The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

Stacie concentrated and heard Frederick tell Ernestine to go to bed, that he would stay with her—with his wife.

She heard the door open and softly close, then she sensed Frederick draw near.

She thought he hovered over her, then she felt his lips lightly brush her forehead.

Heard his voice whisper, “Sleep and get well.”

She knew he settled in a chair by the bed, knew he was close, but the effort of making out his words had been too much, and the clouds billowed again, and she drifted back into the fog.

The next time she awoke, her wits were her own, and her mind was fully aware and able to focus.

She blinked her eyes open. Judging by the quality of the shadows wreathing the room, it was nighttime. The bed curtains had been left open; she glanced to the side and, through a gap in the curtains drawn across the window, saw the blackness of the night sky.

A lamp had been left burning on the bedside table, its flame turned low.

She shifted her head on the pillow and, in the soft light, saw Frederick, still sitting in the armchair drawn up beside the bed; still holding her hand, he’d fallen asleep with his head and shoulders on the covers by her side.

His grip on her hand remained definite, yet gentle, as if he held the finest porcelain.

Moving slowly, she raised her free hand, reached across, and almost wonderingly, stroked her fingers over his dark hair as the memories, now clear, rolled through her mind.

She remembered the moments before the steps of St Martin’s—recalled in vivid detail seeing the knife heading Frederick’s way. Relived the panic and desperation the sight had evoked.

More vaguely, she recalled what she’d done, but that didn’t matter. He was still there, by her side, and as far as she could see and sense, he was unharmed.

Good.

As she was alive, too, then to her mind, all was well.

She smiled—in relief, in satisfaction—and settled her head back on the pillow.

Her hand shifted in Frederick’s hair, and he stirred.

She let her hand fall as he woke and raised his head.

His lids rose, and his eyes met hers—and she saw the leap of joy, the flare of hope.

And so much more.

In that unguarded moment, she saw into his soul.

Saw what lived there.

The sight shook her to the core.

“No,” she whispered. Horror gripped her; she couldn’t breathe.

All she could do was stare at the mind-numbing truth of what he felt for her, shining undeniably in his eyes.

She was vaguely aware of how haggard he looked, of the contrast between the drawn lines of his face and the welling emotion that was all brightness and light that filled him.

That, steady and sure, radiated from him.

She locked her gaze with his as fear rose up and all but choked her. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

The anguished accusation fell on Frederick’s ears—and he realized how much he’d allowed her to see…

It was too late to reassemble the shields shock had ripped away.