She set her shaking fingers to untangling her hair even as her throat thickened with unshed tears. What she wouldn’t give to have family she could rely on.
Hurtheven’s hand came over her own, resting lightly against her neck. He was real. And solid. His touch didn’t stop her tremors, however. Instead, his tender gesture broke an inner dam. First came a stifled sob, and then those unwelcome tears flooded her cheeks.
The ropes beneath the bed squeaked in protest as, keeping hold of her head, he moved from the chair to the mattress. He cradled her with the same gentleness he showed the children. Caught up against his chest, she listened as he poured out all the soothing words her heart longed to hear.
“There, now,” he crooned. “You’re perfectly safe.”
Her body absorbed his solace even as her mind continued loudly clamoring like a night-watchman’s panicked bell. No matter what kindness he’d shown, no matter how deep his love for the children in her care, she needed to stay vigilant.
He, like the lion, was a predator at heart.
And despite having the world’s best reason to remain vigilant, and knowing better than to let herself go, she had somehow ended up on a bed with him, trembling uncontrollably in his arms.
* * *
Contact had been selfish—gratification and solace he did not deserve.
He could tell himself all he wished that he was performing a chivalrous service here in a darkened room on a loudly creaking bed.
He knew better.
Embracing her had been indulgence of the most dangerous sort. He’d been holding himself back—taut and restless—ever since he’d carefully laid her down on top of the coverlet and then reluctantly released her into the ministrations of the innkeeper’s wife.
And if the children hadn’t been present, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let her go again.
When she’d roused a bit, his worst concerns had allayed—that she could be suffering from something serious like a heart complaint brought on by the shock. But her partial consciousness and steady pulse reassured.
Then, he’d had the children, of course, to occupy him. He’d been compelled to convince them of their own safety and their nursemaid’s eventual return to complete health. He’d made them comfortable with what he’d thought was an ingenious solution to the single trundle problem. Finally, they’d fallen into exhausted slumber.
Ever since, however, his unholy meditation had been unbroken. She hadn’t stirred again. Instead, she’d lain, pale and pretty and tragic in the moonlight—quite the Gothic novel heroine—while he indulged in a brood deep enough to have shocked Byron.
Attack a lion with nothing but a child’s pink parasol!?
What was he to do with such an impetuous, brave, and clever creature?
While he’d count Alicia and Pen as stalwart ladies of great fortitude and was certain they’d have done the same to save their own children, her sacrifice had not been made to save any family of her own.
When she’d opened her eyes, her first thought had been the children.Naturally. Ash and Alicia had been right. No matter what she was hiding, no matter what trouble she faced, she took full responsibility for those in her care.
A rare quality, that kind of complete and loving commitment. He’d wanted to gather her up and hold her apart from the wild, unpredictable world.
And now, he had.
But to what purpose?He wondered as he stroked the soft, tangled spirals that crowded around her neck.
While she’d been sleeping, the colors of the setting sun mirrored against her face, setting her features aglow. Even then, she’d looked so pallid. So other-worldly. He’d been afraid she’d simply slip away. As his pulse galloped again, he sternly reminded himself she hadn’t been in any danger of dying.
She’d only fainted, after all. Under normal circumstances, fainting would have barely registered as a concern. But he couldn’t get the image of her throwing herself between the children and the beast out of his mind.
“Hurtheven,” she wept against his shoulder. “Heavens, what a shock.”
His sharp intake of breath made them sway. She’d never used his title.
Darling,he wished to respond.
Only, he would not. One did not hold a frightened rabbit too closely. And she was still frightened. She trembled, each shuddering exhale working through the mortar of his carefully constructed walls.
Walls that concealed what?
