With a quick pull, the glass slipped from her wrist, and his hand quickly circled around her arm to pull the fabric tight over her wound.
“This will help but don’t look now.”
Tilly had experienced a lot, but she hadn’t ever almost fainted from the sight of her own blood.
“Have I ruined your breeches?”
“They were ruined the moment you collided into me, and I was smashed into a tree.”
Very well. Her stranger was like that. “Sorry, I know how you Mayfair boys are.”
It was impossible to tell with the mask covering his face, but she was near certain he arched his brows in a challenge. “Oh? How’s that?”
“Particular.”
The man brushed at the grass stain at his knee before glancing up in her direction with a smug smile on his face. “Interesting conclusion, however incorrect. I don’t live in Mayfair.”
“Well, that’s very fine for you, then. Never mind.”
“You’ve caught my interest now. You might as well explain your theory.”
“Only that men who hail from Mayfair either have no respect for the rules of the ton and are the worst kind of rakes and scoundrels, or they are attached to their mother’s hip and eat and breathe etiquette so that they may remain in the good graces of society.”
“My mother still resides in Wales and will likely remain there until the day she dies.”
Tilly’s heart sank. Humility was not a virtue of hers, much to her mother’s disappointment. “So not attached at the hip?”
“No.”
“You’re not wrong,” he said after a time, peering out through the trees beyond to the party. “I aspire to reside in Mayfair, but I’m not sure I love how you have painted us men. I like to think I might offer more than a terrible reputation or boring morality.”
“As if your sex doesn’t paint all women as troublesome, nagging, or sinful. We’re a burden. You need not tell us again, believe me.”
“Have I treated you like a burden?”
Tilly glanced down at her wrist wrapped with his cravat, then swallowed hard, seeking out the courage to meet his heated stare. “Not at all.”
It was the oddest thing, but she didn’t wish for this stranger to leave her, even after she had been rude and was the reason behind the gash at the base of his skull.
“I suppose you’ll head back then, yes?”
“I was leaving when…”
“You ran into me.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Now I’m also invisible? Well, thank you for your honesty.”
She threw her head back and laughed, reaching out her uninjured arm and placing her hand on his shoulder. It felt so forward and yet so natural. She didn’t know the man’s name, and yet she was ready to bare her soul to him. What was that madness?
Certainly not too much champagne.
It felt as if she had known him always, maybe in another lifetime, as her mother would say. And surely even if that was a bit of magical thinking, it would only begin to explain why she continued talking to him as if reconnecting with an old friend.
Well, not friend entirely.
She was much too preoccupied with thoughts of kissing him for that to be true.
She might not have initially seen him before crashing into the man’s chest, but truth be told, she hadn’t been able to look away from him since.
“Why were you hiding?” she asked, ignoring the urge to peek back over her shoulder.
“I wasn’t. I was leaving. Why were you running?”
She scrunched her nose and placed her hands in her lap. “I fear we don’t have enough time to discuss that.”
The stranger stretched, winced, then reclined back against the tree. “I don’t have to leave.”
“But you wanted to.”
“That was before I knew you were here.” He glanced down at his boots and chuckled. “That is, if you will allow it, I would like to talk with you further. You are very interesting.”
Interesting? My, she hadn’t heard that in years. Tilly instantly knew that self-deprecating laugh, and softened even more toward him, this strange grumpy man.
“How is your arm feeling?” he asked.
Tilly peeled back the blood-stained cravat and winced at the slice on her arm. Roger would be furious that she had been so careless. She hated how often over the past few months she needed to hide herself away to protect herself further.
