She’d barely uttered the words before he was tipping a pitcher of water into a glass and then crossing the room to hand it to her.
“You must be hungry too.” He sat beside her with the glass.
She took it from him, and as she met his gaze, she reached out to touch the corner of his eye. It was bruised, purple and yellowish. How had she failed to notice that before?
“What happened?”
He covered her hand with his, skimming his fingers around his eye, almost as though he’d forgotten about the injury. “I box.” He grimaced. “For sport. It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“No.” He smiled at that. “Drink up.”
She sipped at the water, aware that he was still watching her.
She squirmed. “I must look a fright.” It didn’t matter that she’d been injured, or didn’t even know her name, a lady wanted to look her best at all times. Especially for her handsome husband, who she’d newly married.
She dabbed a hand at her hair but rather than feeling the smooth silky strands she expected, her fingertips tangled in a rat’s nest.
“It feels like straw!”
“It’s not much different than usual.” His mouth twitched. “You’re not one to care much about your looks.” A suspicious light danced in the back of his eyes but before she could begin to contemplate if he was teasing her again, a horrible thought swooped into her brain.
“I don’t even know what I look like!”
“Your hair is fluffier than usual. And you’ve some blood right here—"
“But I don’t know what I look like!” She closed her eyes to summon an image of herself but could only imagine a small woman in her nightdress—a faceless woman with horrific hair. Panicked, she tugged a strand around her face, half crossing her eyes to examine it. Blond, but something was crusted in it. Blood? “I don’t know what color my eyes are!” She touched her face with her fingertips and then danced them over her nose searchingly. “Or what my features look like.” She dared not hope that she might be beautiful but what if she wasn’t even pretty?
Rock was considerably handsome, however, and unless he had married her for her virtuous character or her sharp intelligence, both of which she highly doubted, she had to be at least a little bit pretty.
Didn’t she?
A looking glass was propped atop the bureau across the room and although dreadfully curious to peek at her reflection, icy fear kept her paralyzed.
“Brown. Your eyes are brown. Sometimes they’re the color of coffee and other times more like caramel. Trust me, you’ve nothing to worry about.” His voice rumbled with a gravelly tone. “Although there are days I wish you did.”
All notions of his teasing fled when her gaze locked with his, making her feel heavy and warm.
This weight in the air was the attraction between them. Not knowing anything else about their marriage, or about herself, she was one hundred percent certain of this.
The fear of not knowing what she looked like was eclipsed by something hot and disturbing. No wonder she’d run away with him.
He licked his lips and then shook his head. Released from the intimate moment, Tabetha’s heart slowed back to its normal pace when he crossed to the bureau. When he returned with the handheld looking glass, despite his reassuring words, she hesitated before taking it from him.
“Doctor Finch charged me with keeping you calm. I wouldn’t allow you so much as a peek if I thought this would upset you.” He nudged it into her hand.
Believing him, she raised it to her face.
She exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t run screaming from the room.” She grimaced. “And the cat too.”
Because her hair did look as though a nest had been built in it. But it was a pleasing color. And although she’d have preferred her eyes to be blue, they were wide and fringed with thick lashes. Not an offensive nose, pert, rather, and full lips with a cupid’s bow—almost too full but acceptable. All in all, she could have discovered much worse.
“Satisfied?” He stood watching her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, showing a restlessness that struck her as being familiar.
“Have you always teased me so?” But she smiled up at him. His jesting, rather than provoke her, made her feel special. A memory flickered—a voice telling her that boys only teased