Henry tensed, resentment flaring—at himself most of all. He’d made a vow, hadn’t he? To rise to the measure of the man who raised him. To act with reason, not sentiment.
And yet there sat Juliet, every soft breath of hers doing strange things inside his chest. How could a small woman affect him in such an enormous way?
He scrubbed his face, again and again. Certainly he had been consumed with the torment his sister had suffered and now the very illness she fought against, but instead of distracting him from Juliet, as he thought it should, it only seemed to highlight her every action—her compassion, her tenacity, her determination, even her willingness to risk his ire if she believed something was for the best, such as arguing for her aunt’s tonics. Surely this was madness, he’d reasoned, brought upon him by the strain of all that had been happening. Avoid her and the feelings would go away. So, he had buried himself in his work. Except that only fed his admiration, as she took his preoccupation in stride, shouldering extra burdens to let him work in peace. Then seeing her here tonight, lamplight kissing her face …
He shot to his feet and strode to the mantel, gripping the solid oak until his fingers went numb. Better that than lose himself in those beguiling sage-tinged eyes that seemed to breach every defense he could construct. Should he go down this road with her or not? The consequences were dire, like jumping off a cliff,unsure how deep the fall or how hard and rocky the landing would be. Blast! He’d been plagued since the night he’d first laid eyes on her.
“Henry?” Her voice was a shiver. “You are frightening me. Please tell me what troubles you so.”
He closed his eyes, a sigh draining out of him. This was it. The moment he cut open his chest and allowed her to see the heart that beat for her inside … or pleaded fatigue and sent her away—only for his anguish to continue in secret. Hanging his head, he kicked his toe against the brazier, watching sparks spit into the darkness. Either he summoned the nerve to speak his heart here and now, or he let it go. Lethergo. Bitter laughter caught in his throat. What an impossibility!
He swung around before he changed his mind, spilling words before he could stop them. “You are not the same person I found in the woods. Wild. Reckless. Headstrong. And I cannot reconcile it.” He flung out his arms. “You kneel before me to plead for my sister’s welfare and that change in you, well … it—it humbles me and I cannot help but admire you.”
She sank back on her heels, a slight shake to her head. “I … do not know what to say other than Iamchanged. Having the weight removed from my shoulders as to where my next meal will come from, seeing my aunt on the mend because of good food and good care … I do not think you realize what you have given me. A chance to breathe. A chance to be. To stand still long enough to see the world in a different light. To seeyoudifferently as well.”
Her words hung between them, delicate but strong with promise … altogether dangerous for his current frame of mind.
“You do not understand.” In two strides, he grabbed her arms and pulled her up more harshly than he intended. “I want to be angry with you. I want to hold on to my doubts because to do so is easier than trusting someone who—”
He clamped his mouth shut. No. He could not finish this. He never should have said anything to begin with. Thiswasa mistake!
“Someone who what, Henry?”
“Never mind. It is late. I will bid you good night now and leave you to my sister.” He turned.
Only to be pulled back with a tug to his shoulder.
“No. If what you say is so”—Juliet’s sage eyes blazed into his—“then tell me why you cannot trust me.”
“Because you have the power to undo me!” He flung the words like a dagger through the air, cross at himself for admitting such a weakness, crosser still that it was true. In all his years no woman had moved him so much as this tangle-haired vixen who’d robbed him of game and heart.
“Undo you?” She angled her head, her fine brow creasing. “How?”
Now there was a loaded question, one that could blow them both apart … one he had no power whatsoever to resist. He pulled her close, raw instinct governing against reason. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, his breath blending with hers. “You make me desire things I have no business desiring.”
She swallowed, visibly, but no fear flashed in her eyes. Only questions and … could it be? A reflection of his own want and need?
“What do you mean?” she breathed, unsteady yet firm. “I would have the truth.”
Would she?
Truly?
Could she take the whole of him—the damage, the wanting, the truth, or would his confession break them both?
“The truth is this.” Without another thought, he pulled her close and brushed his mouth against hers.
And was instantly made whole, never even realizing he’d ever been only part man. Barely living. Barely knowing. Until now. Fire licked through him, fusing them together, the heat of their union a blaze that scorched and healed.
“Juliet.” He spoke against her lips, more of a moan than a name. “I fear you undo me altogether.”
She grabbed handfuls of his shirt, clutching him nearer, clinging as if he were the only fortress she would ever seek. So. She felt this too.
The thought thrilled, heightening every sense. His heart thundered against his ribs, his mouth trailing over the curve of her cheek, down the softness of her jaw, the maddening velvet of her neck. She fit so well against him, like God had made her as his very own. And he for her, as she surrendered, moulding against him.
But a heartbeat later, she stiffened.
Broke away.
