“I sense a darkness within you, Mr Cole,” Jessica said as if she were qualified to dissect the intricate aspects of the man’s mind. “The sadness is deep, as deep as Devil’s Gorge. Do you think you will ever smile again? Will you ever be happy?”
A choking silence sucked the air from the room.
Warring emotions clashed in his eyes—pain and pity. She considered telling him to go home, return to town, save himself from this misery and anguish. But they had survived the first night. Jessica had delivered one provoking comment after another, and he had not stormed from the room in a fit of temper.
“I shall smile when you no longer need to keep the bowl in the chest to feel safe.” He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and pushed out of the chair. “Now, if you will both excuse me, I must make some enquiries.” He touched Jessica gently on the shoulder before striding out into the long hall. The hurried clip of his boots on the flagstones said he was heading to the garden.
She would give him time alone and then apologise for her sister’s outspoken manner.
But Sophia did not see Finlay Cole for the rest of the day.
Chapter 4
Instinct had saved Finlay’s life on more than one occasion. Upon meeting Renard on that fateful day in the Sonian Forest, he had sniffed betrayal before hearing the crack of the pistol. Tonight, the same intuitive power held him rigid at the bedchamber window.
The cause of Jessica’s problem lay in the depths of the woods. What wickedness drew a fragile young woman out of her bed at night? What sent her scurrying into the darkness alone?
A curse or spell?
Such things existed.
A clandestine meeting?
The stranger bearing gifts wanted to win her trust. But why?
The distant echo of midnight chimes reached his ears. Having taken great pains to avoid Sophia and Jessica, he had seen neither woman since breakfast. How was he to focus on his work when surrounded by memories of the past?
His demons liked reminding him of his misfortune. And yet that didn’t stop him wishing and wanting whenever he locked gazes with Sophia Adair. Hell, when he’d found her hovering inches from his bed, it had taken every effort not to drag her closer and take what he craved.
Everything about Jessica’s disordered mind was familiar. Hannah had suffered from a similar affliction—a crippling melancholy that gripped one’s soul with hooked claws. Many times, he’d told himself it was because he hadn’t loved her enough, because someone else still held a piece of his heart. Guilt festered—even now—made worse when he spent any length of time in Sophia’s company.
Damn Lucius Daventry.
Finlay drew his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. Sleep would elude him if he didn’t quieten his mind.
Earlier, Sophia had mounted the stairs and padded across the landing. She had stopped outside his door and called his name, had retreated when he failed to answer. And so it was safe for him to venture downstairs, to settle into the fireside chair and partake in her best brandy.
The drawing room was warm when he entered, the dying embers in the hearth giving a faint glow. Finlay lit the lamp, poured a large glass of brandy and dropped into the wingback chair. Sophia’s unique smell hung in the air, a sensuous bouquet of violets, lily of the valley and a familiar scent that had no earthly name.
Being so close to her was like sweet torture. It was why he had to focus on these mysterious happenings, why he had to solve the problem of Jessica’s sleepwalking and get the hell back to town.
The longcase clock had finished striking the half hour when he heard the upstairs boards creak. He knew to expect Sophia minutes before she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
“Finlay, it’s you,” she said with feigned surprise. “Forgive the disturbance. I heard a noise and feared Jessica was sleepwalking.”
It was a plausible explanation, though he sensed it was a lie. Still, he did not turn to look at her, did not wish to encourage her to stay.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did the wind keep you awake?”
He almost laughed. “No, it wasn’t the wind.”
“The house is so old one can hear it howling through the rafters.” She moved to the chiffonier, into his line of vision.
God’s teeth!
It wasn’t the sight of her loose blonde hair rippling like waves over her shoulders that had his heart hammering in his chest, nor the shimmer of her blue silk wrapper in the candlelight. It was her bare feet and dainty toes. It was knowing that above her trim ankles were equally bare thighs. A man might imagine untying the belt and caressing the soft curves he remembered.