It would be worth it, she’d thought, to see the look in Greyburn’s eyes when he glimpsed the lady she’d miraculously become.
The look in his eyes.
“Greyburn?” she said.
He didn’t answer, showed no reaction except for the briefest of glances at his brother. His gaze was fixed on her, unwavering, as if he could read her most secret thoughts.
But there was something wrong with his stare. And Quentin Forster, with his merry, open face and easy manners—so unlike Greyburn’s—wasn’t smiling. It was the first time in the hour since Rowena had introduced them that he’d been serious.
Without thinking she took a step forward and lifted her hand toward Greyburn’s face.
He caught her wrist in midair, and she almost laughed aloud with relief. But then Quentin moved with uncanny swiftness, his hand descending between them like a barricade, inches from Greyburn’s eyes. Cassidy flinched; Greyburn didn’t so much as blink. By the time he reacted, releasing her and pushing Quentin’s arm aside, she understood.
Her Tyger was blind.
He couldn’t see the sketch Quentin had done of her, or the dress he had complimented, or her smiles, or her attempts to tame her unruly hair. She might have been fooled for days before she discovered the truth.
For the earl of Greyburn carried out a perfect masquerade. He moved easily, naturally, with the confidence of a man in control of his surroundings. He never hung back or stumbled. He looked at her when he spoke; he had found his sister unerringly in a room full of people; he had known Cassidy was following him from the very beginning.
Yet from the moment he caught her outside his house, she’d been invisible to him.
No. Not invisible. When they’d first met, he’d touched her face—not once, but twice. She remembered how it felt, how she’d thought that she would melt under the caress of his fingertips. She hadn’t questioned his reasons for the intimacy, or the way her body had tingled at his touch. She had wanted it to go on forever.
But there hadn’t been anything personal in what he’d done. It was only his way of looking at her. No more than that.
He wasn’t looking at her now. He stood with his arms at his sides, unmoved by her shock. He had shut her out. Isabelle, unruffled, stepped forward, smiling at Quentin. “I know we’ve only just been introduced, Mr. Forster,” she said, “but I understand you spent some time in India, and I should be fascinated to learn more of your life there.” She looped her arm through Cassidy’s. “I’m sure that Cassidy would as well. If you will excuse us, Lord Greyburn?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Quentin said. He glanced at his brother, but Cassidy noticed that he was careful to keep his distance. “Tea in the drawing room, perhaps?”
Smoothly he and Isabelle trapped Cassidy between them, herding her toward the door. They were afraid, both of them, though they tried not to show it. Grey-burn’s stillness was as biting as the coldest desert night. And as lonely.
Cassidy slipped her arm free of Isabelle’s and turned away from the door.
“May I stay?” she asked.
Not even blindness could rob Greyburn’s gaze of its power. He looked toward Quentin, who hesitated only an instant before escorting Isabelle from the room. The door shut with a barely audible click.
“Please sit down,” Greyburn said. It was a command. She found the nearest chair and obeyed, but he remained standing. Listening. Waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t know—”
“Save your condolences.” He turned and walked toward the side table where a bottle and fancy glasses rested on a silver tray. Unerringly he poured a strong-smelling liquid into one of the glasses, raised it to his mouth, curled his lip in disgust and set the glass down again, all without spilling a single drop.
“Yes, I am blind,” he said. “I have been for three years. I find it to be a very minor inconvenience.” He stalked away from the side table and moved to the window, shoving aside the drapes. Early-evening sunlight bathed his face, redrawing its strong lines in shadowed relief. “I do not know the color of your dress, but I know it is made of satin and silk. It has a train of modest length. Your hat is adorned with an ostrich feather, and was purchased from Rowena’s favorite milliner. The woman’s perfume is unmistakable.”