Gabriel strode across the floor, his steps light. Carefully, he deposited her at the edge of the small bed, and she reached out to stroke Matthew’s tousled hair away from his forehead.
In his sleep he stirred. “Mama?” he said, his voice slurred and groggy.
“Yes, it’s Mama. I’m sorry to wake you. I forgot to say good night.”
He gave a huge yawn, rolling onto his side. “’Night, Mama,” he said. He turned his face into his pillow and fell back into sleep immediately.
“Good night, darling,” she said. “I love you.” She felt a little catch in her breathing, a lump of emotion closing her throat.
“Better?” Gabriel’s voice was barely a whisper, carefully contrived to keep from disturbing their sleeping son.
She nodded, swallowing until her throat was clear enough to speak. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you, I—I just had to see him.” Now it seemed so silly, so absurd to voice aloud.
“It’s quite all right.” As if he knew her knees were still as wobbly as a bowl of blancmange, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her once more. “You’re his mother. Of course you’d want to see for yourself.” The door of the nursery closed behind them and she heard the soft click of the latch catching. The hallway was oppressively dark—no windows to admit the moonlight.
“I don’t want to leave him.” The words had slipped out, and she flinched, wishing she could take them back. But it was an oblique statement; he didn’t know she was leaving. He couldn’t possibly suspect that she would mean anything beyond leaving Matthew sleeping in the nursery.
“I know,” he said. “And he’s right here, Claire, any time you wish to see him. But he needs his sleep. As do you.” Somehow he had effortlessly found his room in the dark and slipped silently through the door.
“I don’t think I could sleep anymore,” she said, but she stifled a yawn in her palm, rendering the protest pointless.
He skirted a chair at the side of the bed, and then her bottom touched the mattress, and she realized that in a bed like this, she could sleep for a hundred years or more. Her head hit the pillows, the downy softness cradling her like a dream.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured, but he was already settling into the chair, drawing the covers up around her.
Warm fingers brushed the stray strands that had escaped her plait away from her face. “It seems the least I could do,” he said, “since you’ve sat by my bedside often enough. I promise I won’t let you have any more nightmares.”
Thatwas a promise he could not keep, but she faded into sleep before she could complain of it. And for once, it was dreamless and peaceful.
∞∞∞
Claire did not wake again until well past sunrise, and after Matthew had been brought in to breakfast with her—scattering an impressive array of scone crumbs across the bed in the process—Gabriel excused himself to catch a few much-needed hours of sleep in a spare bedroom. The bed was not quite as comfortable as his own, perhaps, but after so many hours awake and holding vigil lest Claire have another nightmare or wake in pain, he did not find himself terribly particular.
It was late afternoon before he woke again, and he summoned his valet to fetch him a fresh set of clothing and see about a hot bath and a shave. By the time he was confident he neither looked like a ruffian nor smelled like a stable hand and could therefore make an appearance downstairs for a late afternoon tea, there came a tap at the door of his temporary abode.
“Enter,” he called as he scraped his still-damp hair away from his forehead, where it tended to fall into his eyes.
Sukey timidly poked her head into the room, shading her eyes as if she were uncertain of his state of dress, or lack thereof. “Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Hotchkiss is in a right state.”
“Is she?” His interest piqued, he turned toward the door. “What about?”
“She wants to get up, sir. Says she’s sick of staying in bed. She’s demanded her clothes—or her wrapper, at least.”
Ofcourseshe would be difficult. He didn’t know why he’d expected any different. “Don’t you dare give them to her,” he said.
Sukey bobbed a succession of curtsies. “I thought—well, I thought you ought to know,” she squeaked. “But I don’t imagine she’ll be kept waiting for long, sir.”
Tea was going to have to wait. Or perhaps… “Sukey, send up some tea to Mrs. Hotchkiss, if you please. I’ll manage her from here.”
Sukey gave a little nod and offered, “Good luck to you, sir,” as she removed herself from the room. And as Gabriel headed once more to engage in a battle of wits with his wife, he admitted to himself that he might well need it.
∞∞∞
Gabriel stomped into the room, muttering something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously likeddamned insufferable females. Claire supposed she ought to have taken umbrage with that, but in fact she was suffering from a terminal case of boredom that didn’t seem as if it would relieve itself anytime soon.
She opened her mouth to demand her clothing, but before she could get so much as a word out, he was shaking a disapproving finger at her.
“You,” he said, “are goingnowhereand doingnothing, and I don’t care to hear any arguments.”
