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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Clara glided into the dining room with James’s hand warm on her waist, nothing short of giddy about the prospect of a proper breakfast together.
She wasn’t certain how long the reprieve from shame would last, but for now, she wouldn’t agonize over what his cook thought of preparing breakfast for two, or whether her servants were aghast she was staying.
Even her fretful maid seemed to be softening on her adventure. Last night, Clara had been unable to suppress her enthusiasm about reuniting with James.
As Molly pinned her hair and she sat beaming, eventually Molly herself smiled. “He’s made you happy, hasn’t he, my lady?”
Clara turned to James now, enjoying the simple sight of him surveying the generous dishes on the breakfast sideboard. He made a wolfish sound that she was accustomed to hearing in bed. They accepted empty plates from a maid, and James thanked her before signaling her dismissal.
“I’m almost envious of the way your eyes are devouring those sausages,” Clara teased once they were alone. “Usually, that’s the expression I see when we’re upstairs.”
He chuckled. “You’ll see it again, lass, once I’ve been properly fed.” But his gaze was on her now instead of the buffet, and he set the plates down before his hands sought her hips, pulling her close. “I neglected you last night, I know.”
She cupped his face. He still had circles under his eyes, but not the deep lines of exhaustion and distress that she’d seen yesterday. “I disagree. You held me all night long, James, and that’s precisely what I needed.”
His eyes closed as he nodded, and she felt the weight of his head as he trusted her to hold him.
He hadn’t spoken of what he’d been through—in truth, they’d exchanged few words since she arrived twelve hours ago—but his suffering was plain.
James covered her hands with his. “Your nearness is what I’ve needed.” He opened his eyes, clouded again. “You’re keeping the demons at bay.”
The mention of demons was so surprising, absurd almost, that she nearly laughed, but he spoke with such sincerity, such belief in her, that she couldn’t. “Demons?”
“The accusations about the fire.” His low voice almost choked out the words. “I wasn’t behind it.”
“I know,” she breathed. “Of course you weren’t.”
His hands tightened over hers, and he swallowed. Her words hadn’t reassured him; his eyes were only more tortured.
“What is it, James?”
“All the horrors spread in the newspaper about me. What if they’re not wrong?”
She blinked. “You’re not guilty of it.”
“The fire, no. But…”
Her thumb stroked his cheek. “What, James?”
“What if they’re right about me, anyway?”
She shook her head. “They’renot.That coward Mr. White has already apparently disappeared, leaving his firm and employees to pay for his mismanagement and slander. No one believes him, James.”
“Some were ready to,” he whispered brokenly, his gaze searching.
“Not I, James. Not even my brother. Your employees, I can’t imagine they did. I can’t imagine anyone who knows you was wondering.”
A near sob escaped his throat, but when he spoke, it was with confidence, “Reverend Robertson, he would have believed it.”
“Oh, James. I didn’t know the man, but I hope that’s not true.”
“At St. Andrews, when he found me in the red gown, he told me that he should have known. That in his heart, he’d always known I was open to the influence of demons. Like his son who died of the fever. The work of Satan and demons.”
“What?! James, that’s nonsense. Truly nonsense. I’m sorry for his son, and for what he said to you! For him, even, if that’s what he believed. He must have been terrified if that’s how he lived.”
“The reverend? Terrified?”
