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‘Sometimes, Henri, you have to let other people take care of you. Allow me to keep you safe.’
Safe. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone offered to look after her; even Edmund had needed her to look after him. She watched how the fire highlighted the planes of his face and the darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow her up. He was going to kiss her again. Her entire being quivered with anticipation.
Suddenly the clocks began whirling and chiming, breaking the spell and calling her back to reality.
‘I think I’m overtired,’ she whispered, clutching the blanket to her chest. ‘Please allow me to stagger. You’ve done enough. I’ve inconvenienced you for far too long today.’
‘I will call the footmen. They can make a chair to carry you up. Pleasant dreams.’ He turned on his heel and left the room.
Henri stared after him and the loneliness inside her ached worse than before.
* * *
The dreams came thick and fast, a result of the laudanum Sophie had insisted Henri take when she came to bid Henri goodnight.
Henri struggled to sit up, sweat-drenched and heart pounding.
In her dream, Edmund watched her with a thoughtful expression and then whispered goodbye before fading to nothingness. She had screamed for him to return, but instead, in a swirl of mist, Robert Montemorcy had appeared, taking her in his arms and kissing her. His lips explored hers, taking their time, slowly but thoroughly, sliding over hers and delving deep. The searing intensity jolted her awake. Edmund had never kissed her in that possessive manner. Edmund’s kisses had always been wistful and sweet.
In the grey dawn light, Henri’s fingers explored her aching mouth. She struggled to control her racing heartbeat. A large part of her wanted to sink back into the dream, but the more sensible part of her told her to stay awake and to try to think about things.
As she reached for the lucifer matches, her hand knocked the candlestick, sending it crashing to the floor.
‘Are you all right, Henri? Do you need assistance?’ Robert’s voice echoed throughout the room.
Henri sharply drew in her breath. She had hoped that Sophie or one of the servants would be sitting up, but her bad luck continued to hold. He would have sat up, wouldn’t he? She pressed her fingers against her temples and bid the traitorous thoughts to be gone. His voice was a laudanum-induced hallucination.
‘Lady Thorndike? Answer me.’
‘I’m all right,’ she called out and hoped it would satisfy him. The thought of encountering him when dressed in a borrowed nightdress with her hair about her shoulders and soon after her explicit dream made everything worse. ‘Truly, I’m fine.’
‘You sound far from fine. You sound in pain. Martyrdom is an unattractive quality.’ He came into the small invalid’s bedchamber, carrying a candle. His shirt was undone and the golden light of the candle highlighted the shadowy hollow of his throat. The shirt moulded to his chest, leaving little to the imagination.
Against all reason, Robert was here, looking after her instead of delegating the task to a servant. And in a state of semi-undress, carrying the single source of light, a light that highlighted his masculinity, demonstrating how deficient her imagination truly was.
Without saying a word he reached down and retrieved the errant candlestick, placing it on the wicker chair beside her bed.
‘Sorry I woke you. My dreams were…very vivid.’ Her hand played with the ribbons of her nightdress. ‘Normally, that is to say…I rarely remember any of my dreams. I must have lashed out in my sleep. A nightmare.’
She stared at him and dared him to say differently. Far better that he think it a night terror rather than some mad longing to be kissed by him.
‘The laudanum.’ He used his candle to relight the one beside her bed, bathing the room in a soft light that did nothing to lessen the feeling of intimacy. ‘It gives strange dreams. I avoid it except when strictly necessary.’
‘You must be right. It can do strange things.’ Henri pulled the blanket higher until it reached her chin. ‘I regret disturbing your sleep.’
‘Someone needed to watch over you.’
‘I would’ve thought one of the servants. Miss Ravel’s maid?’
His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘My mother always insisted it needed to be a family member who watched anyone who had laudanum or was seriously ill. Everyone had to take their turn, even my father. He complained, but he did it.’
‘She didn’t trust the servants.’ Henri tried to concentrate on his words rather than on his nearness. She could almost reach out and touch the hollow in his throat. Her fingers tightened about the blanket. His looking after her had nothing to do with Miss Ravel and everything to do with his upbringing. It was something he’d do for anyone under his care.
