“I shall thank her next time I see her.”
Caroline laughed, pinched his chest. “Do not do that! She’d be mortified.”
“Ow.” He rubbed his chest, held her hand. To keep her from further attacks upon his person, most likely. “Be gentle with me, Caro-mine.” Voice low and rumbly.
And oh, it seemed to turn her inside out, to put her heart into her palms so she could see just who it thumped for. She melted against his chest and listened to his heart, strong and steady just like him. She wanted to give him the same steadiness he gave her, the same protection. “Have you been suffering nightmares still?”
“Do not worry about them.”
He had been, then. “What are you going to do about the footmen?”
“Find my own.” He sighed. “I trust the widow’s references implicitly. I hate to lose these fellows so quickly.”
“So, you will be leaving?”
“I… Caro… I do not see another way. As soon as I replace them, I’ll leave.”
“Why?”
“Are you willing to stay in my bed every hour of the day?” he asked. “Are you willing to make a home with me in the folly? Because that’s what it would take, I fear. There are too many bloody ghosts here for me to live in peace.”
He’d not answered her question. Not really. Ghosts. Nightmares. Could she do what he asked to keep him? She had, at some point, begun to want that. Wanted to keep the way he held her, wanted him to hold her longer, hold her forever. No other man could do this to her, wrap her in the safety of his friendship and strike her through with a bolt of lust and longing. A heady combination.
A fatal one. Nonetheless…
She stood, placing her teacup down—wrong temperature now—and folded her hands behind her back. She stepped away from him to more easily breathe. “If I come to you, Felix, will you stay?”
His eyes flashed, and a wicked grin slanted across his face. “If you come to me, wife, I’ll do whatever the hell you want me to.”
She nodded and left him. Much to plan. Much to ponder. For instance, why she’d made such a bargain, when he’d be staying anyway.
The widow’s arrangement with the footmen had assured it. For a time.
Chapter Eleven
Hawthorne House wassleeping, but not Caroline. She paced the small confines of her bed chamber, ratty curtains open to let the moon wash the space in light.
Only there was no light. Clouds had rolled across the sky, casting the midnight world in total darkness. It would be difficult to find her way to the folly.
But that was this evening’s plan.
The plan for every evening after this, as long as she could get him to stay.
Unfortunately, the other part of this evening’s plan might send him flying back to London. That the worst outcome. The most likely that he would send her from the folly and be cold with her until he was able to replace the widow’s footmen with those loyal to him.
The best outcome? She didn’t dare imagine it, but she hoped…
She shrugged into her wrapper, descended the stairs, and creaked the front door open. The path to the folly was dark, but she trod it with ease. She’d followed it many times since his arrival, outfitting his chosen domicile with every comfort she could think of—blankets, books and candles, a tub, a rug, amattress. He should have a bed and a proper chamber, but… She looked up at the house. Something here tormented him. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know what.
The moon still hid behind clouds as she approached the folly, but even in blackness its white marble glowed a dim light. Before she could climb the few steps to the top, the door opened, and Felix filled the frame.
“Caro?”
“You’re awake then?”
“I was coming for you.”
“Haha.” A nervous laugh. “I was coming foryou.”
