He laid his lips against her forehead. The intensity with which he wanted her boggled, yet warmed him through. He hadn’t felt this way about Corinne, of that, he was certain. His feelings for Maeve went much deeper. Maeve Pendleton would never stand down where he was concerned. She would fight him to the death for her beliefs. His hold tightened, but she didn’t awaken.
He rose from the chair and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and carefully removed her wrapper. She never stirred. The chamber was cold, and he looked about. The window was open. He went over and lowered it to a mere crack then went back to the bed and glanced down at her. He pulled the counterpane to her chin, then removed his shoes and lay next to her. He didn’t touch her, that way spelt trouble.
Her beauty was not that of the fragile, delicate sort. Hers was more indirect, less bold, that simmered just beneath the surface, but was there all the same. Her beauty was in the boldness of her actions. Thinking of her facing down Jervis stopped his heart. And at Soho Square, no less. Good God. There was no telling who’d seen her. Obviously, Andrews had.
Harlowe lay on his side, watching her, taking in her rose-scented skin. He wouldn’t stay long, he promised himself as his eyes drifted shut.
Harlowe bolted up. It took him a moment to acclimate himself to his surroundings.
Maeve’s chamber,and she was gasping for air.She thrashed about beneath the covers, his body having trapped hers. He shot off the bed and ripped the covers back and took her by the arms. “Darling, wake up. Maeve.” His fear made his words harsh. “Wake up.”
The wildness in her opened eyes terrified him.
“Maeve, it’s me. Harlowe. Brandon. Darling, you’re safe.” He pulled her to his chest. “You’re safe.”
“The window,” she croaked. “I-I need air.”
“I’ll get it. Will you be all right?”
She nodded, pushing her unruly hair from her face.
Harlowe went to the window and pushed it open then shoved the canopy back to allow the cool air to filter to the bed. He went back over, brushed the hair from her face. “Better?”
“Yes.” Her hands gripped his scarred wrists. They were ice cold.
He kissed her forehead. “What was that about?”
Her hesitation was pregnant, and after a moment she let out a sigh. “I sometimes dream I’m… I’m drowning.”
He rubbed her hands within his own. “Is there a reason? Or is this just your everyday understandable fear of water?”
“Is there an everyday understandable fear of water?” Her sarcasm fell short, but he applauded her effort.
“You tell me.”
She looked toward the window, but he had a feeling she was seeing into the past.
A twinge of envy touched him.
She inhaled. “My mother wasn’t always so awful, you know. I had a sister. She was four, perhaps five years older than me. I barely remember her. She was vivacious, gregarious, adventurous, and horribly spoiled.”
Her fingers touched the insides of his wrist. It was an odd sensation, but he didn’t pull away.
“We—the family—had been invited to a water party. It was very exciting. Children weren’t usually included for such outings.” She heaved in a bracing breath. “Caroline was frightfully indulged. She didn’t know the word ‘no.’ I lay that at my mother’s feet.”
Nodding, he remained silent.
“Caroline’s behavior was abominable. She threw a tantrum and, in the process, knocked us both overboard.”
“Jesus,” he said under his breath.
“I don’t know who pulled me up, but it seemed to take forever.” Her body racked with a violent shudder. “Truthfully, I can’t even remember if Caroline’s body was ever even located. I came down with a fever and was ill for weeks. Mother never spoke of the incident, at least that I can remember.You can imaginehow she handled the tragedy with only me left.”
“Over-managing. Controlling,” he murmured.
“Yes.” She blinked, and her focus turned on his hands. “How did you acquire these scars, my lord?”
“The asylum. They tied me to the bed.” He answered without hesitation, surprising them both.
