Page 46 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Andrew shook his head, struggling not to cry. “I really wish to believe that,” he said as quietly as he could, though it was a cry of sorrow.
“We shall know in time,” Emmeline said softly. “I thought her breathing was already more restful when I looked in on her after dinner.”
“You think so?” His heart soared. He had checked on her before he retired to bed, but he had seen no real difference.
She nodded. “I do think so. I used to check Papa’s breathing. I could tell if he was in pain or not by how deeply and restfully, he breathed.”
Andrew bit his lip. “Thank you,” he said softly. Grandma’s illness had filled his mind, making him forget everything else for a moment. He had forgotten how recently she had lost her own father. “This must distress you greatly,” he added.
She took a deep breath. “It is different,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “I knew, somehow, that Papa was not going to recover. But with Lady Rilendale, I feel as though she is fighting,” she added slowly.
“She is a fighter,” Andrew said with a faint smile. He could feel tears in his eyes. He recalled how brave and strong his grandmother had always been and the memory made his heart twist.
“I thought as much,” Emmeline said softly. “I am certain that, if anyone can recover, it isshe.”
“Yes,” Andrew agreed, his shoulders slumping with relief. He had not expected to feel any sort of comfort, but she offered him hope where no one else had. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She gazed up at him, her big eyes wide.
“I have hardly done anything,” she said in a quiet, confused voice.
He shook his head. “Quite the contrary,” he said gently. “You have done much. You have given me hope and comfort when I needed it most. I am profoundly grateful that you are here.” His voice trembled with emotion as he spoke.
She gazed at him in surprise, and he stepped forward, unable to hide how deeply she had moved him. He reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. She tensed, and he hesitated a moment, but she relaxed, and he kissed the back of her hand. He could smell the soft floral scent of her, and it made his senses swim. Her skin was like satin, cool and soft under the touch of his mouth. He recalled how much he had longed to kiss her as he helped her up onto her horse just those few hours ago. He remembered how he had watched her riding and how his heart had soared to see her.
He gently released her hand.
She was staring up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted in an expression of surprise.
His heart raced, his body flooding with desire so strong he could almost not control it. He made a fist and took a deep breath, fighting with himself not to kiss her. He did not want to get that close, to risk that the curse—which might have been the cause of Grandma’s injuries—would hurt her too.
“Perhaps we should...” he began, wanting to say that perhaps it was time they went upstairs to bed. As he spoke, a floorboard creaked in the hallway. He tensed and spun around. Another sound drifted in from the hallway, a muffled footfall as though someone was trying to move quietly. “Who’s there?” he shouted, hurrying to the door.
He hurried into the corridor, but there was not anyone to be seen. At the end of the hallway, where a long, curtained window looked out onto the darkened garden, the velvet drapes swung as though stirred by the breeze of someone walking swiftly past. But there was not a sign of anyone to be seen.
Andrew shivered.
“Who’s there?” he called again.
Nobody answered, and he walked to the end of the hallway, then turned and went into the entranceway and looked up the stairs. Nobody was on the stairwell and the upstairs floor was in darkness.
He looked around briefly, feeling puzzled, and then returned to the library.
“Who was it?” Emmeline asked. Her voice was low and shaking with fear. He took a steady breath.
“I saw no one,” he said slowly. “I suspect it was one of the servants—Pearson, perhaps. He may have wondered who was in the library but chose not to intrude.” He hoped his words would ease her mind.
She relaxed visibly, her posture slumping. “Probably,” she murmured. He gazed at her concernedly. Her face was very pale, her lovely green eyes ringed with grey.
“You should retire,” he said gently. “We are both tired.”
“Yes,” Emmeline whispered. “Yes. I am tired.”
He gestured to the door. “Come, then. You go on up. I shall put out the candles and bank the fire, and then I’ll follow.”
“Vey well,” she murmured.
“You never chose a book,” he said lightly, trying to comfort her. She still seemed jumpy and frightened, and he did not like to think of her restless and scared, unable to sleep.
