Page 29 of Malicious Marriage

“No. How well we know one another.” His voice drops a few tones, and suddenly, his gaze grows intense. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he hasn’t taken his eyes off me since the hallway. I turn away from him, eager to hide the thick layer of makeup masking the bruise on my face. As much as I’d adore him to stare at me like that, I don’t need him to see anything and ask questions.

“Let’s sit out on the patio. The weather’s far too nice to stay inside.”

“How lovely.” Dean sheds his suit jacket and sets it down on the counter, then he follows me out onto the patio.

Does he never wear something relaxed like a T-shirt and jeans? So far, all he seems to wear is suits and nothing else. Maybe it’s a rich man thing.

“Here.” I pass him a glass of lemonade and head toward the small table and cluster of chairs at the far end of the patio. “So, what brings you around?”

“I wanted to apologize for how abruptly I left yesterday.”

“You don’t have to. Anything to do with your baby is surely incredibly important and I’d never hold that against you.” It’s alarming that he even feels the need to apologize, and the quiet guilt simmering in my gut swells slightly. He really is a decent man.

“True, yes. But it was rude of me to—” Dean suddenly falls deathly silent as a gust of wind dances through the patio. It catches on my hair and lifts a few strands, but as I lift my arm to catch them and tuck them behind my sore ear, the sleeve of my dress slips.

Dean’s footsteps halt behind me at the same moment.

“Clover.”

“Hmm?” Turning, I immediately realize my mistake with how Dean’s gaze has grown as dark as thunder and his eyes are fixated upon my injured arm. I immediately drop my arm, but he moves lightning fast to gently but firmly catch my elbow and prevent me from hiding.

My heart punches up into my throat as he speaks.

“Clover, who hurt you?”

13

DEAN

Is she going to deny it? I won’t blame her. If there’s something going on and her first instinct is to lie and protect herself from the prying eyes of a man she barely knows, then I’ll accept it.

But I know from the scared look in her eyes, like a doe suddenly caught in a trap, that there’s something sinister going on. Something more than whatever excuse she decides to give me. Clover briefly tries to pull her arm away, but my grip remains steadfast. I’m not releasing her until I have an answer.

“Clover?” I prompt again, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. “Who did this to you?” Who dared to lay a hand on such a gentle woman? A woman who, for all intents and purposes, is unknowingly saving me from a life of hell.

“No one,” Clover replies eventually after swallowing repeatedly. “It was my own fault, really. I fell coming down the stairs and you’ve seen those slats in the banister. When I reached out to save myself, my arm just slipped through the gap and twisted. You’d honestly be amused if you knew how common that was. I’m always unsteady on my feet.”

Her words come out in a rush followed by a sweet but nervous laugh, and she can’t look me in the eye anymore when I finally release her arm. So. She fell. Given how little I know of Clover’s life, I can’t work out who around her would do such a thing. Calling her a liar to her face risks her backing out of this engagement, so I choose to believe the lie.

For now.

But when I find out who dared to put hands on her? I can’t promise they’ll be walking by the time the sun sets.

“Come.” Setting my glass aside on the table, I motion back inside with a tilt of my head. “That looks really bad and you clearly haven’t tended to it, so let me.”

“Oh, no!” Clover adjusts her sleeve and brushes her hands down her dress. “There’s really no need. I’m fine.”

“Iinsist.”

She doesn’t fight me after that and follows me back into her home where she helps me locate the medical kit. “Up.” I pat the counter next to me, and Clover shoots me an incredulous look. “What?”

“I’m not a child.”

“I’m not treating you like one now. Up, please. On the counter so I can see your arm better.”

Clover seems to debate silently for a few seconds, then she walks beside me and pulls herself up onto the kitchen counter. Adjusting her dress, she tucks hair behind her ear, and this time, I catch a wince. Is it her arm that causes her pain or something more?

“You fell down the stairs,” I repeat softly while rummaging through the medical kit. Most of the items in here are unopened as if the kit is brand new. “Do I need to come back and fix the banister?”