down at her with that alarmingly indecipherable gaze.
“Thank you,” she managed.
Swallowing, she scooted over and gathered some of the ruffles of her dress to make space for him on the bench.
He took it, folding himself carefully next to her, making no move to touch her as she turned away to wipe her tears and dab at her nose.
“Did he hurt you?” The question was low. Dark. And it made her turn to look at him.
“No, not really. I’m not crying about that.”
He nodded before his gaze lowered. “If the violence frightened you, I—”
“No.” She put her hand on his arm to stop that thought from forming, and he became instantly rigid beneath her touch. “No, you were wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done. What I would have allowed him to do because I was too afraid or embarrassed to stop him.”
“Allowed him to do…” Titus didn’t finish the thought. He just stared at her hand on his arm as his brows drew together.
“How could I have stopped him without ruining everything?” she rushed to explain. “My father would have been furious with me. My reputation ruined. Any chances of a good marriage, to him or otherwise, completely dashed. My—my entire life would have been over. He knew he had put me in that position, I think. That I was truly helpless, because I’d gone with him into the dark. How could I have been so thoughtless?” She hit her own knee with the hand that clutched the handkerchief.
A frustrated mélange of emotions welled up inside of her. Resentment. Fear. Animosity. For Michael. For her parents. For the entire dastardly world.
For herself.
“That was—” Her breath hitched on a raw sob. She began to shake with the power of her reaction. “That was my first kiss.”
She buried her face into the handkerchief, thinking it felt warm and familiar as she allowed a few more tears to fall. She’d taught herself to cry quietly from early on, and to regain her composure in an instant, forcing it all down beneath a façade of serenity before anyone could ascertain a weakness with which to whip her.
And she might have composed herself now, if a large, gentle hand hadn’t splayed on her back and stayed there.
Titus didn’t babble meaningless words. Nor did he caress her or crush her to him. He asked no questions and gave no encouragements. He offered comfort merely by being there, by letting her be and allowing her to feel what she needed to feel without the fear of reproof.
It must have been why she curled toward him, tucking her head against his shoulder, breathing in the cedar-sweet smell of his collar and neck. She could think of no other reason to do what was so utterly out of character. Something about the silent strength of him—something she fancied she glimpsed in that alert, opaque gaze of his—drew her toward him like a viper mesmerized by an exotic flute.
His arm cradled her against his side, the other reaching toward her face as he looked down at her with those extraordinary eyes. He’d taken off his gloves, she noted, as his fingers lifted toward her cheek. He hesitated before he touched her, as if waiting for permission.
Nora’s lashes swept down, causing more tears to fall as she turned her face into his awaiting palm.
He thumbed away the drops with skin so rough it abraded hers, but still she buried her cheek deeper against his hand, seeking the warmth and strength she found there, tempered by utter gentility and something else she couldn’t begin to define.
For the first time in her short life, Nora felt as if the pressure of the entire sky wasn’t doing its utmost to crush her into the ground. This boy had strength enough in his shoulders to bear the burden that was her for a moment.
And he seemed willing enough.
She couldn’t say how long they stayed like that before something restless stirred inside of her. Something that wanted more of him. Of this.
“Titus?” she whispered.
“Yes, Miss Goode?”
“Will you call me Nora? My friends all call me Nora.”
He paused. “If I took such liberties, I’d lose my position here.”
It was odd, him saying that, when they found themselves in such an intimate posture. But, of course. How stupid of her to forget. She wasn’t the only one constrained by her station. “I only meant when we’re alone.”
His breath hitched then, as if something agitated him. “We…should not be alone.”