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They sat together a long time,Cassandra’s weight warm and comforting against his side, until he realized she was falling asleep.
“Come on.” He shifted out from under her and she protested, bleary and tipsy. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I like it here,” she said. “It’s warm and you’re comfortable.”
“Your bed will be warm and comfortable too.”
He banked the fire and went to pick her up. She was young and trusting and a little broken too. She was trying so hard to hold her family together. Sweet little fool. It was impossible. He knew better than anyone that families fell apart and there was nothing to be done.
“You’re humoring me,” she said. “That’s what I do with Lucy when she’s drunk. I agree with everything that she says.”
“That’s very wise. You should agree with me every chance you get.”
He lifted her into his arms. She looped her hands around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder and tickled him with her hair. Her bosom pressed into his chest, her rounded hip against his belly. He had not been this close to a woman in months. He ignored his stupid body; she was upset, drunk, and his wife.
“One should never argue with a drunk person,” she said, as he carried her out of the study and up the stairs. “This is something I have learned.”
“I agree.”
“One must be agreeable. You’re not agreeable. You’re disagreeable.”
“No, I’m not. I’m lovely.”
She laughed, her chest moving against his. She wasn’t light, but she wasn’t heavy. He liked the feel of her in his arms. The way her body moved with laughter and the laughter moved into him. Carrying her, as he ought to have done from the start.
“You’re cantankerous.”
“I’m charming.”
“You’re ill-mannered.”
“I’m delightful.”
She laughed again. Soft, gentle laughter. It was nice to see her laughing, but he worried about the pain that she had put away. The pain that had exploded out of her today. It had bewildered him at first, but he understood it now. How lonely it must have been, in her family, the only one knowing the truth, smiling pleasantly through it all.
And he…Selfish didn’t even begin to cover it.
In her room, he lowered her onto her bed. Her eyes were big and dark in the light of the single candle, her brown hair wild against the pillow. He fingered the big bow of her bed jacket.
“Do you wear this thing to sleep in?”
“It’s warm and comfortable. Like you.”
He laughed despite himself, and helped her under the covers. She didn’t need help, but he did it anyway. And he didn’t need to lie down beside her, on top of the covers. Neither did he need to tangle his fingers in the silky tresses escaping from her bandeau. But he did those things too.
“What else do you need?” he asked. “Shall I fetch your nightcap?”
“You think my nightcap is silly.”
“I think it is adorable.”
He leaned over her, brushed his knuckles over her petal-soft cheek, and willed himself to get up. This was becoming torture. He had to pull away. He could not move.
“You never even kissed me,” she said.
Leave the bed now, he yelled at himself.Get out now. But for once he was too slow.
