Then, the baby made a small, unhappy sound from the cradle. Frances startled. Andrew stopped at once. The spell broke so suddenly that Frances felt almost cold without it. She stepped back, more quickly than she intended, and pressed one hand to her waist, where his fingers had been only a moment before.
“I should see–”
“She is asleep,” Andrew said, though his voice was rough.
Frances looked toward the cradle. The baby had turned her head and made another soft, snuffling noise, but she had not woken.
“Yes,” Frances murmured. “Of course.”
Her face felt warm. She hoped the room was dim enough to conceal it. Andrew cleared his throat and stepped away from her in a movement that was formal enough to wound and protect them both.
“You should rest,” he urged.
“So should you.”
“I will stay with her.”
Frances turned back to him. “You cannot remain awake all night.”
“I can.”
“That was not an invitation to boast.”
“It was a statement of fact.”
She almost smiled, but the emotion of the last few minutes still trembled too close to the surface. “I can stay, too.”
“You are exhausted.”
“I am not.”
He gave her a look.
Frances straightened. “Iama little tired.”
“You nearly fell asleep in that chair ten minutes ago.”
“That was contemplation.”
“It was not.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then found she had not the strength. Her limbs had grown heavy. Her eyes burned from the strain of the evening, and now that fear had loosened its grip, weariness pressed in from every side.
Still, she looked toward the baby. “I do not want to leave her.”
Andrew’s face softened, though only barely. “Then don’t.”
Frances glanced at him.
“Rest a moment. I will wake you if she stirs.”
“I am not going to sleep.”
“Of course not.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no bite in it. “You are very smug for a man who lost all command over a blanket earlier.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Pick your battles, Frances.”
