“He’s in the library tonight, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. I’ll go get him so you can get to bed.”
When they returned that afternoon, she and Hart had met with Townson and discussed safety concerns for the house. This had included having a couple of men on guard outside at night and also which footman would be assigned as her new bodyguard of sorts. When she had argued that she could protect herself, Hart had insisted, saying it was for his own peace of mind. How was she to argue with him when his eyes had silently pleaded? Hart had not been himself since the afternoon. He seemed to withdraw into his own thoughts, telling her after they ate dinner that he would be up later. Well, this was late enough for her.
When she entered the library, it appeared Herbert had been mistaken; Hart was not in the room. Several candelabras had been placed around, and they illuminated the mess that had been made of the shelves. In the gaps where books had been unshelved, others lay on their sides or were shoved in backward so the spines faced the wall. There were books stacked haphazardly on the library table. The writing desk under the window had received the same ransacking. Lucy spun in a slow circle. Had a thief broken into the house?
Then she saw the painting, the one she had always admired, of the field of sunflowers leaning against the wall. Next to it, Hart sat on the floor, his legs bent and his forearms resting on his knees. “It isn’t here,” he said.
Above him, a safe built into the wall was open; its door swung ajar above Hart’s head.
“What is not here?” she asked.
“The journal. Today, one of the men said they were all meeting to find out if I had found my father’s journal. I looked in the safe. It took me a while to even remember where he kept the key. Then I searched through the shelves. It would be just like him to hide it in plain sight.”
His voice sounded hollow. He stared down at his hands.
Lucy walked over to crouch in front of him. “Hart, how long have you been sitting here?”
“What time is it?” His gaze lifted.
“Almost midnight.”
“A couple of hours, I suppose.”
Lucy moved next to him and lowered herself to the floor. “I know that today it was hard to be so close to the men who killed your family. But those men are all powerful peers. I’m not saying they are above the law, but unless we have proof of their involvement in what happened, it doesn’t make sense to confront them. You made the right decision to exercise caution.”
Hart was silent next to her for several minutes. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I feel as though I didn’t know him at all. Robert was always his confidant; I was just the spare son. But even though… I never expected all these secrets that he kept.”
“Do we ever truly know our parents? Why wouldn’t they shield us from the worst of themselves? They are humans who make mistakes. My father tried to shield me from what happened to my mother. She never fully recovered from the assault. He came home for a time after the news reached him. The longest the navy would allow him. I think he felt guilty that he had been so far away when she needed him. That’s when he taught me to fight. He said I should always fight even if the other person was bigger or stronger. That I should never give up.”
Hart intertwined his fingers with hers. “I don’t think I ever asked you what happened to your parents.”
Lucy swallowed around the memories lodged in her throat. “We lived near the sea, in a cove where the water sprayed up against the rocks at high tide. When I was young, my mother said that it was where the mermaids played. But the truth was that my mother felt connected to my father when she looked out to the ocean. She said that she could picture his ship sailing on the far-off waves. In the end, the sea took them both. One day, a year after the assault, she lost her internal struggle, and she jumped off the cliff into the water. My father and I were out rambling and saw her disappear over the edge. He raced over and dove in to save her. But the tide was too rough, and they both perished against the rocks.”
His hand flexed, squeezing hers. “Christ, Lucy. How horrible.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “It was. But it also was a long time ago. I have learned to think of them both as the best versions of themselves. I choose to remember them that way.”
“Ever since the accident last year, I have these terrible moments of anxiety. They creep up from behind me like a specter in the night. The fear that I experienced that night is too big to keep hidden inside. Just when I think I have mastered it, it rears its ugly head when I least expect. Perhaps, that is how your mother felt. Maybe it overwhelmed her that day.”
Lucy nodded. It made sense. At fourteen, she hadn’t been able to comprehend the depth of her mother’s pain. She had only understood that her mother had left her. And taken her father as well. The fear she felt that day, long buried, rose and squeezed her lungs making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t bear to lose another person she loved.
She twisted to face Hart. “Do you feel that way often?”
“Not as much as I did at first. I haven’t had a nightmare about that night in months.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. “The last few weeks lying next to you in bed has afforded me the best sleep of my life.”
“Then let’s go to bed.” She rose to her feet and tugged at his hands.
Hart stood up stiffly. He lifted his arms above his head and groaned as he stretched. “I’m too old to sit on the floor for so long.”
Lucy laughed, and some of the tension she felt drained. “Come on, old man. I’m going to get the salve and massage your shoulder. I bet you haven’t used it at all since I gave it to you.”
Hart shrugged. But he followed her, and together, they blew out the candles from around the room. Then with her single taper, she led him out into the corridor. Herbert looked relieved as they passed by. Now that the master of the house was going to bed, so could he. When they reached their suite Hart pulled loose the ties of her dressing gown and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. He pulled her flush against him, peppering her neck with light kisses.
“Oh no, you go sit there.” She pointed to a rectangular footstool that sat at the end of the bed. “Pull it out here. It will put you low enough so that I can really work the salve into the muscles.” She crossed to the dresser where the jar of salve that she had gifted him sat unused, just as she thought.
When she returned, she found him sitting obediently on the footstool, which he had pulled out to the center of the rug. His lazy smile made him look like a dangerous jungle cat lounging on a toadstool.
