Blackstone and Broken Things

Chapter 9

Like a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf, Ana stared at Nathan, her heart pounding in her ears, her breath shuttering out of her. Too late to hide her reaction to his words, she closed her eyes, slowly raising her hands, bunching her fingers in time with her breathing as she tried to regain control of her roiling emotions. Why had he said that? Why would he say that? What did he want?

"Anabell?"

It was the second time he had said her name, though now she could hear him moving toward her, the slide and crunch of the hay under his boots altering her to his location. When she felt his hand on her arm, she jerked away.

"Do not touch me." She breathed, her eyes snapping open but kept firmly on the ground. Looking at his boots was the most she could do at the moment. The most she would allow herself to do.

"Anabell, if I—"

"And do not call me that!" She snapped, her jaw clenching as she fought to keep still. To keep from pushing him away and running as she so wanted to.

"Very well. What would you—"

"Ana." She answered instantly, feeling more like her former self with each deep, calming breath she took. Until she could meet his gaze, the concern she saw there, mixed with so much confusion, left her feeling like the greatest of fools. A simple compliment, and she had reacted as though he had struck her. "I am sorry." She said, looking away as she moved to leave the stables. Doing everything in her power not to look at him and be further reminded of how idiotic she was being.

"Ana. If I—"

"You did nothing." She stopped, holding up a hand to halt anything else he would say. "You did nothing." She said again, speaking the words more for her own benefit than his as she kept her back to him. "I. I need a moment." She stated.

"I can see that." He replied. "I—"

"Please." She held her hand up once more to silence him. "I. Good night, Nathan." She said and left, praying with all her might that he would not follow her and that she would make it to her room without running into anyone else. As she currently was, she did not trust herself to keep from breaking down into pitiful tears if another person happened to find her.

Luckily, it seemed someone had taken pity on her as she reached her door and quietly slipped into her room. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring blankly into the dark as the last bit of her evening played back through her mind. As his words replayed, she felt the same paralyzing terror she had then. A hundred whys danced through her head, each bringing its own unattractive reasoning for his words.

She did not know what was worse: how she had reacted or the reason she had. She had been given compliments before and never felt such panic. But then she knew it was not so much what he had said as how he had said it that had affected her so.

He had meant it.

He had not tossed her some placating platitude. There had been nothing insincere in his manner or body when he had spoken. And why would there be? He had all the power; he was the Earl of Clearshire. He could toss her from this house without anyone batting an eye, or worse, he could remove everyone else and leave her alone. There was no reason for him to say such a thing to her unless he meant it. And she was terrified to travel down that road.

Raising a hand to pull the pins and ties from her hair, she jerked when she felt the leather of her gloves against her skin. She had left the stables so suddenly she had forgotten she was still wearing them and her apron. With a furious growl, she tore the gloves from her hands, tossing them to the floor, then proceeded to rip at the strings of her apron. Throwing it aside in much the same manner, she had rid herself of her gloves. With heaving angry breaths, she paced her bedroom.