Madelyn staggered to her feet, certain that even Brand must hear the frantic beating of her heart. She rubbed her aching cheek once more, then forced herself upright. Her face was numb from Lady Wilmot's vicious blow.
Brand did not immediately turn from the door. For one grave moment his hand remained on the knob. Then he stepped from it, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his blue lawn shirt. He had discarded the jacket.
He smelt of wood and danders, and the stables, and the smell quickly filled the chamber with a distant and painful knowledge. His eyes, when they at last fell on her, felt like a physical burden. There was no single warmth in them. She felt like she had been thrown into the cold blue sea.
The sternness in his countenance was not anger alone. There was hatred there too, and Madelyn recoiled from the sight of it.
