Sensation prickled along the back of her neck. The strangest feeling. As if she were being observed.
Anne spun around. Meg? She tried to recall the names of other servants she had met todayLeos valet, and the steward. Spinner? Mr. Fowles?
No answer. Nothing at all, until the middle candle in a three-branched candelabra abruptly went out. A curl of smoke drifted up to the ceiling.
She took one of the lit candles and used it to reignite the one in the middle. Yet the moment she replaced the taper, the middle candle went out again. It didnt gutter or flicker, as it might if there were a draft. It simply extinguished itself.
As if someone had blown it out.
A rolling clatter sounded on the street outside. Startled, her heart contracted, a painful grip in the center of her chest. Then came the footmans steps echoing across the checkerboard floor as he strode to the door and held it open. Anne drifted to the railing and looked down.
Cold air swirled in, and a man stood in the doorway. Light from the linkboys torch outside made the man a figure of darkness, limned in fire. Tall, and broad-shouldered. He came into the entryway, sleek and sinister as night. She felt a clutch of instinctive fear, the urge to turn and run. Then light from the footmans candle touched the strangers face and she saw it wasnt a stranger, no one to fear. Only her husband.
Though calling him only anything seemed paltry. For, as Leo strode into the house, removing his hat and caped coat and handing them to the footman, he looked up. Right at her. His storm gray eyes fixed on her with startling accuracy. The chandelier hanging in the domed entry bathed him in light, all the hard and handsome angles of his face, the long lines of his body. He wore the clothes of a gentleman, but the guise did not fool Anne. This was a dangerous man.
They stared at each other. It seemed to take a moment for Leo to place her, like running into an acquaintance after several years absence. Then came recognition.
He smiled, yet it did not much soften his face.
Is that a bruise on your cheek? Her voice sounded overloud, echoing in the foyer.
He reached up and absently touched his face. I was in a fight.
Anne hurried down the stairs. Footpads? Are you injured? We should summon the constabulary.
And tell them I paid for the privilege.
She reached his side, tilting her head back to look at him in confusion. Paid?
A pugilism academy. He held up his fist. Small cuts and bruises adorned his knuckles. Every afternoon, after business at the Change is done. The man who did this to me looks much worse, but he was given a half crown for his troubles.
Boxing. It made sense. The way he moved, how he held himself, as if expecting a fight at any moment, and not only ready to defend himself, but eager for the challenge. Of course, her supposition was all theory, but she had a rather good grasp of theoreticals. Ive never seen a boxing match.
He raised a brow. Never?
Young ladies arent encouraged to attend events where men in undress pummel one another. Though Ive always been curious. Its a very ancient sport, isnt it?
I should take you.
Her mouth dropped open. You cant.
He frowned. It isnt illegal for a woman to attend a boxing match. In fact, Ive heard that, once or twice, a woman was one of the pugilists. Next time a match is arranged, Ill take you.
It will be quite scandalous. Her pulse came a little quicker to think about it. But not entirely from fear.
Scandal doesnt bother me.
She looked at him, with the bruise on his face and the scabs on his knuckles, his sandy hair coming out from its queue, and suddenly understood that what made Leo so very dangerous wasnt his humble birth, nor his wealth, and not even his physicality. What truly made him dangerous was this: he honestly did not care what anyone else thought. And that gave him perfect freedom to do exactly what he pleased.
It was a thought both frightening and exciting.
Rather than address any of this, Anne said, That bruise wants tending.
He merely shrugged. I heal quickly.
A meal for the victor, then?
Meal? He looked blank.
Food. One consumes it. Often at home. Though, she added, Im given to understand you seldom do.
Little reason to.
Until now. She wondered what he must think of her impertinence, yet she was unable to curb herself in his presence. His sense of liberation must be communicable.
He did not seem to mind, however. His smile actually warmed, becoming more genuine. This must be the side of marriage that is so celebrated. A doting, fussing wife.
Ive little experience with the matter, she said, having never had a wife before.
Then we are equally innocent on the subject.
One word she would never choose to describe Leo: innocent. Even a rather sheltered young woman such as herself recognized that a whole life was lived behind the cool gray of Leos eyes, a life utterly unknown to her.
She turned to the footman. Ask Cook to prepare a collation for Mr. Bailey. Meat, cheese, bread. Wine. Some of the pie from this afternoons supper.