17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

Robert sat in his leather chair in his library, a fire crackling away as he warmed himself. Norman had helped him change immediately upon getting home, and the staff had set to making a fire. He watched as Louisa tucked Prince in by the fire on a blanket, petting him every few moments as if assuring herself that he was there and whole.

This afternoon had offered a new view of his wife that he hadn't considered. Lord Wood had warned Robert that he needed to pay attention to Louisa and her needs, but little did Robert realize that his wife clearly had a great fear.

Loss.

While the little dog had been struggling to swim, he had not been drowning by any means, yet she had been more than willing to throw off her garments and wade in after him. She was not one normally given to dramatics, being willing to shove her fist into a man's face rather than run or scream for help. But Louisa's hands had been shaking when he handed Prince back to her, and she had clung to him so tightly on the way home. Her fussing was lessening, but Robert could see just how affected she had been by the incident.

"You naughty dog," she lightly scolded for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

Robert ran a finger along his chair. "I can see why your brother was so eager to be rid of him."

Louisa's head jerked toward him, scowling until she saw his smile. Her shoulders dropped, and she gave a shy grin. "Henry never much cared for him." Robert waited, hoping she might say more. "Thank you," she whispered, dipping her eyes to his knees. "I do not believe I have expressed my gratitude yet. I was only worried and forgot—"

"You are welcome, Louisa."

Dewy eyes looked back to him before she turned to Prince and wiped the evidence away with one swipe of her wrist. "I did not know you were a swimmer on top of being a pugilist."

"I am a man of many hats." Robert leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other and clasping his hands across his middle.

Louisa stood, walking to the matching leather chair angled beside his and sitting with a sigh. "You seem to have to keep rescuing me."

He lowered his brow. "And that bothers you?" Clearly it did, judging by the way she would not meet his eyes and the defeated tone of her voice.

"Yes. I had not meant for you to have to swim across ponds for me or throw men across an alleyway after they attempt to attack me."

"I would hardly say I threw the man."

She raised a suggestive brow. "You most certainly did. And you could have been hurt, seeing as how he had been armed."

"My fists were more dangerous than his little knife. Besides, any man worth his salt would lay down his life for his wife, let alone do something as simple as planting a facer on some blackguard."

Her playful countenance dropped, her movements rigid as she stared at him. "I wish you didn't have to do that."

"Do what? Defend you?"

A swallow tightened her neck as she toyed with the arm of the chair. "Yes. We agreed to a contractual marriage of convenience. And so far, I have not been a very convenient wife."

"I vowed to protect you and care for you." He watched as her discomfort multiplied—shifting in her seat and turning her head away. Could he let his mask drop for her? If one never took risks, then they would never reap the reward at the end. Bracing himself for whatever her reply might be, he forced himself to move ahead. "Would it be so bad if our marriage were more? More than black words on a white piece of paper?"

The silence stretched on long enough to make Robert decidedly uncomfortable. Finally, Louisa took a breath, staring down at the ground. "Yes."

Robert nodded wordlessly as he absorbed her response. Jessica's face in her parlor flashed into his mind, making him wince. Her words. The lack of emotion—they still haunted him.

"Though, selfishly, I do wish you would let me see behind that mask." Louisa's soft voice washed over him.

His eyes floated up to her. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

Her gaze snapped to him, and she pinched her lips. "I do not wear a mask."

Like hell she didn't. "Your quips are a sort of armor, Louisa. A way of hiding what you really feel. I plan to peel every layer back until I find what's beneath. You can keep laying them down, but the more you do, the harder I will try."

Her eyes widened, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the arm of her chair. But, just like herself, she slowly let the emotion fade and put on her version of a mask, complete with a mischievous smile. "Is that a challenge, Your Grace? You might wish to keep such feelings for the boxing ring."

There were two roads that stretched before him. To let the moment lie and move forward as they had always planned, or to let himself be vulnerable and admit his darkest moments out loud. If she wanted to see behind his mask, that meant she was at least willing to know him better. And if she knew him better, perhaps one day she would grow to care for him.

"Do you really wish to know about my mask?" he asked.

She hesitated, looking over at Prince before fixing him with her gaze. "I must admit, I am curious. You seem to be three different men all wrapped up into one at times. It is a bit confusing."

He took a deep breath, readying himself. "Well, it all started when I was sent off to school as a boy. Father thought it would be good for me."

"But it wasn't?"

Robert considered her question. Was it good for him? It changed him, but change wasn't always a good thing. "I do not know."

"What happened?" She watched him with a creased brow as her hand idly scratched Prince's ears. It was as if she needed a constant thread of connection to the dog to assure herself he was there.

A sigh slipped past his lips. He felt ridiculous even telling this story as it painted him as a helpless, pathetic sort. "I have always been quiet and reserved. And when I was young, I was a scraggly little thing. All arms and legs and skinny as a pole."

"Much different than now," she said, pointedly staring at his shoulders before seeming to realize what she had said. She cleared her throat. "Continue."

He drew in his lips, hiding his smile. "Well," he said, leaning heavily onto the arm of his chair, "children did as children do. No one knew where they belonged yet, and it was easier to band together on a commonality rather than stand out. So, when one child teased me, the rest quickly joined suit."

"The son of a duke? I'm a bit surprised they were so bold."

"They were careful." His eyes peered into his past, picturing himself from another time. "Never would they do anything in front of an adult that could report back to my father. And I didn't want to be known as the class tattletale."

"So, you remained silent and let them tease you."

"I did." He nodded. "And when that wasn't enough, they decided to go a bit further." Robert closed his eyes, remembering that night with vivid clarity. "One night, they thought it might be funny to play a little game. Knowing I wasn't strong enough to fight back, they shoved me into a cabinet and put a broomstick across the handles so I couldn't get out."

Louisa let out a soft gasp, leaning forward. "How long did they leave you there?"

"All night." Robert could still feel the walls of the cabinet closing in about him, his soft cries evaporating in the cramped darkness. He had tried not to, knowing it would only increase the pleasure for the boys who had done it to him. But he had felt helpless. Much like Louisa had today. He rubbed his chin. "That was when I decided to take action."

"That sounds rather ominous. What sort of action?" She perched her chin in her hand as she leaned on the arm of the chair.

"I went home on holiday and asked my father to teach me to defend myself. And when prodded, I reluctantly let him know why."

"And what did he do?" Her questions were gentle and soothing—almost as if she could see it all as it happened, and the mark from that day still bore itself upon him. Perhaps it did. But not in the way most might assume. He was not scarred by what those boys did to him. It had, however, permanently affected how he responded to people and their words or actions toward him.

Robert ran his hand through his hair, relaxing back into his seat. "He gave me lessons. Some to help me keep people at arm's length and to show me how to keep their interests at bay, and others were physical should I find the need to defend myself. He hired a private tutor to teach me to box." He reached over to the small table beside his chair, grabbing his glasses. "And that is how, slowly but surely, I made my mask."

"As protection," she said softly.

Robert let his eyes drink her in, taking note of the way the curls in her hair lost a bit of their hold by this time of day, how her dress fell across her waist down to her hip where she bent, keeping her legs tucked beside her. Now he knew just what that waist felt like beneath his hand. But would she allow him to slip her own mask from her face and know the woman beneath?

"What about you?" He pointed his spectacles toward her. "What happened to make you wear your mask?"

She seemed to snap to her senses, brushing a lock of hair back from her face as she stood. "Nothing happened. This is who I am." She shrugged, running her hands over her skirts to straighten them before she leaned over and grabbed Prince from his pillow. But as she went to leave, she paused beside his chair. "Thank you for sharing, Robert. I know that could not have been easy for you."

He looked up at her. "Thank you for asking."

She nodded and smiled. "I think I shall put Prince in my room and take a quick visit to see my mother. Thank you again," she whispered, touching her free hand to the arm of his seat.

In a moment of sheer spontaneity, he reached out, placing his hand over hers.

And then her warm fingers slipped away before she left through the library door.