“I see. Run home to your duties then.”
Blood running hot, Felton turned for the door.
“And Northwood?”
He paused. “My lord?”
“If this is another matter of pride, you are a fool.”
No other man in the world could have called Felton such a name without a fist landing in his face. But the anger drained out of him. A twinge of sadness, of guilt, raced into its place.
He half wondered if the viscount was right.
Instead of departing, he stopped a maid in the hall for directions to the servant girl’s chamber. He clenched his fists as he made his way up the stairs. Why should the viscount’s words bother him so? If there was truth in it, what did it matter? Why shouldn’t he have high standards for himself and stick to them? Why shouldn’t he want to be affianced to a girl from society’s lap?
When he reached the door, he hesitated. Noises, faint and disturbing. Minney? Was the child feverish?
Without knocking, he pushed his way inside. The girl in the bed was motionless, noiseless—but not the girl in the chair. How strange Eliza looked, how pale, with sweat dampening the hair around her face. Pitiful sounds left her lips. First murmurs, soft and devastated. Then shouts, screams for help—
Felton raced for her and caught her face. “Eliza.” He jerked her awake, shook her head until wild eyes stared back into his. “Eliza, the nightmares.”
“No.” Her breaths were short and panicked. “No, leave me alone—”
“Eliza.” Another shake. This time he edged closer, sinking his fingers deeper into her hair as pity writhed through him. “You’re watching over Minney. You’re sitting in her chamber. You’re safe.”
“But the window.”
“There is no window.”
“The glass.”
“No glass.”
Tears leaked past her lashes and ran down her face, the cheeks colorless, then burning. “He’s…he’s going to kill me.”
“I won’t let him.”
“You cannot stop him. No one can.”
“I can stop anyone.” Closer. “I can fight your beast. Iwillfight him.” Shouldn’t have come up here. Shouldn’t be holding her this way, this close, with him inhaling her breath and her rasping in his. Like they were one. Like they needed each other’s air. “You believe that?”
“I want to.”
“Then do.” He kissed her cheek, tasted the salt of her tears. How he longed to dip lower. To press against the moist, shaking lips. To drink of her, this girl of the woods, and forget a world that would scorn such a match.
But he backed away and escaped the chamber, still unsteady from the touch of her, still weak in the pit of his soul.
How easy it would be to love such a creature.
How easy to envision he already did.
Eliza spooned more caudle into Minney’s mouth the next morning. “Good?”
“No.” The girl pushed away her hand. “No more. There be cinnamon in it?”
“Yes. Mrs. Eustace’s own recipe.”
“I don’t be likin’ cinnamon. Papa, he never liked it either.”
