Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [79]
“Call it penance.” He took a step toward her, toward the clearer air of the stairwell. “And speaking of penance, what is my next one to be?”
“I don’t know. Mayor Kendall just sent me up to fetch you down to the study.”
“Without restraint?” Dominick raised one brow. “Isn’t he afraid I’ll knock you down and run?”
“He said you have too much honor.”
That made Dominick laugh, a hollow bark of mirth. “If I had honor, Letty, I wouldn’t be here. But there’s enough left for me to stay.”
He couldn’t even hope for redemption if he fled.
“And we mustn’t keep the mayor waiting.” He kissed Letty’s cheek and edged past her to descend the steps at a decorous pace.
She followed close behind. Her breath rasped in and out of her nose, as though she suffered from a head cold or she’d been crying. When they reached the ground floor and illumination from curtains drawn back allowed as much light from the gray sky as from the candles, Dominick noted Letty’s red-rimmed eyes.
She had been crying.
“Not for me,” he said.
“For your soul,” Letty responded. She patted his shoulder and turned toward the kitchen. “Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
Dominick hesitated, drinking in the aroma of coffee and frying bacon, then knocked on the door to the study. “Mayor Kendall?”
“Come in.” The voice resonated through the wood.
Dominick entered, his legs not quite as sturdy as he wished. Once inside the door, he stopped, gazing across the square of carpet to the big desk and the man who sat behind it.
Kendall’s eyes appeared sunken, the flesh around them bruised. His complexion was pale, and he didn’t smile or blink or look directly at Dominick. “Close the door,” he said.
Dominick did so, then leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest.
“You don’t fool me with that casual stance, lad.” Harshness edged Kendall’s tone. “Your eyes give you away. You’re nervous and you have every right to be.”
“No casual stance intended, sir. I didn’t think I could walk any further.”
One corner of Kendall’s mouth twitched. “Impertinent to the last, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. No disrespect intended.”
“This morning.”
“Sir?” Dominick made himself straighten. A lock of hair fell over his ear, and he realized he should have retied his queue. “I never intend to be disrespectful.”
“Or get caught at it, at any rate.” Kendall’s lips thinned.
Dominick kept his own lips closed.
“Come sit down before you fall down.” Kendall gestured to a chair by the fire. “It’s cold for June this morning.”
The kindness lent Dominick some comfort, and he crossed the room on steadier legs. Once around the chair with its high back, he saw the tray on the low table at the hearth. Two cups resided atop the silver, and steam puffed from the coffeepot.
“Help yourself and pour me a cup,” Kendall directed as he rose from behind the desk and took the other seat before the fire.
For the first time since running into Wilkins outside the garden gate, Dominick’s back muscles ceased twitching. Without spilling a drop, he poured coffee and the right amount of milk into Kendall’s cup first and then his own. As much as he longed to feel the warmth of the china between his fingers, he waited for the mayor to lift his mug before taking up the delicate crockery and cradling it like a precious gift.
When a man was chilled, tired, and worried, it was.
“Now”—Kendall leaned back against the brown velvet of his chair—“tell me why you were wandering about in the middle of the night, against my express orders.”
“I like walking in the rain?” Dominick offered.
“Mr. Cherrett, I’m giving you an opportunity to defend your actions, instead of exercising my right to flay the skin off your back. Give me the courtesy of the truth.”
“But, sir . . .” Dominick stared at the brown liquid in his cup. “Sir, there’s a lady involved.”
“How involved?” The coldness of Kendall’s voice should have frozen the raindrops on the window. “You are not in a position to wed, so if you’ve compromised a young woman—”
“No, no, sir, nothing like that.” Dominick