She kept running the entire evening through her mind, recounting conversations, reexamining moments that had made her laugh or smile or tear up. As long as she focused on the past, even if it was only a few hours past, she wasn’treminded that Benedict was presently in the bedchamber adjoining hers.
“I saw a flash of panic on your face when I suggested everyone stay the night,” Gillie had told her, “so I thought you would be more comfortable sleeping in the bedchamber adjoining Beast’s. You can always ring for a servant, naturally, if you’re in need of anything, but I wanted you to have reassurance he’s near.”
In her parents’ home, bachelors slept in a wing separate from the one in which unmarried ladies slept. Never would they have been within easy reach of each other. Her mother would be appalled to know Althea had counted the steps from the bed to the door that led into his room, that she was now listening for any sound, any indication he was still awake. That she was hoping he might be on the other side straining to hear any sounds coming from her.
Perhaps it was all the wine now coursing through her veins or the love this family showered on each other or simply a need not to be alone on Christmas Eve—
She nearly laughed aloud at the realization she might be no different than the men who would be spending their night with Jewel, Hester, Lottie... men without families, men without someone to love them. Tonight she’d experienced something finer than what she’d always dreamed her future would hold. But she knew it could contain so much more.
If she was willing to take those eleven steps, knock on a door, and make a complicated mistake.
With his hands shoved beneath his head, Beast stared at the ceiling and cursed Gillie for the hundredth time.
Every time his errant gaze fell on the door, he thought,Three steps, four; that’s all it would take to be there.
It wasn’t as though each night, at some point before he finally managed to force sleep upon himself, he didn’t consider knocking on her door. But it was easier to resist the temptation when her bedchamber wasn’t right next to his, when he didn’t think he could smell the scent of gardenia—surely it was his imagination. Her fragrance couldn’t be slipping in beneath the door.
It had been a mistake to bring her here, to see how easily she fit in with his family, howrightshe looked sitting with his mum, how much he had enjoyed having her near, how much more special the moment when they’d given Robin their name had been because she’d shared it with him. Years from now when they looked back on it, when he recalled the tears in her eyes—
Except years from nowtheywouldn’t look back on it, they wouldn’t reminisce. It would be only him, alone. Because he couldn’t imagine another woman coming into his life whom he would want more than he wanted her—and if a person couldn’t have what he wanted most in the world, could he find happiness with less?
She didn’t want marriage. She wanted Society on her terms, notoriously, scandalously, infamously. Oh, certainly he could take her to Gillie’s balls and Fancy’s, but that wouldn’t be what she wanted most in the world. Could she find happiness with thelesshe could offer her?
Why was he even debating this? Because it stopped him from thinking of her lying in the bed—
The rap on the door was soft, but it caused everything within him to immediately freeze as though he was the prey realizing he was in danger of being spotted by the hunter. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, because surely she would not—
The rap came again, a trifle louder. Something had to be wrong. She wouldn’t seek him out otherwise. Perhaps her room had caught fire.
Rolling out of bed, he snatched up his trousers from the chair, drew them on, and buttoned them up. On bare feet, he padded to the door and quietly opened it only a sliver in case he’d misheard.
Only he hadn’t. She was standing there, appearing vulnerable, with Gillie’s nightdress billowing around her, the hem pooled at her feet. Her hair had been plaited and hung over her shoulder. He had a strong urge to unravel it.
“My fire has gone out,” she whispered.
“Ah.” Nothing on fire in her bedchamber, no fire at all. The disappointment that she’d come to him to help with a chore was stronger than he would have liked. “I’ll stir it back to life for you.”
“No.” She gripped his forearm, her fingers digging in with a firmness that signaled something akin to desperation. “I thought I could share yours.”
“My fire?” he asked cautiously. Did she mean to curl up in the chair before it?
“And your bed, beneath the blankets where it’s warm and snuggly.”
His heart thudded against his chest with such force he was surprised the residence didn’t shake. “Thea, I have the ability to resist temptation only so far. If you come in here, if you’re nestled in my bed, it’s going to result in a rather large mistake being made.”
“I know. But I’m not under your roof tonight, not yours to protect.”
He slammed his eyes closed. She understood the ramifications, what would happen between them, and still she was here. And if her fire had really gone out, why were shadows dancing around her room?
“As you’ve pointed out, something can always be learned from a mistake.”
He heard the uncertainty edging her voice, the embarrassment that she had come to his door and he might deny her entry. But doing so would be the equivalent of turning his back on her, causing her hurt, giving her doubts. He could no more do that than he could stop the sun from coming over the horizon.
Yes, it would be a mistake, but he could limit the damage done, ensure it wasn’t as great a blunder as it had the potential to be. He could leave her virginity intact, so she didn’t pay too high a price for coming to him, so she would still have the option of becoming a wife instead of a courtesan. He opened the door farther.
To avoid the possibility of tripping, she began gathering up the flannel. “Your sister is taller than I.” Was that nervousness that made her voice warble just a bit?
“She’s taller than most women.” Than some men.
