Free Insperatus by Kelly Varesio Page A

to strike up some conversation. “Are you steady again?”
    “ That letter was…disturbing,” she rasped. “I pray it is not true. It is about my father, and other things that have haunted me for years, things I never knew the answers to. I don’t understand who could know those things. I’m sorry for falling; I never —”
    “ No, don’t apologize,” he said, sympathetic, finally looking at her face. “I’m not a practiced liar, so I should clarify what I’ve told you.”
    With a knot forming deep within her, she searched his face for some kind of expression, but he was unreadable.
    “ You think it is true, don’t you?” she pushed to say, her voice hoarse with sorrow. He had hesitated. “Mr. Romanoff had seemed so upset for me—”
    “ Please, Miss Pierson,” he quieted her, covering his lips with his strong, pale hand. She noticed white, lifted scars on his hands, too—just like the ones on his face, but longer and larger.
    “ Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
    He seemed near embarrassed at being seen in the atrium and speaking in public. She could tell he was uncomfortable sitting in the open, but that was part of his characteristic reticence, and she was assured that he was truly attempting to make her comfortable, even if he was not.
    His face changed; he wore a sudden surprised look, no doubt from her comment of trust. Did he not receive that often? It seemed to her that he was the type of man whom everyone would trust but always managed to neglect.
    His surprised, essentially grateful expression slowly altered into a more somber one. “I do appreciate your trust. This may make you change your mind, but—” He chuckled emptily. “Would you invite me to your chamber?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean at all to be uncouth, although that must sound terribly near to it. I would invite you to my own, but it’s a bloody wreck, and I should explain to you in quiet…”
    “ Of course,” she stuttered, wiping her eyes. She felt a very deep thrill stirring at his wish to go into her chamber. The gentleman she liked, that she wanted to speak with, wanted to speak with her. But the subject on which he was addressing her brewed terror inside of her.
    Trust whom you meet with the same nationality as your own. He is to be trusted. The last words of that horrifying letter echoed in her ears.
     
    Chapter 11
     
    In her defense, her chamber was very tidy. But the very thought of having left something out of place haunted her. In the hall she had him trailing behind her quietly, in awkward silence to the door.
    She turned nonchalantly to him with a half smile, took out the key from her pocket, and unlocked the door. He returned her smile, but his eyes focused on everything but her. She could see his coyness, and she suffered anxiety over the thought of who would begin the talking. She was usually rather timid herself, and having a man she didn’t know in her chamber? She kept calm, and thought more about the idea of getting to know this man better.
    Her latter feelings won out—she managed to walk into her chamber with ease. To her relief, he already seemed more outgoing than he had been before. He took a seat at her request with thanks and relaxed his long, muscular body.
    “ I’m sorry, I have nothing prepared to eat, but there is some wine in the icebox,” she said with a sigh. “If—”
    “ No wine, but thank you for your generosity,” he said with a small smile, his impeccable face relaxed. “Your chamber is very well kept.”
    She shook her head and smiled, taking a seat across from him at the table. She noticed for the first time, as he put his arms on the table, that he was scarred on more than just his hands. She could clearly see his forearms, as his white sleeves were rolled up. They were scarred worse—much worse—than his face. But the same kind of scars—long, narrow, similar to knife wounds. They must have been all over his body. But what had caused