t like her, and you absolutely do not approve of her choices, but this matters to me. And to her.” She looked up into Hugh’s face, carefully expressionless. “Her father cast her out. She is learning how to cook and make a home, and I believe she’s happy, but that doesn’t make the world an easier place to live in. You know, don’t you? Youknow.”
His face betrayed none of his thoughts, and she had never wished she could read them more than now.
“I have been an outsider all my life,” she said quietly. “She has always been loved, everywhere she goes. This will be hard for her. Please don’t make it harder.”
He caught her hand, his palm sliding up her arm to her elbow. Even that small contact made her feel dizzy with—something. “Did you think I would treat her badly, Chris?”
“No, but—I know you dislike that she’s here. And this is important to me.” Her final attempt to persuade him—a plea that was not precisely a plea.
He sighed, his fingers sliding a fraction underneath the soft puffed sleeves of her dress. Fingertips against delicate bare skin. She caught her breath. “If she is a guest of yours, then she is entitled to my civility. I will do my best to make her welcome.”
Was there anything he set his mind to that he didn’t try his best at? Christiana had not seen all of him, but she had seen enough to know the answer to that question: a resoundingno.
His best was more than she could ever have asked for.
Laura had taken one look at her face and declared that she was in love. And for the first time, staring up into her husband’s face—one half scarred, the other coldly handsome—Christiana wondered if there was a chance her friend could be right.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dinner went well.Laura Brown, as she was now, openly adored Christiana, which made Hugh’s acceptance of her easier. She was worldly in a way his wife wasn’t but hid both her reputation and worldliness from Amelia, who asked her plenty of questions about London. To Hugh’s relief, she answered them all with good humor. That good humor loosened him by degrees, and by the time they’d retired to the drawing room, he felt almost at ease in her presence.
Of course, it helped that she treated him as she might any new husband of her friend: with teasing deference. He wore his mask—for the first time in days, perhaps a week—and she didn’t stare at him or him or behave as though he were some kind of freak.
In the drawing room, she settled herself beside him, adjusting her skirts with the consummate grace of a lady accustomed to being a darling of theton. He had met plenty during his time in London. When she glanced up at him, it was with dancing amusement.
“Soyouare the Beast of Somerset,” she mused, and he stiffened, his shoulders going tight.
“As you say,” he said.
“Oh, don’t retreat into that cold reserve. I know you don’t like the term, but that’s how I came to know you, and youarethe gentleman who married my dearest friend. I confess both to curiosity and concern.”
“And are your fears allayed?”
“More than. I find myself deeply satisfied with the turn of events.” Mrs. Brown turned to look at Christiana, who sat with Amelia, laughing about something, spectacles gleaming in the lamplight. “I have known her for quite some time and her happiness is important to me.”
“As is, I gather, yours is to her.”
“I know she dislikes my choice of husband, but she has accepted me regardless.”