We had reached Charlotte Street, and I dashed across to the park at the center of the square, hoping Bonnie Brock would not follow me so close to my home. I should have known better. He caught up with me before my feet even stepped up onto the sidewalk. Here, under the ring of trees that surrounded the circle, it was even darker. To the left, I could see the pale dome of St. George’s Church through the skeletal branches and the distant circles of light from the streetlamps, but the rest was cast in shadow.
“No denials?” he taunted. “Well, then, perhaps Mr. Gage needs to be taught another lesson?”
I rounded on him then, though I could see the front door of Philip’s town house emerging out of the darkness. “You stay away from Gage.”
Bonnie Brock stared down at me defiantly and I suddenly had a vision of Gage being accosted in his carriage as he traveled home. Or worse, if he was an idiot and decided to walk.
I leaned closer, pointing at the center of his chest. “If you or one of your men so much as touches a hair on his head, I’ll . . . Well, all those rumors people whisper about me . . . I’ll make them come true.”
He stepped closer and I lowered my finger, but far from being intimidated, his eyes were alight with amusement. “Yer a bloodthirsty wench.”
I continued to glare up at him, unable to form a response. So I decided it was past time to go.
But before I could take two steps, he yanked me to a stop, pressing me back against the fence surrounding the square. I stared up into his face several inches from mine. Gone was the laughter of a few moments ago, and it was replaced by an intense ferocity that seemed to burn from his eyes.
“Fair enough,” he drawled in a deep voice. “But I’ll also warn ye. If you wander into my territory, ye willna leave again.”
My heart leapt into my throat. What had I been thinking? This man was a murderer. If I crossed him, he wouldn’t have any qualms about killing me.
Then as his face moved closer to mine, I realized he had an entirely different intention in mind. I turned my face to the side just before his lips would have touched mine. They slid across my cheek to my ear.
My stomach turned over, threatening to expel its contents. Something about the situation reminded me too much of the embraces Sir Anthony had forced upon me. When he was angriest with me, he would back me up against a wall and do something very similar. The fury I incited had seemed to excite him somehow, so I had avoided causing it at every turn.
I knew I should scream, should lash out, should do something. But for a moment I was back in that helpless state of being in which I’d lived during my marriage. I forced myself to concentrate on my breath, anything but the hard press of Bonnie Brock’s body against mine.
He exhaled, gusting hot breath against my neck. “Ye truly do love him, dinna ya?”
He lifted his face away from mine, and his body shifted backward.
The rush of cold air that moved between us was like a jolt of pure relief. I welcomed the shiver that ran through me.
“’Tis a rare thing,” he murmured. “But . . . perhaps you already ken that.”
I turned to look up at him, his words finally penetrating the haze of my fright. I couldn’t reply. I didn’t know how to. But it seemed I didn’t need to say anything. Bonnie Brock’s eyes were lit with understanding.
I swallowed and dropped my gaze to the buttons of his shirt. Unlike the first time we met, tonight he wore a great-coat, but it was not buttoned against the cold that fogged our breath.
“I must go,” I finally managed to say.
He studied my face a moment longer and then shifted backward another step. “Find my sister,” he told me as I moved to the side.
I looked back at him. His golden eyes were still bright with a concern I strongly suspected he didn’t want to feel.
“I’ll do my best,” I said, knowing I couldn’t promise him any more than that.
He didn’t object or stop me as I hurried away, crossing the street to the line of town houses on the north side of the square. I pulled open the front door and surprised the footman dozing in a chair in the entry hall, waiting to hear the arrival of Gage’s coach. I passed him without a word and began climbing the stairs to the next floor. As I rounded the landing headed toward the next staircase, Alana emerged from the drawing room, her hair rumpled from lounging on the settee.
“Kiera, whatever are you doing home?” she demanded. “Where’s Mr. Gage?”
“I don’t want to discuss it,” I told her firmly, lifting my skirts to climb.
She followed me to the base of the stairs. “Kiera—”
I held out my hand to cut her off. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
I emerged on the top landing, but rather than retire to my bedchamber, I turned toward my tiny art studio at the back of the town house. I knew I would never rest. Perhaps my art would distract me.