A Dove's Tale

Chapter 114

Chevalier's hand slipped from my back to my waist during our walk from the kitchen to my room, which told me he wasn't interested in reading when we got there. That had me blushing well before he opened my door and exposed the mess I'd forgotten about. Theresa's dresses abandoned in a pile, her open bureau drawer, the brushes and hairpins strewn across the vanity, my undergarments and dress still hanging over the dressing screen - and I didn't even know what the bathroom looked like.

"Oh, I forgot," I moaned. "Theresa was running late, so I told her to leave this for me to clean up."

He adjusted his course to avoid stepping on clothes, but didn't break his stride as he led me to the sofa. "It can wait."

"But-"

"You promised me tonight before you promised to do her work for her."

I chewed my lip anxiously. The rest I could probably ignore, but not my undergarments on display. That was too embarrassing.

"Can I just-"

"No."

I let him pull me down to the sofa with him, but I was still uncomfortable. The click of metal and rustle of fabric told me he took his sword belt off. I wasn't sure my cheeks could get any hotter.

"Look at me, Ivetta."

His bare fingers pressed into my cheek and coaxed me into meeting his intense crystal blue eyes. A shiver ran through me. He'd taken his gloves off, too, and he wasn't looking at anything except me. Suddenly, the mess didn't matter anymore. I closed my eyes as he leaned in for a soft kiss, one that tasted of sugar and lemons and alcohol.

"That liquor tastes better this way," I murmured. "It doesn't burn."

He smiled and kissed me again. "I have to agree."

"You had two mugs of it," I giggled. "Are you trying to tell me now that you didn't like it?"

"No," he said, brushing his thumb across my lips. "But I prefer the way you taste."

I pulled back to avoid his next kiss. "Before we continue, what about my ring?"

He reached into his pocket, and I held my hand out between us. A thrill ran through me as he slid the ring onto my finger. It felt better this way, without my glove, and I almost wished I'd taken it off last night when he proposed. Almost. I hated my scars, and I didn't want him seeing them.

His fingers touched the cuff of my sleeve. A surge of panic made me flinch and jerk my hand back.

"Chevalier-"

"You let Gilbert see last night," he said, holding my eyes with his steady gaze.

"I didn't let him," I protested, flinching as his fingers touched my wrist again. "I didn't know he was here, and-" His thumb slid under my sleeve cuff, and I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my ears. "Please don't," I whispered.

"Ivetta," he said softly. "I have to see them, eventually."

"Not now," I begged.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed each of my fingers, and then the back of my hand, and then my wrist, pushing my sleeve up just a little further with every kiss. I clenched the fingers of my other hand in my skirt and bit my lip hard, waiting for him to stop, to say Gilbert was right, that the irregular gashes marking up my arm proved I was damaged goods and not worth his time. He wouldn't say that. I knew he wouldn't say that. But my insecurity was feeding my anxiety, and the two spoke louder than logic, drowning the truth I knew in a sea of doubt and fear.

I don't think there was anything he could have said at that moment to reassure me.

But he didn't speak, and he didn't stop.