Page 81 of A Lady in Name

She made a gesture which might have been denial, but she did not speak. He was disappointed, realising he had secretly hoped for a refutation, that she would tell him she was wildly happy and nothing was of importance save her affection for him.

He foresaw there was only one way to reconcile the matter. Striving for the coolness of manner which had served him well these many years, he forced a smile. “I can see that nothing will do for you but to confront Mr Waley in person. We will head for Upledon in the morning.”

“Thank you, Stefan.”

The relief in her eyes should have rewarded him, but he felt only the more distanced. He gestured to her plate. “Eat now, and we will talk only of indifferent things tonight.”

In fact they talked little, and Stefan felt constraint mounting between them. He saw a gulf opening up and knew not how to seek to cross it. The discomfort of this was surpassed only by a gnawing fear that he had deceived himself. Only once had Lucy admitted that she returned his regard. He had yet to see in her conduct towards him any evidence that this was true.

There was no point in turning again, Lucy knew. The covers were hopelessly disrupted and the only way she might derive any comfort was by remaking the bed altogether. But the knowledge did not prevent her from tossing yet again, as if she might be better settled from the other side.

Had she been able to weep, she thought sleep might have come, for it would have afforded a measure of relief. But her eyes were obstinately dry, although her heart was full of sorrow.

She had wounded Stefan deeply. Lucy had seen it in his eyes. She loved him. Yet she could not generate within herself the happiness he wanted her to feel. Why was she not happy? She had been granted more reason, far more, than she’d ever hoped to have. All the causes that grieved her had been eliminated at a stroke. Yes, she grieved for Papa, and so she would for some little time. But that feeling had not stopped her from experiencing pleasure in the moment, in the little triumphs of the day, such as they were. Then why could she not discard this well of despair that now threatened her happiness in Stefan’s deep affections?

Guilt racked her and she turned yet again in the bed. The image of his features haunted her, all the light dissipating from within his eyes. Like a kaleidoscope, the many facets of his moods threw images across her mind. Remembrances: of wry humour and sudden bursts of mirth; of the steely glint of ice with the autocratic voice; of softenings to affection; and of that hateful time when he had all but annihilated her when she spoke of her preference for death.

It was unendurable. At the back of her mind floated the realisation Stefan had loved her even then, but Lucy was already throwing off the unravelled covers. Getting up out of the bed, she groped for the black shawl she kept by for the cold of night and flung it about her shoulders.

The night was dim, but her eyes were well accustomed from staring into the darkness for hours. Lucy padded barefoot across to the door and carefully opened it. The inn was quiet, but for the inevitable creaks and breathings of darkness.

Stefan’s room was across the narrow passageway. Lucy crept to his door and stealthily turned the handle. Her pulse began a rhythmic tattoo, beating in her throat. In the recesses of her mind dwelled a horrid fear that he would not welcome her. Be angry, even.

She took a painful breath and pushed the door gently inwards a little way, enough to slip soundlessly through.

The curtains round the bed were not drawn and the drapes at the window were open, letting in a stray beam of moonlight that just caught Stefan’s hand where it lay upon the coverlet.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. Holding to the door as if her life depended on it, she began carefully to close it. At the last instant, her fingers slipped. The door escaped from her grasp and shut to with a click that sounded like a pistol shot in the dead quiet of the night.

Lucy froze, staring at the bed, her heart jumping. A shadow shifted and she saw the outline of Stefan’s head rising, his face a pale gleam of whiteness in the gloom.

“Lucy?”

It came to her she was standing just behind the hazy square made by the moonlight on the floor and must be near visible to him. Without thinking, she stepped into the light, feeling it hit her, although her eyes were fixed upon the shadow in the bed. Her tongue did not wait for her command.

“I could not sleep.”

In the pause, Lucy became aware of the thudding of her heart within her breast. Somewhere on the edges of her consciousness she knew she was about to cross an invisible line towards the irrevocable.

Without a word, Stefan took hold of the covers and opened them to expose an empty space beside him.

Lucy’s hesitation lasted but seconds. Then she scurried to the bed and scrambled in. The covers closed over her and next moment she had been dragged close into Stefan’s warm embrace.

For several moments, Stefan kept her wrapped against his length, holding her captive while a riot of surmises rolled around his mind. Had he distressed her with his fumbling complaints? He was an oaf and a fool. Why could he not have kept his mouth shut? His own sleep had been fitful, interrupted with remembrance and futile self-blame in between snatches where he dozed. When all he wanted was Lucy’s happiness, he had only added to her burdens.

It was inexpressibly heart-warming that she had come to him. But as the scent and feel of her invaded his senses, he began to realise his danger. The last thing he must do was to break her trust by seducing her.

He felt Lucy nestle, making herself more comfortable. Stefan could feel her soft breath against his neck as she moved her head to rest upon his arm.

“I love you, Stefan, so very much.”

The murmur reached him through a haze, but his heart contracted nevertheless and his arm about her briefly tightened. “That is good to hear,” he whispered.

A sleepy chuckle answered him. “Then I shall make a habit of saying it.”

“Even better,” he said, and turned his head to rest his lips against her hair.

Lucy’s arm stole about his chest and her mouth grazed the exposed skin at his neck. Stefan drew in a silent breath and held it, willing the ache in his loins to subside.