Free Truth Within Dreams by Elizabeth Boyce Page A

grown up reading his face. Every tic of his brow betrayed interest or annoyance. Every quirk of a lip told her what amused him. She could read his nose twitches like a fortune teller read tea leaves—whether he was trying to suppress a sneeze, had smelled something unpleasant, was bored with a conversation, or knew she was beating him at chess. She could write chapters about his face, the various ways he communicated without uttering a sound.
    “I’m not sure that would be prudent,” Claude protested. “After what happened—”
    “Come now, Claude,” Henry bit, “I’m wide awake. What could happen?”
    Claudia frowned. What did being awake have to do with anything?
    “How about it, Claudia?” Henry’s voice imitated pleasantness but lacked any real emotion, just like his face. “Will you come, or will you continue gawking at me all day?”
    She stared. And he stared back.
    She didn’t meet his eyes. Dismissing the orbs themselves as useless at present, Claudia’s gaze roamed his face. Brows to lips to nose to cheek to chin. This blankness was alien, unnatural. It couldn’t continue forever. He couldn’t lock her out … There. Finally. At his temple, a muscle twitched.
    He was upset with her. She could deal with upset, now that she knew. At least he seemed willing to give her the chance to explain herself.
    She beamed, hoping to lift his spirits and start mending their friendship. “I’d be delighted to accompany you, Henry.”
    But when he smiled back, it was an expression so false she couldn’t bear to look at him another moment.
    Her own smile slipped. This was going to be a fun ride. Oh, well. It would be worth a little unpleasantness to make things right.

Chapter Seven
    When Claudia met Henry outside the stable some forty-five minutes later, he was adjusting his horse’s bridle and conversing with a groom. Claudia paused for a moment to admire his profile. Straight nose, strong jaw, and high cheekbones presented a pleasing array of masculine angles. His brows looked as though they’d been dashed across his face by an artist with a devil-may-care attitude. Even his top lip came to a firm V in the middle, but the bottom lip was softer, and when he turned on her with a smile, that sensual curve seemed to tell her all sorts of wicked secrets.
    As she approached, Henry’s jaw slackened for just an instant before he snapped it shut. A flurry of nerves rocked through her, but Claudia lifted her chin. She knew she looked her best—which wasn’t saying much, if one were to compare her to London’s fashionable ladies. But with no one but the grooms and Pepper, the three-legged stable cat, vying for immediate competition, she wasn’t a total antidote, either.
    After accepting Henry’s invitation, she’d torn up the stairs to her bedchamber and summoned the maid who attended both Claudia and Lady Baxter. The servant deftly worked the sides of Claudia’s hair into braids which met at the crown of her head. The rest was twisted, tucked, and pinned into a chignon, with a few strands loosened and curled to frame her face. Claudia donned a white shirt and cravat, topped with her new riding habit of buttery yellow and kid gloves. The brim of her black hat dipped low in the front, while the jonquil ribbon tied around the crown fell in twin streamers halfway down her back.
    When she reached him, Henry kissed her hand while maintaining eye contact, his gaze still cold. “My very dear Miss Baxter,” he murmured. Then he flipped her hand and nipped a patch of exposed skin on the inside of her wrist. His tongue soothed the tiny sting.
    Claudia jerked her hand back, discomfited by the way he stirred her blood, even as his distant demeanor warned her away. She turned to greet her horse, Coco, who nickered when she caught sight of Claudia. The little mare was a dark bay, with a white blaze and glossy black mane and tail. Claudia dug a lump of sugar from her pocket and offered it on her palm. Coco daintily took the