Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Chauncey, did your father die of an overdose of laudanum?”

She paled, her eyes dimming as if he had struck her. Yes, she wanted to howl in anguish at him. Yours was the hand that thrust it into his mouth! She closed her eyes, knowing that her fury and hatred of him were clear to see.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I did not mean to upset you. I will leave you now.”

He rose and stacked the plates on the tray. “Sleep well, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”

He left her in the quiet darkness, alone, to deal with her pain. Oddly enough, her last thought before sleep claimed her was that he was the complex one, an intricate puzzle whose pieces did not fit together to form the image of a man she must hate. She could not see shadows of corruption beneath his teasing smile.

Delaney spoke briefly with Lin and Lucas before retiring to his library to work. But concentration eluded him. He smiled, remembering Lin’s guileless words. “Missy likes you,” she had said slyly. “She’s a real lady, that one.”

He t

ried writing a letter to his brother, Alex, but realized after a good fifteen minutes that he had succeeded in producing but one inane sentence. He cursed softly, knowing well what it was—who it was—that was distracting him. He doused the lamps and walked quietly up the stairs. He paused a moment in front of her bedroom door, knowing he should curse himself for his lustful thoughts, when a piercing scream froze his rampant desire.

“Chauncey!” He flung open her bedroom door and rushed into the dark room, expecting perhaps to see a villainous creature ravishing her. Instead, all he could make out was her writhing body on the bed. Her low, guttural sobs filled the stillness of the room.

“Chauncey,” he said again, more softly this time, realizing that she was caught in a nightmare. He sat on the side of the bed and clasped her shoulders. “Come on,” he whispered softly. “Wake up, Chauncey. Wake up!”

“No!” she moaned, trying to thrust him away. He could feel the power of her fear, and it shook him.

“Wake up, dammit!”

He drew her into his arms, tightening his arms about her back. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s all right now.”

The door to the adjoining room flew open, and Mary, still drawing her bed robe about her, rushed in, her fat braids flapping up and down on her shoulders.

“It’s all right, Mary,” Delaney said quietly. “She had a nightmare.”

Mary drew a deep breath, coming no closer. “It’s been a while,” she said. “I’d hoped it would leave her alone.”

“It’s the same nightmare?” He felt Chauncey stir in his arms, her sobs now dissolved into erratic hiccups. Instead of pulling away, she burrowed closer to him, as if trying to hide herself.

“Yes. Before we left England, she was nearly run down by a madman driving a carriage. A sailor saved her at the last minute.”

“I see,” he said. “Go back to bed, Mary. I’ll stay with her until she calms.”

Mary nodded and walked back into her room, closing the door behind her. It didn’t occur to Delaney at the moment that it was most unexpected for a maid to leave her mistress alone in the arms of a man who was not her husband. “Chauncey,” he whispered against her temple. Unintentionally his lips formed soft kisses. She nestled closer and he felt a shock of desire at the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest. His hands were stroking her hair, kneading the taut muscles of her neck. “Sweetheart,” he said, his lips forming the endearment against her cheek.

Chauncey felt the terror slowly drain away. She realized with something of a start that she felt quite safe tucked against him, his firm hands kneading away her fear. She struggled back, angered not by his holding her, but by her own thoughts. “I am not a weak fool,” she muttered. He loosed, but continued to keep her in the circle of his arms.

“No, of course you are not. Everyone has bad dreams.”

“It wasn’t just a bad dream,” she said sharply. “He tried to kill me. I’m not crazy.”

“The man who drove the carriage?”

She pressed her face against his shoulder, nodding. Her movement made him suck in his breath. His hand longed to caress her breast.

Damned horny goat! He quickly untangled her arms and pressed her back into her pillow. She was in his house, in his bed, and he would not take advantage of her.

She seemed oblivious of his distress and his ragged breathing. “I’m all right now,” she said, barely a tremor in her voice. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. The dream does not come often now.”

“I was passing your room when I heard you scream.” He gently pushed a tendril of hair away from her forehead, his hand shaking slightly. “You scared the hell out of me.”

At that moment, Chauncey shook off her fear. She was utterly aware that he was alone with her, and she was wearing nothing but her nightgown. Should she pull him down to her? Ask him to stay? Stay and do what? She suddenly saw Owen, his intent to compromise her, and she sucked in her breath, her entire body stiffening, hating herself.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Chauncey,” he said quietly, misreading her reaction. “I would never harm you. Would you like a glass of water or milk?”