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That didn't sooth the pain that gripped her chest, Mary thought bitterly.
She took a deep breath and tried to think about what the right thing to do was. She should pretend it never happened. That was the right way to go. But she needed to clear the air with James and make sure they were on the same page. Surely he would understand.
She pushed her way through the study door. It would wait, though. It wasn't yet noon, and she needed distance from him, to re-center herself.
He offered, for better or worse, to cook her supper. He brought it on a platter like he had her breakfast, but he stayed outside her room and handed her the platter. Once it touched her hands, he turned on his heels and was gone.
It seemed oddly cold, and she tried to tell herself that it was just the same as it had been before. The excuse sounded hollow. If this had been how he treated her before, then that wasn't what she wanted from him. She had felt closer to him before their kiss, almost as if they were becoming friends.
But he was a man, she thought. She hadn't been able to forget it for a moment of the time that they spent together and it meant that whatever they were going to be, it wasn't going to be friends. Her greatest hope was to be his helper, now.
She walked back to the study, on the other side of the estate, when she had finished dining. She could hear him inside. He was pacing, and she could hear the turning of pa
ges and shuffling of papers.
For a moment, her heart seized up. She couldn't go inside and be rejected. She realized with a sick feeling, that was the most likely outcome, and she couldn't bear it.
Then she shook her head. It wasn't a matter of rejection. She wasn't asking him to become her husband, or even her lover. She wanted to know if she could help him with his work, and if he thought that she couldn't then that wasn't any sort of criticism.
She took a deep breath of air and held it while she knocked on the door. A moment later, James Poole opened the door and silently watched her. Her chest burned, but she couldn't move.
Suddenly, Mary realized, she felt like a rabbit who had been caught by a dog. The way he looked at her was like a predator. If she let out her breath, he would make his move and she would be finished. She let out an unsteady breath.
"Mr. Poole," she said, but then faltered and took a moment to regain her confidence. "Did you... need my assistance any further?"
"No, Miss Geis. If there's nothing else..."
He waited a moment for her to respond, and when she did not he stepped back and closed the door. Mary felt the gap between them opening, and she couldn't explain why but it struck fear into her heart like a thunderbolt. The door seemed to close in slow motion as she watched.
She could feel her eyes stinging, now that the burning in her chest had subsided. She tried to tell herself that it was the pain of having held her breath so long, and the papers in the study had kicked up dust that was getting into her eyes. She hardly knew him, he didn't have power over her, to upset her like this.
It sounded unconvincing even in her mind. She felt adrift, and she struggled to think of how she could be of some use. She had been alone for so long with her fears, and now that they were confirmed, she had found someone to save her, but he was gone. She was alone again.
She thought back to the journal in her room. Why hadn't she told James about it? She closed her eyes. She didn't know, but she hadn't. If she wanted to do anything, then perhaps that was the right thing to do.
She went back into her room and shut the door behind herself. In the dim light of her bedroom, it felt like she didn't need to be so strong, and it only made it harder to keep her composure.
Did he hate her? Why was he acting like this?
She laid down and stared at the ceiling and tried not to feel betrayed by his distant attitude. She did her best to ignore the hot tears that fell down her cheeks. When her father had died, she had been afraid.
The fear had made it easy to cage her feelings up and throw away the key. She'd been stronger, been able to deal with the grief by putting on a flippant mask. It had seemed like nothing could hurt her behind the mask she had put up. It was like a shield against the outside world.
He'd gotten through, somehow, and now everything was rushing through the hole that he'd left in her armor. She rolled over and cried until it felt as if there were no tears left in her. Then she took one of the pillows and held it close until she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
When morning came she rose less because she wanted to than because she couldn't get back to sleep no matter how she tried. When she stepped into the hall, she was wearing her dress and perfume like a suit of armor against James Poole and the hurt he'd caused her.
Then she heard it. From the main hall, there was the sound of movement. She was struck by terror and nearly went back into her room and turned the latch. She took a deep breath and pushed her fear down into her belly, where it couldn't hurt her. She needed to be brave, now, and face whatever it was.
James never made noise. It seemed as if he prowled the halls like a panther, and she only heard him when she stood just beside him. The noise couldn't be him, she thought. It would have to be someone else, and if he hadn't had a change of heart then it was someone unexpected.
She didn't know with any certainty what she expected. A burglar or assassin, she thought, though the idea sounded absurd as soon as she had thought it. Oliver, back from the war front to claim the house as his birthright, perhaps.
Whatever she had expected, it wasn't what she saw. James stood by the door, beside a stack of luggage. They were all packed, and he looked ready to go at any moment.
12
James
