“Oh,” she breathed, for his words were so profound and yet so simple, and they made her feel terrible and wonderful and frightening things all at the same time.
Yes, she knew quite suddenly why she felt like a young debutante again. It was her heart. Theo was capturing it as surely as Bertie had years ago, when they’d been young and innocent and naïve, thinking they had the rest of their lives together. But she wouldn’t think of that now, and nor could she allow her heart to be so freely given. She would have to guard it well.
He nuzzled her cheek, the gesture every bit as tender as the others which had preceded it. “I’ve stayed for longer than I should have. I’m likely soon due to replace one of my men.”
Of course he couldn’t stay here with her all night, and yet Pamela couldn’t contain the pang of regret at his words. It was too soon. She felt as if she had scarcely had him to herself at all. And when he left her chamber, they would go back to being strangers, unable to freely touch or be at ease with each other unless they were certain they were hidden from others. How she dreaded it.
“But you haven’t slept,” she protested, despite knowing it likely wouldn’t do her one whit of good.
“I don’t require much sleep,” he said softly, kissing her throat.
“Why not?” she dared to ask, for she knew the reason she avoided slumber.
The dreams that haunted her. Dreams of the crushing losses she had suffered.
His fingers stilled in their restless skimming over her arm and she felt him tense.
“Doesn’t matter.”
And just like that, she knew that her charming, tenderhearted lover was reverting to his curt, brooding self. She was losing him already. He was withdrawing from her and yet he still held her snug in his arms.
“It does matter,” she countered quietly, tangling her fingers in his. “To me.”
You matter, was what she meant, but she was too wise to utter such damning words aloud.
He was silent for so long she feared he wouldn’t answer, but he didn’t withdraw from her touch or leave the bed.
Finally, he answered her. “When I sleep, my mind travels to dark places. Places better left forgotten.”
It didn’t please Pamela that she had been correct. And she suspected it had something to do with his reason for not disrobing. What had happened to him in his past to make him so aloof and cool, to make him fear falling asleep or removing his clothes with a lover? Her heart ached for him despite her all-too-recent reminder to herself that she must protect it.
“What places?” she asked.
“You don’t wish to know, Marchioness.”
Ah, but she did. Because she cared for him.
“Please,” she said softly, knowing it likely wouldn’t be enough.
That some secrets would remain his to keep.
“I must go.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Sleep well.”
He rolled away from her then and slid out from beneath the bedclothes. The hushed sounds of him slipping his arms back into his discarded coat and then pulling on his boots filled the night. And then, just as quickly as he had arrived at her door, he was gone, his booted feet carrying him quietly over the Axminster, the paneled mahogany clicking closed.
Pamela shifted into the warmth he had left behind, absorbing this small piece of him, breathing in the faint traces of his scent on her pillow. Longing to go after him and knowing she could not. That what they had shared was temporary and fleeting, even if her heart longed for it to be more.
* * *
Ever since hehad forced himself from her bed in the depths of the night, Theo had been sternly admonishing himself that he had to keep his distance from Pamela. But despite his best intentions to avoid her, they were still beneath the same roof, and it was inevitable that their paths would cross.
In a diaphanous blue gown that made her eyes seem even more vibrant than they ordinarily appeared, she bustled down an upstairs corridor toward him. Her golden hair was swept back, a few curled tendrils falling over her forehead and framing her face.
She appeared utterly unfettered, and he thought of how she would look, barefoot in a traditional gown of white lawn with her hair unbound and coming to him on a sandy beach in Boritania. But he banished the notion as quickly as it had arrived, for it was a moot point. Boritania was no longer his home, and if he crossed those shores he would be imprisoned and killed.
Pamela could never truly be his, and he knew it.
Forcing his expression to remain a calm, impassive mask, he offered her his most elegant bow. “My lady.”
