Again, she took his big hand in hers. He lifted her hand and placed a light kiss on her knuckles.
“Bang,” he whispered.
Then, still holding her hand, he led the way through the darkness to his well-lit rooms.
In his rooms, Luxborough released her and made for a jug of water. He poured himself a glass and drank.
Thea put down her candle and waited, looking about with interest and worrying if she had made a mistake in coming here.
“Luxborough?”
He didn’t answer.
“Rafe?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll go now. If you’re all right. Should I fetch someone?”
He held up a hand, indicating she should wait. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and when he opened them again, his gaze seemed clearer.
“Don’t fear me. I’m not mad. I’ll not hurt you. I just want to know how to make it better.” His voice began to drift again as he wandered back to her. “Perhaps I cannot save any lives, perhaps everything I try is useless, but maybe it’s enough to take the pain away, if only for a while.”
He paused to study her, and then he lifted his arms and cradled her face, those big hands warming her cheeks and jaw. She wondered if she should be frightened, but instead a sense of comfort unfurled over her like a blanket. Those hands were tender, as were his eyes as they searched hers, tired and gentle and dazed. She felt dazed too, by his touch, by his closeness. By the strange, sweet intimacy of this strange midnight moment. She felt herself sway toward him.
“Because it hurts, sometimes, and it’s nice to take away the pain,” he murmured. “Do you ever hurt, Countess?”
“Sometimes,” she whispered, mesmerized.
“Poor Countess.”
He released her face and she missed his touch immediately, but before she could react, he slid his arms around her and enfolded her against him, exactly as she had longed for him to do. He might be mad or dangerous or drunk or anything, but she didn’t care. He was holding her, and she wanted nothing else.
And though Thea knew she should not, she circled her arms around his waist and relaxed into him, her eyes closed, her cheek pressed to his warm, solid chest. There was his heart, beating in slow, steady thuds.
Suddenly, she wanted to weep. Three lonely years’ worth of tears, three exhausting years of putting on a brave face, of not letting herself cry because that would be giving in and letting them win, those tears welled up inside her. How pathetic she was, to take comfort from a man like this, when he was intoxicated and she was lying about her very name.
But she did not pull away. Instead, she spread her hands over his back, feeling the firm muscles through the linen of his shirt. He rested his cheek on her hair, and his arms engulfed her, strong and sure. Soon, her urge to weep melted, and peacefulness spread through her, like he was warming her from the inside. Perhaps she was intoxicated too.
His body became heavier: He was falling asleep. Reluctantly, Thea dropped her arms and pulled away. He released her and stumbled backward. When he ran his hands through his hair, she regretted not doing that herself. Her sole opportunity to experience the feel of those tousled curls and she had missed it.
“Time for bed,” she said softly.
“Bed.” He wandered to the connecting door. “Join me. Poor Countess. So lively and lovely. Doesn’t like to dine alone. Doesn’t like to sleep alone.”
Chuckling, he disappeared into the darkness of his bedroom.
Thea took her candle to the doorway. In the dim light, she watched as he climbed into his bed and under the covers, and apparently fell asleep.
Already she was forgotten, but he was not. She felt him still, his arms encircling her body, that peacefulness in her heart.
She would not believe him to have done ill. But her curiosity burned brighter than ever. She would have to leave soon, tomorrow or the next day, and if she didn’t learn his secrets now, she would never know.
Chapter 14
The next afternoon, Thea wrapped a dark-green cloak over her gown and announced to no one in particular that she was taking a walk. Her walk took her along the stream and, when she was sure no one was looking, she raised the cloak’s hood over her head and darted across the footbridge into the Forbidden Woods.
On the peaceful, sun-dappled path, she kept to the tree line, ready to hide if anyone came. By “anyone,” she meant Luxborough. Or Rafe, as she thought of him now, as that was the only name he had answered in the night.
But she encountered no one on the path, which ended abruptly, spilling her into a huge, grassy clearing. There, resplendent in the sunshine, stood a church-like edifice of white iron and glass, behind which lay the green silhouettes of plants. A stone cottage sat deeper into the clearing, and several more paths led into the surrounding trees.