Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A storm raged overhead, jerking Cressida from sleep.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, her whole body trembling with the sudden anxiety she felt. Storms had always frightened her, though she knew they shouldn't. She was inside. She had a fire and a roof over her head. There was nothing the storm could do to her. She was perfectly safe.

Lightning flashed outside her window, then she heard the sound of the thunder.

It seemed to shake her very bones. She clapped her hands to her mouth as if to stifle a scream, but her lungs were so tight that no sound came out anyway.

She got to her feet and hurried to the window. The rain was coming down in buckets—she couldn't even see the ground from here because it was so intense. Ordinarily, Cressida loved the view from her bedroom window, but right now it was terrifying, and she found that she wanted to put as much distance as possible between it and herself.

She fled to the opposite side of her bedroom, but as lightning split the sky again, she realized that wasn't enough. Without even thinking very seriously about what she was doing, she found herself backing through the door and pulling it closed, and then she was in the corridor in nothing but her nightclothes.

Cressida knew she couldn't just stand here. For one thing, it was too dark, and she was still very frightened. And all at once, the answer came to her—the place where she would feel safest in the middle of the storm. The place she had arranged to be comfortable and full of light, and where there was enough space that she would be able to stay far away from any windows.

The library.

She hurried down the corridor, keeping one hand on the wall to guide her in the darkness. She clung to the railing on the stairs, a part of her terrified that she would miss a step and go tumbling down, and that she would seriously injure herself. But everything was fine, and she made it safely to the ground floor. There was more light on this level, making it easy to navigate the path to the library. Before she knew it, she was there.

Cressida hurried to the chair she had had the staff bring to this room. It had become a source of comfort to her, and now she tucked herself into it, wondering if having a book to read might distract her suitably from what was going on outside.

The thunder boomed again, and Cressida gave it up—there was no way she would be able to focus on anything right now.

The best thing she could do would be to try to manage her terror, which was mounting by the minute. She had suffered with this enough times that she knew what she needed to do. The situation called for deep breaths and patience, that was all—soon enough, it would be over.

But this was the first storm Cressida had had to endure since coming to Feverton Manor.

It hadn't occurred to her just how helpful she found it to be surrounded by the setting she was used to. In her father's house, she had always felt that it was important to keep her fear concealed from her sister, and she'd always known that her father wouldn't be able to help her. But she had had ways of soothing herself. She had felt secure in her own bedroom there. It had been familiar, and she had been through so many storms safely inside it.

This was different.

It was the strangeness of the house that made her feel so unsafe. The sounds of the wind coming through the cracks were unfamiliar to her, and it felt as if something was wrong. She knew that wasn't the case. She knew that this house was strong and secure. It was probably stronger than her father's house. But it didn't feel that way, somehow. It felt as if the whole thing was about to come tumbling down around her.

The lighting flashed once more.

At the following boom of thunder, Cressida clapped her hands to her face, drew her knees up to her chest, and curled into the tightest ball she could, as if by making herself small she could prevent the storm from finding her.

How long she remained in that position, she never knew. It might have been hours. All she knew for certain was that the next thing she was aware of was a hand gripping her arm.

"What on Earth are you doing?" a rough voice demanded.

Matthew .

He had never been kind or soothing to her, but in that moment of panic, Cressida didn't care. Only one thing penetrated her thoughts—Matthew might not think very highly of her, he might not like her very much, but he was safe . He would never let her come to harm.

She was as certain of that as she was of anything in the world.

The next thing she knew, she had flung herself at him, her arms encircling his waist, taking shelter in his warmth.

A moment later, his arms were around her. "Are you unwell?" he asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.

Cressida couldn't speak. She could hardly catch her breath. She was sobbing, suddenly, the dam within her that had been formed from her panic and terror giving way. She clung to him, aware that this was likely to be embarrassing at some time in the future. Right now, though, the only thing she could feel was relief that he was here beside her and she was no longer alone.

She felt herself being pulled to her feet and tucked under his strong arm. Then he was helping her along. She was hardly aware of what direction they were going, and she didn't realize what their destination was until they had reached it—the sitting room. He sat down on the sofa and eased her down beside him.

It was only then that she gained the presence of mind to realize how long it had been since either one of them had spoken. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not knowing what else to say or do.

"You don't have to apologize," he assured her quietly. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

"No, it's just…the storm."

He nodded. "I thought it might be something like that."

"I'm sorry," she said again, trembling in his arms.

"You've got to stop apologizing. You haven't done anything wrong."

"I know you don't like it when I wander the house…"

"I would never expect you to stay somewhere if you were frightened, though," he assured her. "That's why you left your room, isn't it? You were afraid?"

"Well, yes, that's right…"

She clung to him with the next thunderclap. "I'll get us some tea," he suggested. "Do you think that might help you to calm yourself?"

Cressida didn't know if it would or not, but she supposed it couldn't hurt matters any, so she nodded.

"Will you bring some tea please?" Matthew said. She didn't see who he was speaking to, but there must have been someone else in the room. It didn't even occur to Cressida to feel embarrassed at the thought of the staff seeing her like this, though a part of her recognized that she would probably feel that way later, once her anxiety had abated. For now, she was just glad that she had people around her to help her, and that no one seemed to think her foolish or an annoyance.

"I've never been afraid of storms, myself," Matthew said.

For a moment, Cressida misunderstood and thought that he was boasting.

But then he continued. "When I was younger," he said, "I was terribly afraid of birds."

She understood—he wasn't trying to say that he was better than her, braver or stronger. He was simply trying to calm her by talking to her. He was doing what he could to distract her.

And it worked. She raised her head and made eye contact with him. His dark eyes were warmer than she had ever seen them. Until now, he had always been distant and calculated with her, but now he looked at her with compassion and concern.

"Birds?" she managed, wanting him to keep talking more than she wanted to hear the specific story he had offered to tell.

He nodded. "I thought they might attack me," he said. "When I was a boy, I imagined them diving out of the sky." He flattened his hand and angled it down in a diving motion. "I thought they might peck at me until they drew blood. I didn't realize that birds have no interest in bothering people. I suppose I got the idea in my head one day and didn't know how to let go of it."

It was a very odd fear to have. Cressida couldn't criticize it, of course—not while she was clinging to him over something as harmless as a storm. But she realized that she wouldn't have wanted to be critical anyway. She found herself sympathizing with the young boy he described, the child he had been. A part of her wished she could take him in her arms somehow and reassure him that everything would be all right. Of course, he didn't need that from her now. He wasn't that frightened little boy anymore. But even so, he had given her a look at a hidden and vulnerable side of him, and it was the first time he had done anything like that.

He wasn't only trying to distract her, Cressida realized.

He was trying to make this feel more normal.

And that, too, was working.

She sat up as the tea was brought in. Matthew pulled a handkerchief out and handed it to her without speaking, and Cressida dabbed the tears from her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured. "You're being very understanding."

Matthew waited until the tea had been poured. Then he picked up one of the cups and placed it in her hands. "Drink," he said gently. "You'll feel better if you do, I'm sure."

She took a sip.

He was right. Almost at once, the warmth and the aroma soothed her frayed nerves, and she began to feel more like herself.

Matthew kept a hand on her arm, and she was glad of it. With the next bolt of lightning, her hands trembled and her teacup rattled in its saucer, but she managed to maintain her composure. At least no tea had spilled. That would have been humiliating.

Matthew sipped his own tea. "I think the worst of the storm is past us now," he said.

"How do you know that?"

"The lightning strikes are further apart."

"Are they?"

"Yes. You can count the time in between them," he said. "If it grows further apart, that means the storm is ending."

"I didn't know that." She looked at him. "And you've been counting?"

"Ever since I found you in the library."

In other words, he had been doing it for her sake. He had been keeping track of the storm in order to try to soothe her.

Cressida didn't have words to express how touched she felt by that simple gesture. She was unused to being cared for. Her sister had always loved her dearly, but it had been Cressida, not Victoria, who had been the caretaker in that relationship. And as for her father…not even when Cressida was young had he taken care of her like that. She had needed to fend for herself.

Now someone was caring for her. Anticipating her needs and providing for them.

She didn't know what to say or how to thank him. She knew only that she was more moved than she had ever been in her life.

She leaned into his shoulder as the storm receded and the night gradually fell silent around them.