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I’ll do well to remember that. But the pit that tunneled within her stomach told her such a task would be impossible.
Eliza’s eyes shot open and she gripped the fabric at her chest. She choked on her breath and worked to calm her erratic pulse. Dreadful nightmare. The cold air was silent, only the sound of Kitty’s soft breathing whispered through the room—a drastic contrast to the terrible screams that still wailed in her head. Memories from long ago lived fresh in her mind like an ever-blooming bush, ready to share the tragedies of the past whether she wanted them or not. The cold, the fear—all so real, made the hairs on her arms shoot up. If only she had done for Peter what was best. If only she had known what to do.
Eliza placed her palm over her face and shook her head. It had been over a year since her last bout with such dreams, and here they were again to haunt her. Father’s words tried to squeeze past the dominating thoughts. He’d said it wasn’t her fault, that God had taken Peter because it was his time.
Assailed by grief, Eliza pushed back the covers as carefully as she could. She had to get out of bed. She had to get a change of scenery and clear her mind of the deafening cries in her head. Using careful movements, she pulled her legs from under the covers and rested her feet on the frigid hardwood floors. She tugged on a pair of stockings to help shield her toes from the cold, but the thin fabric did little to help warm her. It may be only October, but the temperatures at night bit like January. Gritting her teeth, she pushed off the bed and wrapped the heavy brown shawl around her shivering shoulders.
Every step sent a stab of pain through her belly, and yet the movements brought breath to her limbs in a way she hadn’t experienced in weeks. The stairs were hard and noisy. She winced with every creaking telltale step, praying that her jaunt downstairs would go undetected.
Once at her destination, her lips stretched into a wide, mischievous grin. She’d made it, and already the journey down the stairs had been the best medicine she’d received in days. The logs in the fireplace glowed, though no flames ascended. If she were to stay down here for any length of time, the fire would need to be built again, to usher away the creeping chill. Keeping one hand on the rocky fireplace to steady herself, she gazed across the room. The central fireplace dominated the large front area, framed by a beautiful wood mantel. Two inviting chairs rested in front of the fire, and a small table nestled between them. A simple patterned carpet dressed the smooth wood floor. There was little in the way of decoration. The only items were two long muskets mounted above the mantel and the candlesticks and books that relaxed on the lowboy near the wall next to the kitchen.
This home was indeed pleasant, comforting, but it lacked a woman’s touch. If this were her home . . .
Foolish girl! This would never be hers. Why would it? She had a home in Boston—a home she loved and missed. Didn’t she?
The air that clouded around her pinched at her ears and toes. She looked at the fire then at the stack of logs resting a few feet away. After the short rest, Eliza gathered her strength. She would be a fool to try to lift anything at all, let alone a heavy piece of wood. But if she managed, the fire would be just big enough to ease away the shivers. Wary of going too fast, she stepped forward and reached for the stack.
“What are you doing?”
Eliza yelped and turned so abruptly at the sound of Thomas’s voice that she lost her footing. She flayed her arms behind her to catch her fall. Instead of hard ground, two muscular arms caught below her shoulders.
She scrunched her face and bit her cheek to fight away the pain that ripped through her abdomen.
With a tender hold, Thomas scooped her up and without a word carried her to the nearest chair, then set her down as if she weighed no more than a pillow.
She dare not look at him, though she could feel his gaze burning into the top of her hair. The pain in her side was nothing to the pain her pride had suffered.
“Really, Eliza. Where is your reason?” His tone of rebuke was painted with concern.
Eliza built up her bravery and lifted her l
ashes. Her lungs froze and she held her teeth together to keep her chin from dropping. Whatever pain she experienced diminished to a low throbbing at the sight before her.
Thomas’s dark hair fell just above his shoulders, accentuating the perfect cut of his jaw and the strength of his shoulders. The light blue banyan he wore remained open above the waist revealing a white nightshirt and his solid chest beneath.
She dipped her head again, the glare in his eyes admitting to his frustration.
He walked over to the other chair, and instead of sitting like she expected, he pulled it over the floor, until it was only a few inches from hers. He put three more logs on the fire and stoked it. Then he sat. And stared at her.
Heavens! She froze. What should she do? What should she say? The divine fluttering sensations that Thomas stirred within her had a commanding presence, making them impossible to ignore. He was impossible to ignore. Being alone in such circumstances was highly improper. She could only hope Kitty would remain sleeping to avoid being caught in such a situation. Then again, perhaps Kitty’s presence would make it easier to get up and leave.
Eliza swallowed the bulging nerves that rose in her throat and did her best to act normal. “I’m sorry. I guess I have lost my reason of late.” She paused. “I just needed a change of scenery.”
Thomas tilted his head and his eyebrows folded. “Are you alright? What are you doing down here at this time of night?”
The tenderness in his eyes reached out to caress her, releasing innumerable butterflies within her belly, which soon consumed her entire body. How did he do that? How did he make her feel this marvelous? It only made it more difficult to remember she couldn’t stay, to remember that this arrangement was a burden to him. Thomas had made that clear with how displeased he was at the idea of being “married”.
A terrible loneliness killed the flutters in her chest. She looked into the fire and without warning, the words poured from her.
“I was dreaming about my brother again.” She stopped, emotions still skidding down the slippery ravine of her memory.
“You mean Peter?” Thomas asked.
Eliza jolted. “How do you know about him?”
He smiled and leaned toward the fire, poking it with a stick. The flames rose higher and sparks smacked the air. He sat back in his chair while the lines around his eyes deepened as he offered a gentle smile. “I heard you calling for him when you were . . . recovering. I asked Kitty about it. All she told me was that Peter was the middle child, and had died when you all were still young. She said you took it very hard.”
Eliza searched his caring face, suddenly overcome with the need to be folded in his embrace and forget all her fears and self-doubt. She shivered and told herself it was more from cold than from anything else. The floor-length nightgown did little to protect from the elements. As if he knew her thoughts, Thomas shot up and fetched a blanket from a small chest at the corner of the fireplace. He knelt in front of her and gently covered her frigid legs. He stalled, gripping the arms of the chair and his gaze traced her face as if she were some exquisite flower. Eliza’s muscles tightened and she sucked in a quick breath.
