you,” he said, his heart pounding. Nicolas felt another surge of shock, as if something unknown inside was coming awake. “I really like you.”
She clasped her hands before her tightly, and her toes curled into the carpet. Her eyes glittered, and he realized she withheld herself from…from what he did not know. Then he recalled her the other night screaming into the pillows. Perhaps that had been from excitement? He cleared his throat. “You can scream into the pillow should you wish it. I’ll not be perturbed.”
Her eyes widened and then she laughed, held out her hands and spun into a perfect twirl. It felt as if time slowed, and he was given the rare pleasure of seeing all the smallest details that had previously eluded his senses.
He was fascinated by the small curl of hair right behind her ear.
His eyes took in how deep the dimples in her cheeks sank, reflecting the velvety softness of her skin, which was a revelation to him when she laughed with such delectable delight.
He treasured how joyously free and natural she appeared in this moment.
Her skin, and her eyes, how they glowed.
There was something about her…something almost dainty, yet he knew of her strength and fierceness.
“I like you, too,” she declared, staring at him from below incredibly long lashes.
It was a look that said, “finally you are seeing me, you buffoon,” and it endlessly charmed him. With an inward jolt to his heart, he realized that while he was just noticing her, Maryann had been aware of him for much longer. It went through him then, a jerk of fear, at the thought that he might have missed her.
“You seem anxious,” she tossed in the air.
He scowled. “I am not the sort of man to feel anxiety.” The thought that he might never have met her was too appalling to consider, and that was something that he knew required introspection.
She sauntered over to him. “You know that even those who are dangerous and devastatingly handsome are allowed the more delicate emotions as well. It is not a bad thing and not only unique to my sex, as some would have you believe.”
“You think me dangerous?”
“Hmm, and do not forget the very handsome bit,” she said huskily.
“I can be a brutal man,” he said, almost uncomfortable with that assessment against her soft loveliness.
“I suppose you can be if the situation calls for it, but it does not define you, does it? I daresay you are also gentle, kind, and honorable.”
Gentle. He liked that she thought a man of violence such as himself was gentle. Nicolas hoped she would believe this was true of him always. He never wanted to look in those perfect eyes and see hate or despair. He hoped only for the most tender of emotions from her.
His heart started to pound, and Nicolas wondered what the hell was wrong with him. It was probably the fear that Maryann would fall in love with him, the very anticipation she might truly do so sending a shock of hunger through his entire body.
Do I want your love, Maryann? he silently asked, drawing her into his arms, needing to just hold her for a moment.
With a sigh, she relaxed into him, as if that were where she had wanted to be all along. In his embrace, her head pillowed against his chest, her arms around his waist, and his around her shoulders. “How is your arm?”
“I got the ointment you sent to me. It hurts less and the bruises are fading.”
“Good.” He rested his chin against her forehead. “Stamford will no longer be a bother to you.”
He felt the jerk of her heart through the layers of their clothes. She drew back and lifted her gaze to his. “How did you convince him?”
He hesitated and her eyes widened.
“Nicolas?”
At his silence, she arched a brow. “I am not a delicate creature given to hysteria or swooning, so you can tell me whatever it is.”
“We had some words.”
“And?”
“He listened to them.”
“Nicolas!”
“I broke his arm.”
Her lips parted but no words came forth, and he watched her eyes carefully. The admiration had not changed, nor did he see any fear. She lowered one of her hands from around his back and lifted it to his face. Her touch against his jaw was like the delicate brush of the wings of a butterfly.
“Thank you for defending my honor,” she said, smiling tremulously. “And for alleviating my fears. I…thank you.”
A slow, deep breath, he hadn’t realized he’d held, released.