Page 44 of Dark Embrace

Continuing on, she passed a mangy dog that sniffed at the gutter, then she jerked to a stop as Mrs. Cowden’s house materialized from the mist, ghostly tendrils wrapping around the crumbling chimney. The sight of the house, dark and shabby, drove deep the vile desperation of hercircumstances.

Tears pricked her lids, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. There was no value in tears of frustration and anger, fear and hopelessness. They would only serve to leave her nose red and her lidspuffy.

They would neither change nor solveanything.

In the end, she would still have only days left until her rent was due once more, and though her savings might stretch to pay it, they would not stretchforlong.

In the end, she would still be without employment orreference.

In the end, her good name would still be besmirched by her ownwords.

And in the end, she would still be in love with KillianThayne.

Her situation was fraught with the greatestuncertainty.

Her options at the moment were so narrow and frayed, she was having a difficult time seeing them at all. And despite that, she knew that if faced with the same choice in the same setting, she would again do exactly as she had done. Because she could not let themtakehim.

The sound of wheels clacking on the cobblestones and the clopping of horses’ hooves made her head jerk up and her gaze dart along the street. As though teased apart with the tip of a knife, the fog parted to reveal four great black beasts and, behind them, a gleaming black coach. Instinctively, she stepped back, only to find the carriage rocking to a halt several paces away, directly in front of Mrs. Cowden’s lodginghouse.

This was a private coach, a rich man’scoach.

A prickling sense of expectation bloomed, for she had no doubt as to the owner of the carriage. She had known by his dress and his mode of speech that surely Killian was from a different world than the other surgeons at King’s College—a different world even than the comfortable one she had been raised in. But this coach, with its gleaming finish and beautifully matched horses, spoke of wealth beyond what she could haveimagined.

The sight of it was both welcome and worrisome, for Killian’s presence here created a labyrinth of complexities andenticements.

A footman climbed down and stood by the carriage door. He wore a smart green and gold livery, as did the coachman on thebench.

Feeling as though she slogged through a bog that mired her every step, Sarah walked the last dozen paces to the coach. As she stopped beside the footman, the clouds above parted to let a single beam of light fall upon her, sending the shadow of the carriage stretching along thecobblestones.

The footman glanced at the light and frowned. “This way, miss,” he said, indicating the door on the far side, away from thelight.

Wary of the horses that snorted and pawed the ground, she offered them a wide berth as she rounded the carriage. The footman opened the door. She blinked and peered into the dim confines. Killian sat in the far corner, wrapped in shadow andmystery.

The collar of his cloak was raised high, and his hands were gloved in black leather. She frowned, certain there was some significance to that, but unable to placeexactlywhat.

“Come inside please, Sarah,” he said. “I wish to speakwithyou.”

A request? An order? She could not say. But since she had much she wished to ask him, much she wished to say, she took the footman’s offered hand and allowed him to help her inside thecoach.

Settling herself in the corner opposite Killian, as far from him as the small space would allow, she waited in silence as the footman closed the door, leaving them alone. She could see only the hint of highlight on Killian’s brow, his nose, his chin. The blinds were pulled down over the windows. Wishing to have a clear perspective of his expression, Sarah reached to raise one and let in what little light had penetrated through cloudandmist.

Killian moved quickly, leaning forward to trap her wrist. He tipped his head down and looked at her over the rim of his dark spectacles, his gaze intent, and she thought she ought to be afraid. But she was not. For some inexplicable reason, when she was with Killian, she felt safer, more secure, more confident than she ever had in her entire life. She felt as though he opened a dam and let her soul dance free, let her be exactly whoshewas.

Strange thoughts. Madthoughts.

“Leave the blind,” he said softly. “The light is toobright.”

She thought he spoke in jest, but a glance disabused her of that notion. He found even this fog-shrouded day too bright for hiscomfort.

For a flickering instant, she had the terrible thought that he was as her father had been, an opium addict whose eyes were pained by even modest illumination. Yet, Killian evinced none of the traits associated with that malady. Her father had been lethargic, his pupils ever constricted, his speech slurred. He had shown no interest in his appearance or grooming. In the end, she had barely known him, for his mannerisms and behavior were so drasticallyaltered.

By contrast, Killian was alert, his clothing impeccable, his intellect sharp andclear.

Perhaps he simply disliked the sun. Perhaps. But wariness unfurledinsideher.

“Are you cold?” he asked, cutting thesilence.

It was only then that she realized she wastrembling.