Your Darkest Dream (Blackwood & Friends #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Blanche was sitting in the middle of her bed, Penelope in her lap, when she heard the soft rap of knuckles against the frame of her door.

Initially, she felt trepidation, as for the better part of the rest of the day she had been anticipating another encounter with Rawdon. It had been harrowing to endure his presence during the dinner with her family, but he had sat next to Diana and outright ignored her. Normally a lively affair, dinner at the Blackwood table would be filled with rambunctious conversation, initiated by Blanche for the most part, but with Wilhelmina in attendance and Blanche's outward solemnity, the table had been largely withdrawn and nobody had thought twice about the cause behind it. Wilhelmina's presence was surety enough to assume the reserve at the table was caused by her. Blanche was thankful for it, in a way. She wasn't sure she would have been able to feign exuberance with Rawdon on the other side of the table.

Blanche set Penelope to one side on her mattress and checked the time on the small clock set against the wall beside her armoire. Satisfied, she slid back the bolt on her door and opened for him.

He brushed against her quickly, sliding the door closed again and locking it once more, and then his fingers were on her arm, shifting the shawl that covered her shoulders to one side so that he could examine the marks. She was awash with him, his nearness having the mesmerising effect of calming and enthralling her, but the sight of the welts made her withdraw. "I'm fine, Nate," she told him firmly, stepping away and hugging the shawl closer once more.

She wore her nightgown only and left him to return to her previous position on the bed, folding her legs under her. He watched her for a moment, then he studied Penelope, who had dropped down onto her front legs and was wagging her tail in eagerness at his arrival. "You are allowed to sit," she said teasingly when he didn't move from the door, his hands embedded in the pockets of his trousers. He hadn't removed the brocaded waistcoat he had worn to dinner, but he had lost the formal coat and the cravat, as well as the queue that had held his hair back.

His lips thinned but he came over to the edge of the mattress, sitting against it so that the bed groaned with his added weight. "Blanche," he sighed, running his hand over his unshaven jaw and glancing at her. His eyes looked like burnished copper in the dim light provided by the candle on the bedstand. "I really do believe I could kill him for what he did to you. You can't not say something to your family."

His voice was so gentle, so concerned, but his words annoyed her, sparked her anger. If he meant to convince her to do just that, then he didn't understand, just like nobody else would. "No."

"Did Rawdon assault you at the masquerade? Was it him?"

She hesitated, but it was clear that Nate was more astute at deciphering her pause than she was at hiding her secrets. His expression turned ominous, even before she admitted, "Yes."

"Has it happened before?" he demanded, infuriated.

"No."

His jaw was rigid, his body tensed, and she half expected him to lunge from the bed to find Rawdon and drag him to the depths of hell. "There are ways to handle this, Blanche. We can go to Bow Street-"

"Nate, I cannot." She was so frustrated she could scream. Instead, she raked her fingers through her hair that she left unbound, pulling it over her shoulder and carding it restlessly.

He halted her agitated gesture by taking her fingers in his, holding her hands clasped between his. "Tell me why not."

"What do you think something like this will do to my family, Nate? What will it do to Diana?" Her fingers clenched into balled fists, her nails digging into the skin of her palm, but he soothed the motion, relaxing them and bringing her fingers up to his lips.