Chapter 17
Within ten seconds, I was out of my room and rushing down the corridor.
I caught myself against Mr. Rawlings’s doorframe and raised a hand to knock.
Just in time, I remembered that his mother’s room was right beside his, so instead of pounding frantically on the door, I managed a short series of quick knocks.
He answered immediately, perhaps having heard my approaching footsteps. He was still dressed, thankfully, though his cravat had been loosened. His brow furrowed. “Miss Lacey?”
My breaths were coming too quickly. “Someone has been inside my room.”
He paused to take that in, apparently baffled about why that should cause me concern. “I do employ several maids.”
“No,” I said. “Someone was reading my letters.”
His expression changed in an instant, hard and serious. “Show me.”
I led him to my dressing table, quickly explaining how I’d left everything before we’d departed for the ball earlier.
“But the letter is unfolded now,” I said. “Someone was reading it.”
He stared down at the open drawer, hand grasping the back of the chair. He was silent for several seconds. “Are you certain?”
He did not say it as if he doubted me. Instead, he asked with complete sincerity, simply wanting my absolute assurance that what I’d said was correct.
“Yes,” I replied. “I am certain.”
The line of his mouth was set like iron. “It could be nothing,” he managed. “It could be that a maid was simply cleaning too enthusiastically.”
“Do you really believe that?” I folded my arms over my stomach, trying to ward off the sudden chill that had sunk into my bones.
“No,” he admitted. “No, I think it is very possible that someone in this house wanted information about you.”
My hands went numb, and I balled them into fists. “Why?”
He shook his head. “Perhaps our cover is not as convincing as we thought.”
I straightened, a thought occurring to me. “Or perhaps someone is eager to be rid of me.”
Mr. Rawlings looked at me doubtfully. “You mean my mother?”
“She has made no secret of her dislike for me.”
“But she already knows who you are,” he countered. “Why would she have any need to poke about your room? She would never stoop to that.”
He had a point about her already knowing who I was. But unlike him, I had no difficulty picturing her snooping about my room. Still, if it wasn’t her . . .
“My real name is on these letters,” I said.
“I know,” he replied grimly.
“So whoever read these knows it now.”
“Yes.”
I suddenly felt dizzy. All of tonight’s events came together in a whirlwind, and I sat heavily in the chair, bracing one hand on the dressing table.
“Miss Lacey?” He crouched beside me, gasping my elbow as if to steady me.
“I thought—” I gulped. “I thought I was safe here.”
“You are safe here.” His voice was firm, fierce. “I will question the staff tomorrow and discover who was in here.”
“No one will be likely to confess to that.” I took a deep breath and looked at him. “You don’t think he’s found us, do you? That perhaps he employed someone to search my room?”
“No,” he said firmly. “That wouldn’t make any sense. If he already knew where you were, why would he need to? No, he would—” But he stopped, perhaps realizing that voicing what a murderer would do to me might be a terrible idea.
“He would kill me without a second thought.” A tremor laced my words.
It was too real. It was too possible, that the man had somehow tracked us here. I hadn’t felt this fear since we’d left London, and it twisted and churned inside me, climbing my throat to choke me.
He said nothing, only gazed at me with some unknown emotion. Our faces were near, me sitting while he crouched beside me. His hand still grasped my elbow, and it felt like the only thing that kept me from flying apart.
“I would never let that happen,” he said in a low voice, his Highland brogue fierce. “You are under my protection, Beatrice Lacey, and I would die before I let that man touch you.”
I looked him in the eyes, so firm and unyielding, and felt the truth of his words. I knew he meant them. My galloping heart began to calm, and I swallowed hard. “I’ve never . . . I’ve never had this,” I said softly.
His head inclined, brow dropping. “Had what?”
“A man to protect me,” I whispered.
A pause. “What of your father?”
I shook my head. “He cannot be bothered by me enough to care.” It was so terribly sad as to be true.
Ever since I’d been so disappointedly born a girl, Father had rarely concerned himself with me, instead turning my raising entirely over to my mother and governess.
And two years ago, when he’d heard of Clarissa’s rumors, he’d written it off as “women’s business” and refused to involve himself.
Defending me from such an attack against my character had never even occurred to him.
Though I’d learned long ago to guard my heart from him, sometimes the hurt still broke through, especially when I compared him to Ginny’s late father, a man who had treated his daughter as his greatest treasure.
I’d dreamed over the years of how it might feel for a man to see me as the center of everything. Of his everything. It had been hard to imagine before.
It was not so difficult now.
Mr. Rawlings’s hand tightened on my elbow. “Then he is a common fool.”
I could not help a smile at the vehemence in his words.
But then we stayed there, gazing at each other, and my smile faded.
An unfamiliar current hummed between us, quiet but unmistakable.
This was not the fiery tension of our standoff in the assembly room gardens, nor the playful teasing before the ball. No, this was so much more.
My hand moved of its own accord, reaching up to graze the line of his jaw with my thumb.
His skin was rough, needing a shave, but it did nothing to quell the molten gold simmering in my chest. His dark eyes held to mine, and he stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, as if I were a wild animal that he might frighten off.
But I wasn’t frightened by him. Not in the least.
A creak came from somewhere in the house, the sound of the roof settling. But it was enough to jar us both from our trance. My hand dropped. Mr. Rawlings stood abruptly and backed away a few steps.
“I’ll stand guard outside your door tonight,” he said.
“Oh.” I came to my feet, my face flushed. “You needn’t do that.”
“I wasn’t asking.” His tone left no room for argument.
Some part of me thought to protest, insist that I would be fine and that he should get some sleep. But I knew he would never listen, and I knew that I would sleep not a wink if he weren’t just outside my door.
“Thank you.” My voice was the barest brush of a whisper.
He nodded, took one hesitant step forward. Then he seemed to come to himself. He strode to the wooden chair placed before the hearth and carried it out of my room.
I followed him to the door as he set the chair across the corridor. No doubt he would look strange to any servants who happened to pass, but I could not bring myself to care very much.
“I’ll stay until dawn,” he promised, one hand braced on the back of the chair.
I bit my lip, wishing I could tell him exactly what it meant to me that he would do this. But too much had already passed between us tonight. I only nodded, my throat thick.
“Good night, Miss Lacey,” he said quietly.
“Good night, Alexander,” I said.
I closed the door as he moved to sit on the chair. He would not be comfortable. I smiled softly as I remembered this same situation that first night at the inn, when he’d stayed awake to keep watch over me. I’d wished him discomfort then, strangers as we were.
But I already knew I would feel the same as I had that night. Safe. Sheltered. Protected.
I changed and climbed into bed. I blew out my candle and waited for the darkness to settle, for the fear to come. But it never arrived, not with Alexander keeping watch. I soon fell deeply asleep.
Morning came too quickly, weak daylight bleeding through the sides of my curtains.
Slipping into my dressing gown, I knotted the ties and crept to my door, peeking out into the corridor.
Empty. Alexander was gone, the chair as well.
But I knew he’d stayed the whole night. He was a man of his word, and I trusted his word beyond anything.
I rang for Agatha to help me dress, and after she arrived, I watched her in the mirror, humming a folk song while she worked on my hair. There was nothing suspicious in her bearing. Was it at all possible that she had been the one to read my letters?
“Did you enjoy the assembly last night, miss?” she asked, brushing out my hair.
Her question startled me from my thoughts, and I coughed slightly. “Yes, I did. I love to dance.”
At least, I had. Now that I knew what dancing with Alexander was like, I did not think I could ever fully enjoy dancing with anyone else. There was simply no comparison.
“Were all the gentlemen so very taken with you?” She smiled knowingly.
I forced a smile in return. “I was pleased with the attentions of a few.” Or one, at least.
She returned to her work, and I studied her again. “Agatha,” I asked carefully, “did you tidy my dressing table last night? My drawers, perhaps?”
She did not even look up, focused on her task. “No, miss. I am sorry. Did you wish me to?”
“No,” I said. “No, thank you.”
She finished a few minutes later and left. It was after eight o’clock now, and I had no reason to linger in my room. But I fussed with the covers on my bed, dabbed on some perfume and a touch of rouge, and straightened the dresses hanging in my wardrobe.
I knew what I was doing, of course. But I couldn’t avoid Alexander forever.