Page 4 of This Haunted Heart

I listened for a moment for trouble but heard nothing. Banishing my worries, I shouldered my way inside.

“Oh?” I said, surprised to find a man standing amongst my shelves.

Not a drunk. He was sturdy on his feet and appeared to have been reading. He turned to me, holding aloft one of my books. The cloth cover was embroidered with a pirate ship. At some point early in my life, I would have reacted very differently to a stranger in my quarters. But now, after everything I’d seen and endured, even that initial vague sensation of surprise quickly melted away.

My relationship with fear was much more complicated now.

His gaze met mine, and my lungs hitched. He was handsome, with big hands and a strong jaw. Thin scars cut through his brow and left cheek. They were prominent, but rather than disfiguring, they made him more striking. Beneath a mop of dark walnut hair, his eyes were a stunning shade of warmbrown, pupils ringed in gold, the irises flecked with bits of bronze.

Though he carried himself upright and assured, his gaze was full of a tangible sadness I could feel. It coated my skin in cold.

“Hello there,” I said softly, like he was a skittish colt I didn’t want to startle and not a man much larger than me.

He stared back shyly, then closed the book. “Hello,” he said, his voice rich and low and full of so much melancholy my heart squeezed.

I had a bad habit of carrying the feelings of others around on my back even when I had no business doing so. A tendency I struggled time and time again to keep in check. Empathy had gotten me all tied up with Utrecht and other serpents just like him. I had a countless number of regrets about all of them. And here I was, about to give in to the same impulse all over again.

But I stood no chance of resisting. Not with this stranger. There was something beautifully dark about him. His sadness hit me like a freight train. I didn’t even care why he was in my room. Before I let him out of it again, I was determined to see him smile.

“Was there something you needed?” I asked, shifting in closer to inspect him better.

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you.” He rubbed one of those big hands I admired down the back of his neck.

“You haven’t . . .”I removed my gloves one finger at a time, considering him. “Ah, I see what this is now. You’re hiding in here, aren’t you? I take it this is your first pleasure party.”

He winced. “Are my shortcomings so plain as that?”

“Painfully so, I’m afraid.” Chuckling, I moved to deposit my gloves, reticule, and shawl onto the sofa before returning to him.

He was dressed like a man made in the country, in tall riding boots, twill waistcoat, and tan trousers, his white collar heavily starched. It was clear in his expression that city revelry didn’t agree with him one iota. It took effort on my part not to tease him further about it.

“I’m not fond of crowded spaces.” His gaze darted over me, and his full lips twitched. He was subtle in his appreciation of my form, but I knew well what a longing look felt like, even the polite ones. “I didn’t see you downstairs earlier. I might have tried harder to enjoy myself if you were.”

“You missed out on a treat,” I said, frowning. “The women I work with are lovely. Andverytalented.” It wasn’t a line that I was feeding him. I knew from experience how gifted some of them were.

His cheeks went ruddy. He had the warm complexion and broad build of a man who spent plenty of time outdoors, but his boots were much too clean, the leather too fine for him to be a farmer or rancher.

He was a bit of a riddle. I liked riddles, and I had a soft spot for a big man capable of blushing easily.

“I meant no offense to the beautiful women downstairs,” he said earnestly, with a repentant bow of his head.

“Good. I appreciate that you aren’t the sort who assumes incorrectly that I need you to insult the others before complimenting me. Relations are transactions here at the Lark. We’re not rivals.”

“I’m sure they’re as lovely as you say. It’s only that I have a little sister who recently turned nineteen,” he explained, pulling on his ear sheepishly. “Some of the ladies on the floorbelow are much closer to her age than they are ours.”

“Ah, I see.” I nodded my head. “That is a different thing.”

He shuffled his weight, his posture stiff. “I’m not much for hard drink either. But they say you should always try something at least once . . .”

“They do say that.” I smiled at him in a fashion I hoped he found disarming. “Whatever made you pick this room to hide in?”

He cast a glance around, and the lines near the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Well . . . it helped that it wasn’t downstairs.”

I chuckled again. If one was keeping score, that was twice now in a short period of time. It felt nice to laugh so easily, even with a stranger. I was more determined than ever to see him do the same.

“I like it in here,” he said, taking in a deep breath through his nose that filled his chest. “It smells like books. And it’s very clean.”

“The books I take full credit for, but the cleanliness, I cannot,” I confessed. “We all pitch in for maid services. If we didn’t, you’d have to step over piles of my underthings to reach those shelves.”

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