Page 9 of The Scandal You Started
Except, a distorted image of her face reflected back at her because the plastic sheet sealing the mirror in was cracked, with splatters of what she could only assume was dried blood painted over it and tainting the white basin below. Even the seamless sliding door next to it that led to the toilet and bathtub was marked with little dark red droplets.
On her left, the two-way glass screen that took up most of the wall had been subjected to the same treatment. Dented in three places, it was harder to notice the sprays of blood against the charcoal colour of the acrylic, but that only made it seem more sinister.
Knowing Victor, George, River, Ash, and Monty were watching from the other side, she swallowed her grimace and pivoted right to face the rest of the room.
She glanced past the pile of linen shirts and towels under the clothing rack on the wall, past the square table drilled to the floor with an unravelled gauze bandage roll piled on the surface,all the way to the metal-framed single bed draped with pale blue bedding.
Whoa…
A single bowling pin slipped behind her rib cage, knocking over the rest in slow motion. Each pin tumbled into her heart, causing it to thump harder.
Rayna had no idea what triggered the feeling. It sure as fuck wasn’t fear. Maybe it was surprise at the sight of the man sitting atop the bed. Or some sort of curious intrigue. Perhaps a touch of a reality-check too of the situation she’d gone and put herself in.
Because Lord Dominic Evander Jonathan Thorne, the eighth Marquess of Norland from the Region of Vindall, aged thirty-one, lover of horses, and rich as fuck, was in fact a large man just like his medical record had stated.
It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting to find the opposite of what he’d been described as, but she hadn’t expected…this.
A glaring lord with a big gut and a pompous, upturned nose, perhaps.
But not this man, who looked peaceful while he slept, and dare she say attractive.
Not in a pretty, peacock way. But in a roughhewn, sharp lines, all-too-male way.
Sitting with one leg stretched out on the mattress and the other raised at the knee, Lord Norland was resting with his back against a pillow and head against the wall.
He was wearing brown knee breeches that showed off large bare feet and strong, hairy forelegs, and the fabric hugged his thighs in a way that made it seem like they were a size too small.
His linen shirt was untucked and untied from around his neck, displaying his thick throat corded in muscle and the wide expanse of his bronzed chest dusted in a dark mat of hair.He’d rolled the linen up at the sleeves, and, fuck, his forearms probably had the same diameter as her neck.
That, paired with the fact the hand resting on his knee was wrapped in bandages over his knuckles, should have sent concerned shivers skittering down her back. Instead, all she could think as she began walking towards him was that he looked like he’d stepped out of an R-rated pirate movie.
But make him a bear, just as George had said.A pirate bear.
With broad shoulders, a strong, angular jaw sprinkled with dark overgrown stubble, and a plane of hard, aristocratic features—a stubborn chin, a strong nose, firm lips that were neither full nor thin, and thick fans of black lashes set under full, straight brows of the same colour.
His hair was surprisingly well-maintained in contrast to the bruised and battered state of his hands. Dark brown in colour and appearing thick and soft, it reached his nape at the back and covered the top curve of his ear, not softening the harshness of his features, but rather making the contrast more evident.
By the time Rayna had taken him in completely, she was standing at the end of his bed, and honestly? Might have nearly knocked into it during her distracted gawking.
Keeping her eyes directly on the man’s closed ones, she mentally shook off the weird sense of awe and unease whispering up the back of her neck. Then she set the tray down on the table, not quite turning her back on him, before facing him fully again.
Rayna slid her tongue between her lips and let out a slow exhale.
The next part was going to go one of two ways, she realised.
Lord Norland was either pretending to be asleep, in which case he was probably going to lash out the moment she called out to him. Or he was genuinely resting, which would allow her enough time to move back so she could assure him she wasn’t a threat.Then they might or might not have a civil conversation. That wasn’t guaranteed either way.
If someone had asked her what reaction she’d put her money on, she’d have sensibly bet on the former. But then again, maybe she was wrong. She washopingshe was wrong.
Otherwise, if Lord Norland didn’t end up killing her, Victor definitely would if she got herself hurt.
Here goes nothing.
She took a deep breath and moved two steps closer to his side. “Lord Norland?”
In hindsight, she’d moved too close.Way too close.
One moment, the marquess was on the bed.
