She jumped when he reached out and unexpectedly took her hand in his. “Francesca, you’re safe now.”
She knew that. And, yet, she didn’t know. Didn’t know if she’d ever feel safe again. She looked into his amber eyes, so full of strength and confidence. His hand felt warm and steady around her cool shaky one. Already she felt the tremors in her body subsiding, not just suppressed by her force of will but also calmed by the steady reliability of Winterbourne’s strength.
“Let me help you,” he murmured. He was so close to her, and his voice was soft, persuasive—a prayer. His fingers moved against her palm, feather-light, tracing lazy circles over her tingling skin.
“I—” She stopped, not certain what she’d been about to say. His touch made her dizzy, lightheaded.
She looked down again to steel herself against the languid, sensual assault of his honeyed eyes. He wanted her to trust him, and when she looked into his eyes, shewantedto trust him. But it wasn’t that easy.
The attack was her fault, the result of her stupidity. He should be chastising her, berating her, not holding her hand.
“It’s not your fault, Francesca.”
She jerked in surprise. He’d practically read her mind.
“But it is.” She pulled her hand out of his and held it between them when he began to protest. “I stayed in the hospital too long. It was dark when I started back.” Her voice began to tremble, and she fought to keep it steady. “I was alone. I gave him the perfect opportunity.”
“Francesca—” His tone was soothing, but she wouldn’t allow him to comfort her.
“If I had just paid attention to the time. If I hadn’t stayed in the hospital so late.”
He shook his head as firmly as she nodded hers. She stretched both hands in front of her to ward off his objections. “I was so stupid! If I had asked one of the grooms—”
He grasped her wrists in his and pulled her off the mountain of pillows swallowing her. “Then he would have waited for another time, another opportunity.” He held her close, mere inches between them, and she could feel his heat, his warmth.
She shook her head again, trying to pull back, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“Or it would have been someone else—one of the maids. We don’t know that the attacker targeted you. There was nothing—”
“No!” She squeezed his hands, forcing him to listen. “He wantedme.”
“How do you know?” His fingers gripped hers, hard.
“Because—” Her voice faltered. He was staring at her intently, his entire body tense, attention riveted to her. “Because...”
She freed her hands and pressed her face into them, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping the curls that fell forward hid her shame. She couldn’t find the words to explain, not words that would make sense at any rate. She justknew. Somehow she knew the attack had been personal.
“What is it, Francesca?” Winterbourne’s voice was demanding. It jabbed at the pain in her head. When had he started calling her by her given name? “You can tell me.”
He sat back in the chair, and she should be grateful he’d given her a moment’s reprieve. Instead, the sudden loss of closeness, the comfort he offered, felt like another blow from the axe.
“Breathe.” Winterbourne’s voice was calm, soothing. “Take a deep breath. You’ll remember.”
She didn’t want to remember the feel of the man prying her knees apart, his gloves, slick and smooth on the skin of her thighs—
A stab of terror ripped through her, and she took hold of it and pushed it down. She glared at him, scooted away, pushing pillows in front of her as a barrier. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
He held his hands up, palms out—a gesture begging for restraint. “I know it’s difficult, but I can’t help if you won’t talk to me.”
“I don’t want your help.” She pushed another pillow in front of her. “I want you to leave. I want to be alone now.”
He gazed at her, unperturbed. The dim light of the room played on his face, shadowing the harsh planes, making him seem more unyielding than usual.
––––––––
FINALLY, HE STOOD.“I’ll go now, but you won’t be rid of me. I’ll be just down the corridor.” Something about the tone in his voice sent a little tingle of awareness through her. Winterbourne’s bedchamber, mere footsteps away.
She glanced down at the white wool nightshift she wore. The high neck and thick material felt like flimsy protection against him when she felt so exposed and vulnerable. Why didn’t he leave her alone? She didn’t want to need him. Didn’t want to rely on the comfort he offered. She wanted to sink into sleep. To forget.
