Daisy stared in disbelief, her heart pounding as she took in the sight of Lord Blackthorne. It was her first time seeing him, yet she knew it was him because he was known for the color of his skin. She had heard it was a sickly gray, but it looked silver to her and seemed to absorb the light around him.
Her gaze was involuntarily drawn to his golden eyes, which widened a bit, as did hers with realization.
She had touched him!
Her blood ran cold.
Lord Blackthorne was known to have a skin condition that was contagious. She had heard that he was often fully dressed, with gloves, when he left his home, which he rarely did, but now here he was. His hands were on her waist to steady her, and hers were grasping his bare forearms.
Fear gripped her, and she stepped back, releasing him. She fought the urge to wipe her hands, rub them into the grass and earth beneath her feet, or run and jump into a lake nearby, but that would be rude, and she was not.
She swallowed her fear and kept her panic at bay. "My Lord." She panted. "I apologize. I didn't see you."
He stared at her with an unsettling gaze. He really had gray skin, she thought, staring at him. But what was he doing in the woods?
From his wet hair and skin, it seemed he had been in the lake. Alone? There was no carriage around.
"Are you in trouble, miss…?"
"Uh… no. I am fine." She stuttered, still shocked.
He touched his arms, where she had touched him. "What is a young lady doing alone at night in the woods?" He asked.
Daisy just realized the situation she was in. Alone in the dark woods with… him. Not that she thought he would do anything to her, but she had the whole road back home to walk. How foolish of her.
She looked back at him, taking in the full sight of him. His damp skin shimmered with a silver glow, shifting, and changing with every movement, like liquid silver and giving him an ethereal and otherworldly appearance. Yet, Daisy couldn't help but notice that there was another part of him that appeared to be perpetually shrouded in shadows, as if the darkness was an inseparable part of him. No matter how the moonlight fell upon him, those shadowed areas seemed to defy the light, remaining cloaked in impenetrable murkiness. It was this contrast of light and dark that both intrigued and unnerved her.
"I… I lost my way," she lied.
Maybe not what she should have said to the man she was alone with in the woods.
Slowly, Lord Blackthorne took a few steps toward her, his movements deliberate and graceful. Daisy's pulse quickened, her instincts telling her to flee, but she remained rooted to the spot as he came closer and closer. He stopped two steps away.
"Shall I take you home?" He asked.
Ho… home?
Fear crippled her. She didn't know why, but something told her he was speaking of HIS home. What made her think so?
The thought of going to his home, the dark and secluded manor that was the subject of countless whispers and rumors, sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't pinpoint why, but the very suggestion seemed laced with danger.
"No, thank you, my Lord," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can find my way back. I wouldn't want to trouble you."
Lord Blackthorne tilted his head, his golden eyes assessing her, as if trying to decipher the layers of her fear. His lips curved into a small smile that did little to put her at ease.
"Very well," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "I shall leave you to find your way. But remember, the woods can be treacherous at night. Be careful, Miss..."
"Cassandra," she lied, realizing too late that giving her sister's name wouldn't make things better.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. "Cassandra," he repeated. For some odd reason, Daisy wondered how he would say her name but then shivered. The gleam in his eyes told her he better not know.
Lord Blackthorne stepped back, retreating into the shadows. His silver and shadow-dappled skin blended in with the darkness, making it seem as though he was vanishing into the night itself. As he disappeared from sight, Daisy was left with the unsettling feeling that she had been in the presence of something far more mysterious and dangerous than she could have ever imagined.
The moment he was gone, Daisy's facade crumbled, and panic gripped her. She couldn't shake the fear of having touched his gray skin and the potential consequences. With her heart pounding, she raced back home, desperate to wash away any lingering traces of their encounter.
As she approached the familiar outline of her house, she slowed her pace, careful not to draw attention to herself. Slipping through the shadows, Daisy made her way to a side entrance that was seldom used, one that she knew would allow her to sneak inside undetected.
Quietly, she opened the door, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges. She paused, listening for any signs of stirring within the house. When she was certain no one had been alerted to her presence, she slipped inside and gently closed the door behind her.
With light cautious steps, Daisy tiptoed through the darkened halls. Her thoughts were consumed by the need to wash away any trace of Lord Blackthorne's touch before anyone could touch her or even suspect that anything was amiss.
Reaching the door to her room, Daisy eased it open and slipped inside, being careful not to let it creak. She crossed the room to her washbasin and pitcher, her hands trembling as she lifted the pitcher to pour water into the basin. The cool water splashed into the porcelain bowl, the sound of it both soothing and unnerving as it echoed in the silence of her room.
With a deep breath, Daisy took off her clothes and plunged her hands into the water, scrubbing her skin with a mixture of desperation and urgency. She scrubbed her hands and arms, where she had touched Lord Blackthorne, and she scrubbed until her skin was red and raw, a mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through her veins.
Finally, with her hands and arms clean, Daisy rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out before carefully wiping her face, neck, and any other exposed skin she thought might have come into contact with the mysterious Marquess. Only when she was certain that every trace of their encounter had been washed away did she allow herself to exhale.
Was she safe now or would she wake up with the same skin disease tomorrow?