She continued to climb instead of answer him, and when she was close enough to the fan window, she whipped what she carried beneath her arm out—a jagged board of wood—and pressed it to the gaping hole in the window. She held it there with one hand as she reached into her pocket, producing a nail, which she placed between her teeth, and then a hammer.
“Caroline Canterbury! Come down now!” If he hadn’t come, she could have died by any means possible in this small sliver of space and time—a fall, a hammer, struck by lightning. God only knew how a hammer could kill her, but if anyone was going to die by accidental hammer death, it would be Caro. At the very least, she might swallow a damn nail.
She ignored him once more. But she did not move forward with her task. She seemed frozen. She frowned down at him. Board pinned to the window with one hand and hammer in the other, she had no way to hold the nail.
He crossed his arms over his chest and curved one corner of his lips. “Ready to come down now?”
Her frown deepened, those dark brows forecasting her frustration even at a distance. Back in the pocket went the hammer, then the nail, and he held the ladder as she dropped the board to the ground—nearly braining him in the process—then descended. Her skirts swung above his face. He glimpsed slim ankles encased in creamy silk. Feelings that weren’t fear and irritation melted into softer ones he was trying to ignore. And then, forget.
When she’d descended into the circle of his arms, she hopped to the broken stone and turned to look up at him, dark brows still slashed with irritation. “Where have you come from like an impossible apparition? If I couldn’t feel you quite”—she patted his chest—“real beneath my hand, I’d think you just that.”
If he took his hands off the ladder, they could settle at her waist.
He released the ladder, let his hands float where they would. Toward her. Magnetized to the heat of her body. He could pull her closer. In the past, he’d banished memory of her, of this place, in other women’s beds.This womanwas his wife, and he’d not touched another since marrying her, since that night at the Lyon’s Den. The spark of their almost-kiss the day of their wedding still resided in his bones. He stood too close, perfectly close for a kiss. He could take what he’d denied her once. Denied himself. His hands, one accidental flick away from her waist. He could feel her heat, twitched to touch. He flexed his fingers, ready to take. But after his palms learned the curve of her waist,his lips would want to learn the curve of her smile, and well, then they were both damned.
He curved his nails into his palms and stepped away to save them both. “I received a visit from my grandfather.”
She smiled. As if they were meeting over a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. “How is the old dear?”
“Worried. About you.”
She curled one arm in front of her waist, propped the other elbow atop it, rested her chin on her knuckles—no gloves—and frowned at the still-too-slim space between them. “Hedidseem rather displeased with me when he left. More so with you. He refused to say why, though.”
“He’s displeased with me because of you, Caro.” He gestured to the piece of wood and the open door to the entryway with his chin. “Where are the servants?”
“Oh… about.” She whisked inside then whirled in the empty entry hall to face him, throwing her arms out. Her voice was resigned. Or maybe, stubborn. “I suppose I cannot hide it. I’ve only the one—my maid.”
He couldn’t follow her inside. The open door seemed a giant maw, ready to grind him down, swallow him.
She ventured closer. “Is something amiss, Felix?”
He forced himself over the threshold, looking only at her. She was fresh faced and sunny even in her concern. The girl who’d saved him from dark and sticky grief.Shewas here, so he could manage being here too. He took a deep breath, shook away the encroaching shadows and found—ah yes, that’s right. He wasangryat her.
“Yes, something is amiss!” he grumbled. “Everything is. What are you doing here?Alone. When I agreed to this—”
She rolled her eyes and walked away, disappearing through a door that led to a parlor. It had been a bright room, once,decorated in delicate blues and eggshell whites. His mother had decorated it, had received visitors there, and—
He knocked the memory away and followed her, stopped dead in the doorway. The bright blue room gone. Paint peeling, floors creaking. The once elegant, oak furniture dull, the cushions deflated and torn in little rips and circles likely worn by mice teeth.
He forced himself forward, focused on Caro. “I was not aware you intended to live in a dilapidated state with no servants.”
“Come now. Dilapidated is too strong a word. The house is in need of repairs. But it possesses many charms.” She bustled about the room, flinging back the curtains and opening the windows. Unlike the fanlight over the door, these windows were all intact. The curtains were clean but threadbare, holes scattering a haphazard pattern across them.
“You cannot live here alone.”
Oh. Damn. That had been the wrong thing to say. She marched toward him like a general toward a disobedient soldier. “You cannot tell me how I’ll live.” She took a deep breath, brown eyes closing, then opening. She offered a smile, half jolly, halfI will kill you. “And I’m not alone. There’s Polly. She’s at the village just now.”
Felix snorted.
“Three months ago, you were absolutely elated by this situation, glad to have a wife who preferred to remain out of reach. Do not tell me you’ve had a change of heart.”
“I’ve not. But this is not safe. I thought you’d be living in the country as other wives do. With an army of servants and a rotation of visitors. Not likethis!”
“It’s your house. Surely you knew the state it was in. The servants’ quarters have only just become livable. And there’s no room for you, even. I’m afraid you’ll be quite uncomfortable tonight.” Her lips turned down, and she seemed to be contrite.
Bollocks.He knew her better than that. She wanted him gone.
He sat in the nearest chair. “Do not worry about me, my dear. I’m made of stern stuff. I’m sure I’ll survive.”
