Free The Secrets of Mia Danvers by Robyn DeHart Page A

from her.
    “Thank you.” She finished pulling the cloak around her body, fastened it beneath her neck. “I thought you said that I wasn’t a credible witness. That no one would believe what I said.”
    “I was unaware of who the lead inspector was. As it turns out, I have a friend at Scotland Yard,” he said.
    He’d stepped further away from her now, she could hear the distance in his voice. She couldn’t help but wonder if that small touch had radiated awareness through him as it had her. Odd that, as she wouldn’t have expected to find him so intriguing, both in body and mind.
    “He’s intelligent enough,” he continued, “to know that you could have useful information despite your affliction.”
    Injury. Misfortune. Affliction.
People always had a word to describe her blindness as if pity softened it in their minds. The truth of the matter was she wished she could see, of course she did. She would never have chosen blindness, but she’d been in the darkness for so long now that she’d gotten used to the world in this way. And the rest of her worked perfectly.
    She turned to move back to her sculpture, not knowing what else to say to him.
    “How do you do it?” he asked.
    “Do what, precisely?”
    “All of this. I don’t suppose I could carve a toy from wood even being able to see,” he said.
    “It’s not easy, and it took many missteps to reach a finished product that actually looked as it should.” In that moment she longed to go inside the cottage and fetch the bust she’d created of herself, to show him her first completed piece. But she thought better of it. “As for not being able to see what I’m working on, sculpture is more about texture and sensation than anything. Here, I’ll show you.”
    She stepped over to him, knowing precisely where he stood by the warmth coming off his body. She came close enough to touch him. His breath sharpened, but he did not move away from her.
    At first she simply put one hand against his chest. He was athletic, she knew instantly. The hard sinewy structure beneath her palm was all man, as if carved himself by the master’s hand. His heart thrummed steadily beneath her palm. As much as she wanted to explore the rest of his torso, appeasing her own curiosity was not her intention at the moment. Though, she supposed, she needn’t separate her own desire from the exercise as she very much wanted to know what he looked like. She moved her hand to his face.
    For a moment he stiffened and she felt him move a fraction away from her, then he relaxed as she began her examination of his features.
    “You shaved this morning,” she said. “Though I could smell your shaving lotion when you walked up. But here your cheek is smoothed, though beginning to scratch with the prickle of whiskers.”
    “Indeed,” was all he said.
    She felt around his cheek to his jawline. “Here I can determine that you have quite the firm jaw, it is unwavering in its strength.” The muscle ticked in response beneath her fingers. She continued her exploration by tracing his face from his jaw to his chin. “This speaks of your stubbornness,” she said, “ah, and a cleft.” She chuckled. “I believe there is an old Gaelic proverb about a dimple on the chin means that a devil lies within, what say you to that?”
    “That is a ridiculous proverb,” he said. His chin tensed as he swallowed.
    “Your lips—”
    “You’re not going to quote another proverb, are you?” he interrupted.
    Frankly, she was thankful he’d stopped her from talking. What could she say about his lips? That they were incredibly soft? That they were impossibly smooth and with just the right amount of fullness and curve? “Very well, no more proverbs,” she said teasingly, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she’d quite thoroughly rattled herself.
    She moved up the slope of his nose and made some nondescript comment about his aristocratic heritage, and then she reached his eyes. No part of his face did she