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Honor shot bolt upright in the bed, her eyes wide with horror in the darkness.
Her letters!
She knew there had been something nagging at the back of her mind. She knew there had been an important issue she had meant to settle before she agreed to anything. But she had been side-tracked by his conniving.
She had forgotten to ask for her letters back. It didn’t seem fair that he was the only one to be able to redeem his embarrassment. Good God, what if he decided to read through them again? What if he re-read all that drivel she had written to the man of her dreams? As long as those words were held hostage over her head she would never have peace of mind.
Honor looked towards the firmly closed door that connected her room with his. A thin white line illuminating the bottom edge of the wood told her he was still awake.
A strange urgency took hold of her. She wasn’t going to wait until the morning to settle this. She would never get to sleep for worrying about it.
She scrambled out of bed, dislodging Monty who had been curled up on her feet, gently snoring, and headed for the beckoning slit of light, swerving off course when she caught sight of her shimmering reflection in the mirror. The pale satin sleep-shirt was buttoned to the collarbone and a perfectly respectable knee-length, but she was taking no chances. Adam wasn’t going to get an excuse to claim she was coming on to him, even as a joke.
Remembering something she had seen in the wardrobe when she had tucked away her motley collection of clothes, she opened it up and took out the old-fashioned, faded red cloth coat. Securing its voluminous folds around her with the matching tie belt, she grimaced as she checked again in the mirror. She looked as if she was wearing a carpet. Still, no one would dare to accusing her of vamping.
There was no answer to her tentative knock at his door so she knocked again a little louder.
‘Adam? Can I come in? I have to speak to you.’
She couldn’t hear a sound from the other side but somehow she was certain he was there, deliberately letting her stew.
She knocked sharply once more and called out warningly, ‘I’m coming in!’ before easing open the door, and cautiously peeping in.
The room was empty, the bedside light bouncing off the crisp white sheets that were invitingly turned down, the brass bed-rails gleaming with a polished sheen.
‘Adam?’
Honor ventured inside, checking behind the door but curbing the sudden impulse to lift the edge of the quilt and look under the bed. She put a hand across her mouth to stem a nervous giggle. It was like being a child again, bravely searching the bedroom every night for bogey-men before she took a flying leap into the safety of her bed. She had believed even then that it was better to face a fear than try to hide from it.
She looked around, noticing that the only photograph in the room was one of Sara. There seemed to be none anywhere in the house of his precious Mary—as if he couldn’t bear the reminder of what he had lost. He must have been very much in love with her. Perhaps he still was and that was why he had sought solace in letter-writing—the temptation to be unfaithful to his memories was less...
‘Sleep-walking, Honor?’
She gasped and spun around. Adam had silently entered from the hall. He wore a calf-length, black towelling robe with red piping along the lapels and edges of the belt, and was rubbing his wet hair with a bath-towel. She tried not to notice that the thicket of dark gold hair on his chair also needed drying, jewel-like sparkles of moisture sliding through the furry coils as he padded barefoot across the room.
‘I’ve decided I want to have my letters back too,’ she stated baldly, before he could jump to any arrogant conclusions about her presence in his bedroom.
He gave his head one final flurry and threw the towel across a stool, raking both hands carelessly through his damp hair as he turned to her. ‘Now?’
‘Well...yes...if they’re here—if you still have them, that is...’ She realised her floundering was providing him with ready-made excuses and quickly changed her tune. ‘Yes, now, please.’
‘Hmm...I wonder what the legal position on ownership of voluntary correspondence is? It’s probably a simple matter of possession....’
She folded her arms across the moth-eaten coat and glared at him. ‘I gave you yours when you asked.’
‘So you did.’ His lips quirked as he suddenly registered her eccentric attire but fortunately for his health he didn’t comment.
‘I’ll see if I can find them.’
‘You do that,’ said Honor sourly. His robe bore a Givenchy symbol, embroidered on the pocket. I’ll bet it was a gift, she thought, watching him open a drawer in the tall, antique bureau in the corner. A man who didn’t notice his socks were mismatched and used his fingers instead of a comb didn’t seem to be the type to bother with vanity bathroom-wear. On the other hand the robe suited him perfectly, she acknowledged ruefully, the black a perfect foil for his blond hair and tanned skin.
‘Here you are. Would you mind telling me what the urgency is?’
Honor picked up the bundle of envelopes he had tossed carelessly on to the bed. They were held together by a rubber band—scarcely romantic—but at least he’d kept them. Honor counted roughly and caught her breath when she realised what he was trying to do.
‘And the rest!’ she cried. ‘Come on, Adam, where are the last half-dozen I wrote? You know they’re the ones I’m talking about...’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Do you get the feeling we’ve played this scene before—with roles reversed?’
