She turned the lock and opened the door, surprised to find him standing there hastily dressed in only trousers and shirt-sleeves—open at the neck. At the sight, her mouth went dry and the fear of moments before transformed into an emotion of a far different kind.
———
Frederick had been lying awake in bed, unable to sleep, when he’d heard a voice in the corridor. How glad he was now that he’d come out to see what the matter was. He stood there, aware of his partial state of dress but at the momentnot caring. He would not rest until he assured himself Miss Lane was well.
Relief washed over him as Rebecca appeared in the doorway. Light from a nearby wall sconce illuminated her pale face, and her eyes shone large and luminous.
“Are you all right?” he asked again, not sure if she had heard his question.
“I am now, thanks to you,” she softly replied, pulling her dressing gown more closely around her slender frame.
In the warm apricot glow of the candle, she looked sweet and beautiful and vulnerable, and he wanted very much to protect her. She glanced down shyly and something tugged in his chest, drawing him closer. The urge to touch her overpowered his self-control. A strand of hair fell across her face, and he slowly reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Then he cradled the side of her face with one hand and gently lifted until her eyes met his.
“Did he frighten you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You are safe.” His thumb caressed her chin. What he wouldn’t give to lean down and kiss her. At the notion, his heart banged against his ribs.
As if reading his thoughts, she breathed, “Frederick...”
His name said in that husky whisper quickened his desire to take her into his arms. His gaze dropped to her lips and the space between them dwindled.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Thomas appeared from around the corner, humming a tune as he came.
Dash it.Frederick blinked and stepped reluctantly away. “If you need me, send for me directly.”
“I shall,” she said. “Thank you again for ... dispatching him. Good night.”
He nodded. “Sleep well, Miss Lane.” And with a slight bow, he turned and retreated to his own cold and lonely room.
There, he closed and latched the door with a sigh. Sleep would be difficult to achieve, he guessed, if his racing heart had anything to say about it.
11
Rebecca had planned to wait up until John returned and tell him about Mr. Oliver, but the chill of the room had forced her back under the blankets. As she lay there, the sweet tension of her encounter with Sir Frederick slowly dissipated and her eyelids grew heavy, but John still had not returned. Eventually, she fell back to sleep.
At some point in the night, Rebecca awoke to the sound of snoring. She glanced over and, by the faint glow of the moon, saw John slouched in the chair, leg over its arm, blanket under his chin, fast asleep. He looked like a sweet little boy ... although the manly rattling snore ruined that image. Either way, she had not the heart to wake him and decided she would wait until morning to tell him about Ambrose Oliver’s visit.
When she next awoke, dawn was just beginning to seep through the window. By its dim light, she looked over at the chair but found it empty, save a tossed-aside blanket.
Had John gone out to the water closet again? Or perhaps he’d simply wanted to give her privacy to dress. At the thought, she rose and washed her face in cold water from the pitcher,wishing Mary or one of the other maids would deliver warm water.
Eventually, she rang the bell pull to summon a chambermaid to help her dress.
No one came.
Odd.
It was early, but not unreasonably so.
Rebecca dressed herself as best she could and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to cover a few unfastened buttons at the back of her frock.
She let herself from her room, hoping to find Mary or another maid coming up from the kitchen. Miss Joly, she knew, would be busy dressing Lady Fitzhoward.
She tiptoed down the night stair and through the cloisters, where the chill March air nipped at her. She shivered and pulled the shawl more tightly around herself.
Ahead of her, she saw a man slip through the door into the main hall. John? She wasn’t sure but hurried her pace and followed, eager for the warmth of the hall’s large fire.
