“Not to mention ridiculously wealthy, oh, and of course, there’s that title, too. If you were of a mind to get married, I’m quite certain you could choose anyone you wish.”

Did she think he was ugly?

She poked his shoulder with her finger. “You can’t imagine how many people would love to be in your shoes.”

Not right now, they wouldn’t.

“But you’re shy,” she said, almost wonderingly. He could feel that she’d moved closer; her breath was landing lightly on his cheek. “I think I like that you’re shy.”

Really? Because he’d always hated it. All those years in school, watching Daniel talk to everyone and anyone without even a moment’s hesitation. Always needing a little bit longer to figure out just how he might fit in. It was why he’d loved spending so much time with the Smythe-Smiths. Their home had always been so chaotic and crazed; he’d slipped almost unnoticed into their life of un-routine and become one of the family.

It was the only family he’d ever known.

She touched his face again, running a finger down the bridge of his nose. “You would be too perfect if you weren’t shy,” she said. “Too much of a storybook hero. I’m sure you never read novels, but I’ve always thought my friends saw you as a character in one of Mrs. Gorely’s gothics.”

He knew there was a reason he’d never liked her friends.

“I was never quite sure if you were the hero or the villain, though.”

He decided not to find insult in that statement. He could tell she was smiling slyly as she said it.

“You need to get better,” she whispered. “I don’t know where I’ll be if you don’t.” And then, so softly that he barely heard her: “I think you might be my touchstone.”

He tried to move his lips, tried to say something, because that wasn’t the sort of thing one let go without a reply. But his face still felt thick and heavy, and all he could manage were a few gasping noises.

“Marcus? Do you want some water?”

He did, actually.

“Are you even awake?”

Sort of.

“Here,” she said. “Try this.”

He felt something cold touch his lips. A spoon, dribbling lukewarm water into his mouth. It was hard to swallow, though, and she only let him have a few drops.

“I don’t think you’re awake,” she said. He heard her settle back down in her chair. She sighed. She sounded tired. He hated that.

But he was glad she was here. He had a feeling she might be his touchstone, too.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve