Every inch of him was tense, and it seemed, now focused on her. Although Rebecca knew, in that instant, that he did not see her.
She’d heard of sleepwalkers before, but never had she witnessed the phenomenon. She had heard one should not try to wake them, but neither could she leave him like this. The man was in heart-wrenching pain—not to mention he might injure himself if he continued to make his way through the house, destroying it.
‘My lord, it’s Mrs Hardwicke,’ she repeated, as softly and reassuringly as she could manage. ‘My lord, you are dreaming I think...’
Blast, Rebecca thought bleakly as he half jumped, half strode to her, throwing her to the ground before she could move an inch.
Stars shone before her eyes as her head hit the wood, her breath rushing out of her. And then he was there, his body pinning her down, and her heart was beating so fast she could almost hear it hitting her ribs like a bird flying against a cage, as blood rushed, pounding, in her ears.
Still he did not see her, she knew. Rage, anger and something far more terrifying lay there in the hazel eyes that now seemed like fire themselves as they bore down on her. She could smell the whisky on his breath, and the sweat; could feel the sticky heat clouding her. He was murmuring now, incoherent jumbled words and languages, but Rebecca understood the tone.
Accusatory. Pleading.Murderous.
‘My lord,’ Rebecca whispered, trying to push away the uneasiness growing in her belly.This man is not a murderer.‘Please—’
His right hand flew to her throat, immobilising, but not suffocating.
‘My lord, William,’ she croaked, raising her own hand, and gently sweeping her fingers across his brow before laying her palm on his cheek. ‘William, please...’
And then, in an instant, she saw him return to himself.
His grip slackened, but he did not move. He gaped down in horror, the realisation of what had happened, of what he’d nearly done, dawning as he searched her face.
She saw more pain in his eyes than before. And confusion, regret, shame, disgust.
‘Oh, God,’ he breathed. ‘What have I done?’
‘Nothing, my lord,’ Rebecca reassured him, stroking his cheek softly with her thumb, her hand still cradling his face. ‘You have done me no harm.’
Whatever words he wished to say were drowned in the cry which escaped instead.
Crumbling into himself, he slumped back, his head coming to rest on her belly as his hands fell on her waist. And then he began to sob, his body jerking against hers, his tears soaking her nightshirt.
Rebecca felt her heart reach out to him, this tortured creature, and so what could she do but lie there and wait and hold him?
‘Shh, now...’ she whispered, letting her hands stroke his head comfortingly, running her fingers through his hair, cradling him as best she could. ‘Everything is as it should be.’
As they lay there, for however long it may have been, Rebecca could not help but wonder what horrors, what terrors, this man had seen to bring him to such a state. His screams, the anguish she’d heard and seen in him, were beyond imagination. What terrible events could bring someone to this? Someone as strong and seemingly as impervious as this man before her? Could the stories be true after all?
No... I cannot believe that.
Finally, after what seemed hours, his crying ceased, giving way to ragged breathing.
‘We should get you to bed, my lord,’ Rebecca whispered.
A nod. Liam peeled away from her, bringing himself to his knees.
Rebecca lay there for a moment, a rush of cold and loss sweeping over her. Taking a deep breath, she brought herself up and slowly, carefully, so as not to frighten him, rose to her feet.
The master did not move, still curled over himself, head and shoulders hanging limply, hands resting on the floor, and Rebecca realised she would have to help him to his chambers. Unseemly, unconscionable, and yet she could not bring herself to fetch Gregory or Thomas.
No one else needed to witness the state he was in.
‘My lord,’ she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘I will help you, but I cannot carry you. Give me your hand.’
Liam did as instructed, his hand rising to meet her own, though he still refused to meet her eyes. Rebecca slid the hand that had been on his shoulder beneath his arm, and took some of his weight as he dragged himself unsteadily to his feet.
‘Excellent. Now, lean on me, my lord, and we shall have you in your bed in no time.’
