Chapter Ten #4
Ravens were scavengers, weren’t they? And she’d never seen one with eyes of green. But he was coming for her. She heard a great flapping of wings not too far behind.
Where was he? Where was Neville? He was supposed to be here, but—
Millie jerked up in her bed, waking into darkness with a start. Her heart beat hard, as if she’d been running through that barren maze for real.
She had no idea how much time had passed since Cassie left. She listened, but the house was now silent. Somewhere below, Neville had set himself up to keep watch.
She knew he would not go back on his word, and yet she couldn’t shake the fear. After all, in her nightmare, she hadn’t been able to find him in the maze.
She scowled into the darkness.
A dream, dunderhead. Only a dream. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed Neville. She needed him desperately and now.
Dare she go down? The hollow feeling she’d felt when her dream-self couldn’t find him had left her with an ache, but Neville would be shocked by her late-night appearance.
She balled her hands in the coverlet. The only thing she knew for certain—she was scared. Scared to give her life into his keeping. And equally scared to permanently part. The thought of living the rest of her life without him left her empty, and the emptiness outweighed her fear.
Perhaps Cassie had been right.
Perhaps a discussion in the dead of night, a time when sentiment ruled, was just the thing.
Yes. She would go down.
She would lure him if she must—not in the way he’d accused her of luring him into the maze, but she would lure him into telling her the truth.
She rose from the bed, feeling her way through the darkness to the peg.
She stuffed her arms into the sleeves as best she could without light and then, slowly and quietly, opened her door.
The plush carpet sank softly beneath her bare toes as she placed one careful step in front of the other, each time pausing to make sure a creak did not follow.
Tedious thing, descending the stairs. She kept her body close to the railing, both because that was where the steps were least likely to moan and because the darkness was almost complete. The only faint glow came from the library.
He must be there, just as he’d told her he would be.
Would he welcome her presence? Or would he subject her to a scold?
Uncertainty made jelly of her legs at the same time anticipation set a horsewhip to her heart—the organ was galloping so hard in her chest, her heartbeat alone could wake the whole house. Silently, she approached the open door and peered within.
She needn’t have worried.
The lamps were still burning, but Neville was in no condition to scold. His head lolled to the side, with lips slightly parted. The starched, clean clothes he’d changed into were now endearingly rumpled. He looked so peaceful, so sweet.
He’d had a long, hard night as well.
She entered the library and then shut the door. She had half-expected him to bound up, reach over her head, and prevent the latch from taking, but his breath remained steady even as the metal clicked into place.
Unfair, that she should receive such pleasure simply from studying him Why did he have to be so finely made?
Why did this man have to attract her so?
Until Neville, the strongest, sturdiest man she’d ever known had been Willowhurst’s gamekeeper, with whom she’d also grown to feel safe.
When their father had been away from home, Mr. Winter tolerated frequent visits from her and Eliza, putting them to “work” on one invented task or another. However, the true solace he offered came during the infrequent times when her father was present.
Of course, Mr. Winter never interfered directly when the squire went into a rage, else he would have lost his position.
However, the hiding spots Millie chose were always in proximity to the gamekeeper’s cottage.
And on countless occasions, Mr. Winter had lifted her out from whatever hiding place of hers he’d accidentally discovered.
He never sent her immediately back to the house, though.
Instead, he’d tell her sternly, “If you are going to plague me, you must make yourself of good use.”
When she was young, she’d carry his ammunition, following behind him as he’d instructed, spreading out her steps so that her own feet would sink into Mr. Winter’s muddy impressions, thereby keeping her from the worst of the muck.
When she grew older, he’d given her her own rifle.
Together, they trained. The closer she came to the bull’s eye, the brighter his crooked smile would beam. No fox would dare disturb the hens on Miss Millicent’s watch!
Or so he’d say.
Mr. Winter was a large part of the reason she was able to survive.
Neville’s station in life was very different from the gamekeeper’s. But didn’t Neville’s training of Asquith prove he was the same kind of man? Quietly skilled, insistent on high standards, but ready to both provide haven and education, even at high risk to himself.
Wearily, she knelt by the side of his chair, not in supplication but in awe.
Neville stirred, his lids lifting halfway. Then, he smiled, small, winsome, and dear.
Hesitantly, she returned the smile. For a moment they were caught in a quiet, lovely place. The perfect hiding spot. The calm before the storm.
Then he blinked, widened his eyes, grasped the chair’s arms with white-knuckle fists, and sat up straight.
“Sst,” she whispered. “Sst.” Her mother had always quieted them with the soothing sound. “Everyone is asleep.”
“As you should be!” he whispered back.
“I was asleep. But I dreamt of you and then…”
“You dreamt?” He flushed. “Of me?”
She nodded.
For a moment, he appeared mystified. Then, he shook his head. “I’m sorry you caught me dozing.” He straightened. “And you need to go back to bed.”
“Do I?” She adjusted her wrapper. “Cassie said she left me this night rail just in case I woke and felt the urge to…how did she put it? Nocturnally wander.”
His face remained impassive, but she heard a small, involuntary groan.
“Earlier, I told you I needed time.” She wanted to touch him, but she dared not be so bold. Not yet. “But perhaps what I really need is information.”
He studied her warily as she propped herself up on her arm. She slid out of her kneeling position, but kept her legs tucked in by her side.
“Right now, you want…this.” She waved her free hand between them. “I may even want this. Both of us may even have talked ourselves into believing there is no other choice.”
“Oh, there is another choice,” he said bitterly.
“When I said I would prefer banishment,” she started carefully, “I hadn’t truly thought through the consequences. But ever since I awoke, they’ve been running through my mind.”
His gaze softened.
She smiled, sheepish and wobblily. “I can’t stop thinking about missing Lenora and Nettie coming into their own. And losing time with the children Eliza and Cassie will have. And,” She peeked at him. “losing our nascent friendship before it has had time to blossom.”
His face went completely slack.
“Banishment would allow me to keep what I value. But it would also force me to give up what I—” She glanced away. “What I care about most.”
“Millie. Do you mean to say… Are you actually considering…”
She nodded.
A deep red flush crept into his cheeks. “My God.”
She sighed, not unsatisfied with his response. He was back to breaking the first commandment, was he?
That had to be a hopeful sign.
“Perhaps. But how I can trust that you won’t become the same type of tyrant my father was to my mother—to us?” She stared up into his eyes. “Especially when I know you fundamentally disapprove of me?”