I drew back too. Had I overstepped? Certainly, we were in the library in the dead of night alone, but had he expected me to ignore his strangled cries?
“Estelle? What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t see his expression well. Was he angry? Embarrassed? Merely surprised?
I swallowed. “Waking you from your nightmare.”
His sigh was heavy. “That was you? I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“Yes?”
He shook his head, pulling himself into a sitting position. He wore his trousers and shirt partially tucked in but no waistcoat or boots. “I hope I did not frighten you.”
“Then you hoped wrong.” I stood and pulled my wrapper tighter. “Why are you sleeping in the library?”
“Reading sometimes helps me fall asleep.”
I suppose that was reason enough. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I, uh . . .”
“When you fell off your horse?” I supplied.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “You could say that.” He frowned at me. “I did not wake you from all the way upstairs?”
“No, I was on the way to the kitchen.”
His chuckle was strained. “For some bread?”
His words pulled a smile from me. “If I could find some.”
He stood and I followed suit. “If you do not mind some company, I could use some bread too. I won’t be able to sleep again for a while, and the kitchen is safer for us than the library if someone should happen upon us.”
His wisdom got my feet moving. A few minutes later, we were back in the close confines of the larder—reminiscent of our first encounter here together.
“Remember—” we both started at the same time.
I laughed, and he shook his head with a wry grin.
“You must have thought me ridiculous hiding in the cupboard with my foot stuck in a mop bucket,” I said.
“You’re wrong,” he answered. “I thought you ridiculous for having bread hanging out of your mouth.”
I nudged him with my elbow, and we both laughed. The tension from the library was easing, and I was grateful. Whatever he had dreamed about must have been terrible.
Atlas cleared his throat. “You must have thought me mad, holding a knife to your throat.”
I shrugged. “I thought it was a valid response, considering you did not know who was hiding.”
Atlas opened the bread box and pulled out a loaf. “I admit, you were more than terrifying. Those deep-brown eyes as dark as molasses and that sleek raven hair.” His eyes traced my eyes and hair and every inch of my face, burning my skin with his warm gaze. It seemed to take real effort to pull his attention back to the bread. He quickly sliced two pieces and stowed the remaining loaf away again as he said, “I suppose terrifying isn’t the word. Mesmerizing might be better.” He shifted to the side to face me, his hip resting on the counter as if waiting for my response.
I was not used to having a man flirt with me, let alone one as handsome as Atlas. I had no witty, ready response. “Was I mesmerizing enough to convince you to try jam on your bread tonight?”
He shook his head. “How could you be so perfect and not like bread and cheese together?”
Perfect? That word always reminded me of my mother and her constant urging to be better. My efforts had only seemed to widen the chasm instead of narrow it. I reached to straighten my gloves but remembered I was not wearing them. “I’m not perfect,” I said.
His eyes caught the awkward movement of my hands, and a small frown hovered over his mouth. “You are right. Not until you can learn to love the right foods together. How about a deal? Tonight, I eat bread and jam and you eat bread and cheese, and we keep an open mind about the combination.”
