He opened her door, his eyes adjusting to the low light from the glowing coals in the fireplace. He walked by the table in her first room and looked to the chamber holding the bed. Ara was thrashing, but he couldn’t yet make out where her head was on the bed—she was a flopping mess of flesh and bedsheets.
Moving to stand next to the bed, he watched her, cringing with every new scream, every cry. The wolves. The crow. The horrified whimpers that cut into his chest.
The wolves and the crow. Always the wolves and the crow.
He had no idea she still suffered the terrors at night.
Her forehead breached the sheet that had covered her head, and Caine dove, searching through the sheet for her neck.
His fingertips connected to warm skin, and she spun, twisting, her terrified screams a staccato into the room. Caine didn’t let her escape, his hand crawling along her neck until his fingers stretched, reaching the very spot behind her ear that Mrs. Merrywent had shown him years ago.
She instantly stilled. Her breath stopped for a long moment. One long exhale, and then her breathing went back to a quiet normal.
She never woke up.
Caine started to pull his hand away, but her head followed him, just like Patch’s when the dog nuzzled his head under Caine’s hand for a long scratch.
His fingers left her neck, and her breathing sped, her chest starting to heave. The whimpers started again.
Caine set his fingers back into place, his fingers touching the one spot behind her ear. She quieted once more.
He repeated the exact motion again. Ara reacted in the exact same way. Fascinating.
Fascinating and vexing. Caine stood next to the bed, debating about what to do. He couldn’t very well stand there all night. Nor could he remove his hand.
Minutes passed, and with no clear path to extract himself from Ara’s room, Caine sighed, crawling into bed next to her, his hand never leaving her neck.
She had curled onto her side, and Caine wrapped his length along the back of her. Between the chemise she had put on, the sheet, and his trousers, Caine was fairly assured skin would not touch skin. That didn’t stop him from feeling the heat pulsating off of her in waves. Her breathing was normal, but her body and heartbeat were still wild.
He settled his head on the bed, her hair tickling his chin. Lemons. Her hair always smelled of bright lemons. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how much he missed that very scent wafting about in his study.
A shudder ran through her body, and his gut clenched.
The damn wolves and crow. Always those two things. He had never asked her about them—what they meant, why she dreamed of them.
Early in the years when they were delivering virgins back to their homes outside of London, Mrs. Merrywent was always with, and would quickly calm Ara in the middle of the night. Though some of those nights Caine was convinced Mrs. Merrywent’s hearing was suspect, for he would listen to Ara mumble and then start to scream. His gut had always curdled at the sound, no matter how fast Mrs. Merrywent was at calming it away.
Caine had believed Ara’s terrors had subsided over time. He hadn’t heard her screaming in any of the coaching inns during the past year.
But he was wrong. The screams he heard tonight were as intense as they were the first time he had heard them. An instant reminder of how Ara had come into his life.
An instant reminder of how brutally he had failed to protect the last woman he had loved—Isabella had died.
His body tightened instinctively to the curve of Ara’s backside. He could not be a failure again. Especially with Ara. He had no right to love her. But every ounce of him needed to protect her.
Caine inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the scent of lemons and calm his own pounding heart. If his body was calm, hers would follow suit. He shifted his arm, trying to position it more comfortably without his fingers breaking contact on her neck.
The wild pulsating of her heartbeat under her skin eased into rhythm, and her muscles relaxed. The tenseness dissipating, her body burrowed into his body wrapping hers.
Caine swore to himself, acutely aware of how hard her wiggling was making him. But he held still, wanting to give her this—safety in her sleep, since he could give her little else.
He closed his eyes and the image of Ara watching the sunset flashed through his mind. The sunlight sending a glow along the edge of her delicate profile, almost magical, if not purely angelic.
How had he never taken her to Villsum House?
When she had told him about not seeing a sunset in years, all he had wanted to do was climb back into the carriage and take her to Villsum House. Show her the beauty that he had at his fingertips—and had never taken the time to share with her.
Because she wasn’t his wife. The thought rumbled through his head, crushing any imagination of Ara standing on the western patio, saying goodbye to the day in a bath of ethereal golds and pinks and purples.
She wasn’t his wife, only a far removed relation that he was guardian to. That was how he had been able to take care of her. And they needed to stay that way for him to protect her properly.
With distance and a clear head—clarity he hadn’t had earlier when she was wrapped in his body, writhing under him. In those few fleeting minutes in her arms, Caine knew he would have given up everything for her—his responsibilities to the title, to the lands, to the people. Given up a certain future for the chance to be with her, come what may.
What could he have possibly been thinking in those moments—that Ara could love him?
She never could, not truly. She would always be beholden to him. Her words were evidence of that fact. She had confused love with gratefulness.
But in those brief minutes—minutes that had felt like a lifetime—she had been in his arms. Accepting him. Knowing the past. Knowing his failures. Yet accepting him.
Loving him.
He could not let her do that.
By whatever honor he had left, he had to leave her alone. Give her freedom to live her life away from him.
His stay at Notlund Castle would be good for that. Good for him. Good for her.
Caine waited until the first light of the day to carefully lift himself from the bed, leaving a still sleeping Ara to her dreams.
~~~
From the foyer, Caine watched Ara trudge up the stairs, the deep green skirt of her riding habit sweeping the steps. Patch had already run ahead of her, turning and waiting at the top of the steps, his tail wagging. She turned at the top, disappearing with Patch down the hall. Her slow footsteps receded until he heard the click of a door.
“She is frightfully worn out.” Mrs. Merrywent turned from watching Ara’s exit up the stairs to Caine. “I believe I have you to blame for that. You should have sent someone for me. You two travelling alone is not part of our bargain, my lord.”
“Our six-year-old bargain, Mrs. Merrywent?” His eyebrow cocked, inviting her to say something more. He had adhered to the woman’s wishes for propriety for the past six years and was not about to let her fixate upon this one misstep.
She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.
Caine glared back. “There was not time, Mrs. Merrywent. I did not know you were unavailable until I came for Ara. And you were too far out of the city to retrieve you in time to accompany us. You know there is no one else we trust to bring with us to last night’s situation.”
Mrs. Merrywent waved her hand, shaking her head with a sigh. “It is unfortunate. But as you are clearly contrite, I will let it pass.”
Caine bit back sniping words, staring down at her audacity. Who paid whom? He was far too tired for this nonsense. Yet for all her bluster, Caine knew Mrs. Merrywent had become a pussycat when it came to him. It had taken half of the last six years, but now the woman at least respected his honor when it concerned Ara.
“Why is Arabella exhausted—did you not stop at a coaching inn on the way back to London?”
“We did.” Caine turned from
the steps, lowering his voice so it would not carry up the stairs to Ara’s bedroom. “The terrors that visit her in the night—they are back—or have they never ceased, Mrs. Merrywent?”
Pity creased the edges of her eyes. “She had the terrors last night, my lord?”
“She did. I stopped them with that spot on her neck you showed me long ago.”
Mrs. Merrywent nodded, a frown on her face. To her credit, she kept her mouth shut about Caine being in Ara’s room unsupervised. But he could read the disapproval easily enough in her face.
“So she still has them often? I thought they had stopped.”
“They have never left her, my lord. I had thought with time they would cease, but they do not.”
“So they have continued for these many years? Why did I not know this? I have not heard her scream on any of the journeys in the last year.”
“I have always been with, my lord. I always sleep near her and can quiet them before they are too loud. I wake up much faster now when I hear the whimpers start.”
Caine nodded, taking a deep breath. So they had never stopped. Mrs. Merrywent had just gotten very, very good at her job, which was taking care of Ara in every way possible. He needed to double her pay.
Caine moved to the front door, but then paused, turning back to Mrs. Merrywent. “Ara has always screamed of wolves and a crow…why?”
Mrs. Merrywent shrugged her shoulders, her meaty lower lip jutting out. “She has never told me, my lord. Don’t believe she ever will. The terrors are why she always insists on going to sleep at a right hour. They come too often when she is overly tired—every night she goes out with you…” Mrs. Merrywent cut herself off, apparently realizing she was about to blame him for Ara’s terrors.
“Every night she is out late?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Caine ran his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. “For the last six years she has suffered this? Born this burden?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why did she never tell me? Why continue to go out late into the night?”
Mrs. Merrywent stepped toward him, her own voice dropping to a whisper. “I do not know, my lord. I have wondered the same. But I believe Arabella is more concerned with saving the innocents—with being there to help them the second you bring them from that place—than with her own welfare.”
“Worried about everyone but herself.” Caine resisted the urge to stalk up the stairs and give Ara a little shake.
“That she is, my lord. It is a fault.”
Only a second before, he had wanted to shake Ara for being so damn worried about others that she was a detriment to herself. But at Mrs. Merrywent’s words, he instantly wanted to defend her. Ara didn’t possess a fault. Her caring was a gift—of course she was worried about the girls—her capacity for compassion knew no bounds.
Instead of defending Ara, he simply nodded. “You have done well by her, Mrs. Merrywent. You have my gratitude for all you have helped her and the other girls over the years.”
A gruff smile appeared on Mrs. Merrywent’s face. Judging by her awkward smile, Caine had apparently never thanked her before.
He turned back to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hazy London sunlight, even more sure of his actions than he had been that morning.
He not only needed to free Ara from him, he needed to free her from the past.
She had to move on, and in order for her to do that, he needed to leave her alone. He needed to leave for Notlund Castle.
Caine had thought pulling himself from Ara’s bed that morning without waking her was the hardest thing he had ever done.
It wasn’t.
His chest tightening, ripping him from the inside, the steps he took down Ara’s front marble stairs were even more brutal.
But he had to let her go.
If he didn’t, eventually, he would fail her, just as he had Isabella.
{ Chapter 10 }
Caine leaned back against the smooth squabs in his coach, taking the first easy breath he had had in weeks. Finally, escape.
For three weeks he had played the dutiful suitor to Miss Silverton and the engaging guest of the Duke and Duchess of Letson at Notlund Castle. It had taken more energy than he had imagined it would.
He liked Miss Lily Silverton well enough—she was most certainly the finest match for him of the season, even aside from her sizable dowry. Pretty, shaped quite nicely, flawless voice, and she made him laugh on occasion. The woman would make a fine wife, so why were the last three weeks such a drain upon his spirits? Where was the excitement when she walked into a room?
Caine let his head drop against the cushion, wishing he were already at Villsum House. He closed his eyes just as the door to his carriage opened.
He sat up, his eyes wary on the woman climbing into the carriage.
“What do you want, Mother?”
The countess sat across from him, adjusting the small black hat atop her silver hair. She had aged well, even if she had never abandoned the widow weeds that darkened the shadows on her face. Her hands settled on her lap as she eyed him.
Caine stifled a sigh. His mother almost exclusively rode in her carriage with his two sisters, so for her to jump into Caine’s carriage at the last second meant she had business she didn’t want him escaping from.
Ever since taking over the title, Caine had spent much of his time avoiding his mother and sisters. His older brother had been the head of the family since Caine was twelve and their father died, and Caine had never expected to come into the title—and had been treated thusly for the entire first half of his life.
The carriage started to roll, the castle moving out of view. Blast it.
His mother’s face went pinched as she saw him eye the carriage door. “Son, I am riding in here because I need to speak with you privately, and you have made yourself scarce these weeks at Notlund Castle. I will remove myself to the other carriage once we are at the nearest crossroad.”
“What is it you needed to speak with me about?”
“Your actions here at Notlund. You did not give a good showing to Miss Silverton or her guardians.”
Caine’s eyebrow arched. “I did not give a good showing? Am I a stud horse in the auction ring?”
“Do not be crass. You know perfectly well you were polite, but not enamored with Miss Silverton. I know young hearts, and that is a woman that needs a man to be enamored with her. At this juncture, I can only pray her upcoming visits from her other suitors, Lord Bepton and Lord Rallager, are disasters of the first order.”
“Your goodwill for Miss Silverton making a proper match is overwhelming, Mother.”
She waved her gloved hand. “There is no room for goodwill in the marriage market, son.”
“Then I do well to have you at my side.” Caine didn’t bother to hold the acidity from his voice. He looked out the window at the passing trees. The crossroad to Bristol could not come soon enough. “So what would you have me do differently, mother?”
“You need to fully commit to the pursuing of Miss Silverton.” She paused, lips pursing. “That must begin with Miss Detton.”
Caine’s look cut sharply to his mother.
“Miss Detton and whatever purpose she serves in your life—a secretary, a man-of-affairs—whatever it is she does for you, it is man’s work, and it should be regulated as such.”
“Miss Detton is more intelligent than most of the men I know, Mother, and does her work far better than any I have ever hired, so you would do well to tread lightly in this conversation.”
“Then you must hire one of those few men that is a more intelligent creature to fill her place.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have allowed this…peculiar relationship between you and Miss Detton these many years, son, but I must insist you end your associations with her. As she is a relative depending upon the estate, we cannot cut her living expenses without sullying the honor of the title, but you can remove her from your daily life.”
/> “You have allowed nothing, Mother.” Caine leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “You realize you have no say in the matter—who I associate with and who I do not.”
“Do not take that tone with me, son. I am not blind to how this woman monopolizes your time. Do you honestly think to extend an invitation of marriage to Miss Silverton when you already have someone filling the role of wife in your life? You need to end your association with Miss Detton—marry her off to be someone else’s responsibility. Lord knows we have enough to worry about at the moment without another mouth to feed.”
“You know very little of my life, Mother, if you do not understand the role Miss Detton performs in it.”
“Do you even understand it?” Her blue eyes, a match to Caine’s, went hard. “Honestly, son, I have traded upon nearly every favor I have been hoarding to get you within Miss Silverton’s realm this season. She is the best catch, by far, of the girls available to you—not to mention the one with the largest dowry. It has taken a lot of hard work on my part, and you do not even seem to care to commit to the goal of marriage.”
“I have just spent the last three weeks at Notlund Castle pursuing Miss Silverton’s affections.” His jawline stretched, Caine strained for control. “I think that alone is evidence of my commitment to marry.”
His mother’s hands flew into the air. “Why, then, did you not extend an invitation of marriage to Miss Silverton? She is to be visited by the two other suitors at Notlund over the next month. You just had the perfect opportunity to cut the others off at the knees.”
“It was not the time.” Caine leaned back, his mouth clamped shut.
She watched him, the shrewd cut to her eyes searing into him. “Not the time? Or was it Miss Detton?”
He met her eyes, returning the glare. “Do not presume to know my mind, Mother. If you had ever taken an interest in doing so before this moment, you may have a thread to balance upon. As it is, you did not, so you do not currently own that right.”
He glanced out the window before his gaze landed back upon his mother. “This is the last of the discussion we will have on the matter of Miss Detton.”
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