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But this is not Papa, and as it was with my father, no man’s protection is reliable. This feeling of safety was an illusion. And yet it felt so good to lean against his strength, even if only for a moment. His tenderness was like a drug. Just a little longer… To be handled with such care, to be looked at as though she were something precious, fragile, and beautiful.
The tempo of his heartbeat beneath her ear increased, and his arms tightened around her. A heady thrill washed over her. What would it be like to belong to him? To be safe and sheltered in his arms forever, able to indulge her desire without dread or humiliation? To not have to be strong all the time? Longing filled her, so potent it made her want to melt into him, tilt her face up, and—
No! Will—Woodson—no, Danbury!—would be gone when this was finished, and then where would she be? Alone. Again. And it would be so much worse if she allowed herself to love him. They were attracted to each other, at least for now. And he admired her, perhaps even felt fondness for her. But he wouldn’t love her back. Not knowing what she’d been. Not after he saw…
Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed—a feeble, halfhearted effort—yet he gave way at once. Heat lingered in the space between them. “Again, I must ask you to forgive my outburst,” she said, dashing away her tears. “I—”
“There is naught to forgive. Your life is threatened, and your friend has just died.” His voice was like rough-hewn gravel. “In truth, I would be worried if you did not show some feeling. The hour grows late. You should try to take what rest you can.”
“You cannot expect me to sleep after such news,” she said, wiping away more tears. “I can take the first watch tonight and let someone else rest a few more hours.”
“The first watch is mine,” he reminded her. “I’ll stand vigil with you.” When she attempted to protest, he overrode her. “I know just how much sleep you had last night—you’re tired.”
“As are you,” she rebutted. “You were awake just as long.”
“Then we’ll keep each other awake.”
He hadn’t meant it as a double entendre, but Jacqueline nevertheless had to quash the pang of lust that stabbed down through her. Alone with him in the dark, the temptation would be harder to resist, but resist it she would. “Very well, if you insist. But if you fall asleep, I will not awaken you until we are relieved.”
A smile flashed across his face, softening the worry lines bracketing his mouth. “Fair enough, as long as you agree to the same terms.”
The very idea of falling asleep in the same room as him almost made her laugh in spite of her grief. “It’s decided, then. Go tell Mrs. Sloane, and then meet me upstairs in the salon.”
Jacqueline watched him walk away, her gaze lingering on his long, lean form. Stiffening her spine, she tore her eyes away and climbed the stairs.
The salon’s window, like the children’s common rooms, faced the street in front of the school. It was an ideal location, almost directly across from the lamppost. It was also almost directly beneath Sally’s room on the floor above.
Jacqueline doubted anyone was there now after having been spotted by Mr. Bartleby, but she nevertheless entered the salon with caution, ensuring first with a quick glance that the curtains were drawn and all was dark.
Enough light spilled through the doorway from the lamp in the hall to guide her past the chairs, couches, and small tables placed throughout the room. It was a pretty enough place to receive visitors when necessary, but its main function was as a training room.
Here, girls in their final year of study practiced serving tea and refreshments and learned the art of being unobtrusive—servants were expected to be ever-present but never noticed unless called upon. Every flat surface was cluttered with breakables, though there was nothing of any real value. Thus, if a student wasn’t careful and broke something, it was no great loss—but it was an unforgettable lesson. Only a careless maid bumped into tables and shattered her employer’s pretties.
All the girls looked forward to being brought here. It was the most richly decorated room in the school, an example—albeit a mere shadow—of what they could expect to see on a daily basis once employed. It was also a mark of their teachers’ confidence in them to be allowed in. Only those accomplished in the classroom were let in to practice the finer points of service that would earn them a prized position in a wealthy household.
If things didn’t turn out well, this lovely room would never see another young lady practice pouring tea again. It would be converted into a sick ward for a hospital or communal workroom for an orphanage.
“See anything?” whispered Will from the doorway.
She answered without turning. “I’ve not yet looked.” Once he joined her, she ventured a peek. “I see nothing.”
“Yet,” he replied, finding a chair and bringing it over for her.
Accepting it with gratitude, she watched his silhouette as he fetched another for himself. “You think he will show again?”
“I think his mistress will be wanting to know your reaction to her message,” he breathed.
Cold fury settled in her heart. “I would love to show her in person.”
A chuckle sounded in the dark beside her. “Something tells me you’d shoot the woman as soon as look at her.”
“Without hesitation. All this time, I thought her gone from England. To learn otherwise is a shock. To discover she knows my whereabouts…”
“She’ll never touch you,” he said, a grim promise in his voice.
Her already-weakened defenses crumbled a little more. Fighting tears, she tried to concentrate on watching the street. A flash of light just outside the glow cast by the lamppost caught her attention. Shaking her head, she looked again, wondering if it had been a trick of her tired eyes. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. Moments later, she saw another flash followed by a long pause and then three more in rapid succession.
“Did you see that?” whispered Will.
