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Another short nightie, expensive, this one green satin. Pretty lace.
“Cuddle in bed with me?” I requested. “I’m shivering and you have to be cold too.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
Moving carefully, like I was made of china, she shifted with me, and awkwardly, because I was still holding the cloth to my head, we both got under the covers, backs to the headboard, bedclothes pulled up high.
She wrapped an arm around me and leaned her weight into me, like she wanted to share her heat.
“There. Let’s get you warm. You’re freezing,” she said.
She rubbed my arm, fast, up and down.
I’d had a dream. I was marrying David.
No, Thomas.
And then something touched my cheek.
But did it?
I looked to the windows.
All the curtains were closed.
All of them.
Closed.
Someone was definitely in here.
A tremble bolted through me.
“I don’t like this,” Portia said in a small voice. “You’re never like this. You’re scaring me.”
I dropped the cloth and put my arm around her too.
“We’re okay. We’re safe.”
“It’s supposed to be me saying that.” She gazed at my temple. “It doesn’t look bad. You need some plasters. I’d get some, but I have no clue where they are.”
“It can wait.”
“What on earth?”
Both Portia and I started and looked to the door.
Jane in her cashmere dressing gown again, this time with Richard, who was wearing full pajamas.
He took one look at me, his face turned to stone, then he spun on his foot and marched out.
He barely cleared the door before he started jogging down the hall, bellowing, “Stevenson!”
Jane came to the bed.
“My word,” she whispered.
“We need a first aid kit,” Portia said.
