13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

S taring at his empty bed, Thomas leaned back in the chair by the window in his room, swallowing the last of his tumbler of brandy.

He closed his eyes.

He wasn’t into oblivion yet, and for once, he wasn’t sure that was how he wanted to enter sleep. Or that he even wanted sleep.

Last night, after sitting with Izzie on the cliffs, he’d woken up three times.

His dreams were not filled with the usual horrors that plagued his sleep, making him toss and turn endlessly throughout each and every night. They’d been filled with visions of Izzie.

Izzie laughing, her head dipping backward, the cascade of her dark hair in waves around her shoulders. Izzie sinking down to her knees in front of him, her tongue slipping out, drifting across her full lips as she looked up at him. Izzie naked, the perfect mounds of her breasts dipping down to wisp across his face as she leaned over him.

He woke with a start each and every time. His body sweaty, muscles tight, his cock as hard as a rock. But what had truly shaken him was the heaviness in his chest.

That indescribable heaviness of wanting something—someone. An unexplainable, twisted sensation of warmth and excitement and nervousness in his veins that made him forget that the world still moved onward around him.

A sensation so powerful, that all he wanted was to dive back into sleep before he lost that feeling in his chest.

But then, another breath, and he would get his bearings about him and be disgusted at himself again and again.

Izzie was off-limits. His ward for the time being, nothing more. Nothing more than a babe in his care.

It didn’t matter how much of a woman she seemed—all the more so since he’d learned she could actually speak in full, intelligent sentences.

Her feral act had proven her to be a better actress than he’d ever witnessed on the London stages.

And that made her a liar. He had to remember that.

He couldn’t abide liars. Especially women who were liars.

He needed to get her out of the castle as soon as possible.

Once she was gone, she would disappear from his dreams, and he could return to the horrors of his flesh being pierced, burned, again and again and again in his dreams. That feeling—that pain—he knew how to deal with.

Wake up, reach for a new bottle of whisky until he passed out again.

It’d been a simple and effective plan for the last year. The only plan, really.

He’d never had control over his dreams. Not as young boy, and certainly not since he’d returned to England a year ago.

He set his empty glass on the small round table next to him, his head dropping back onto the chair as he looked out at the half-moon sitting fat in the sky. Clouds were sparse this night. The moon gave off enough light to reflect across the endless inky waters, and the bitter wind had died down, though the calm had done nothing but aggravate his mood.

He liked it when the wind was high, the air biting. Something angrier in the world than the lead ball of rage constantly churning in his stomach. The wind made him feel less alone, when he damn well knew he was alone. Would be to his dying day.

Sleep always eluding him.

How did Izzie sleep?

The thought popped into his head.

Bloody intrusive.

Then he had a hard time shaking the damn thought.

Izzie’s life hadn’t been easy, that much was obvious. Maybe she slept like a babe, now that she had luxury around her. Food to eat. A warm bed to sleep in. No need to keep up the pretense of a wild animal.

Without much thought, other than to answer the question that had popped into his mind, he stood up, grabbing the lone candlestick that was lit in his room, and ventured into the hallway.

Two corridors away, he paused outside of Izzie’s bedroom door. Turning his head to the left, he set his right ear to the door. Waiting.

She slept silently. No snores. No tossing and creaking of the bed.

Good. He was glad for her. That she was that secure she could sleep in peace.

Then his fingers did the stupidest thing—they wrapped around the door handle. Knowing he shouldn’t do it even as he did it, he started to push the door open.

What he wanted—and he knew exactly what he wanted—was just to see someone sleeping peacefully. As if seeing it would reground him to this earth. That people could still sleep without a care in the world. Reminding him of normalcy.

Not that Izzie was normal—far from it by her own admission.

But in this one little thing, her sleeping soundly would be an odd comfort to him.

Using the handle, he lifted the door on its hinges as much as possible as he swung it open, for he knew the ancient iron on this door was especially squeaky.

The door opened wide enough to stick his head through, and he leaned inward to peek at the large four-post bed centering the room. The low glow of coals from the fireplace lent just enough light for him to see the bed in the shadows.

The empty bed.

The perfectly made, no one sleeping in it, bed.

He pushed the door more fully open, his gaze scanning the room, all the corners of it, looking for Izzie.

No one.

What in the hell?

He stepped into the room, walking about it with his candlelight, just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything.

She wasn’t there.

It was the damn middle of the night and there was only one place she should be.

In bed. Sleeping.

His mind started whirling, scenarios playing out in full length before flipping maniacally to the next one.

She was down in the kitchens munching on cheese.

Or she was off with Miss Derrington in some niche of the castle, working on her stitching and laughing with the woman.

Or she had gone outside to walk in the night air and stumbled, slipping off the edge of the cliff and was in pain on the rocks below, slowly bleeding to death.

Or now that the ruse of her being feral was over, she had gotten to talking with the driver he’d recently hired and she had let herself be convinced to go into a dark corner of the stables with him.

Thomas stilled, every hair on his neck spiking at that disturbing thought.

And then the blasted thought expanded, the images in his mind out of control—that driver’s hands sliding along the back of Izzie’s neck. His lips crushing hers. His grip pulling up her skirt, baring her leg. His fingers sliding up her calf, her thigh, slipping into the crux of her. Izzie’s head dropping back, her lips parting, wanton ecstasy on her face.

A growl seethed out with his next breath, his head near to exploding into a thousand raving shards.

That last possibility spiked a fury in him he didn’t recognize.

He refused to let any woman spark anything in him. Those were the shackles he’d put on his life.

But…shit…

If she was with that damn ass—Harold…Hank…Howard…whatever his damn name was—instead of in her bed sleeping where she should be, he was going to crack bones.

His feet in a flurry, Thomas stormed out of Izzie’s room and went directly to Miss Derrington. She came to her door, bleary-eyed and sleep muddled. She woke up quickly once he told her Izzie was missing, and she immediately set off in search of her.

Thomas stormed through the castle, searching as he rounded up Jensen and Mrs. Havergrove. Then outside to find his new driver and the stableboy that may or may not be on the estate—the boy’s family lived close by and he was often gone.

His driver was right where he should be, sleeping in the accommodations above the stables. Hal was his name. He remembered that fact during his clipped walk to the stables.

A lucky thing for the safety of the man’s face, but it worried Thomas all the more that no one knew where Izzie was.

With the whole household woken, lanterns were lit. Everyone searching every corner of the castle. Then out onto the cold grounds surrounding Ravenstone.

Thomas took the route by the cliffs, his right ear turned to the wind, desperate for some sort of cry that would tell him Izzie’s location.

Every step he took another brick in the panic that was rising within him.

Where in the hell could she be?

An hour later, and no one had found her.

So he sent everyone outside to search again while he ran up to her room, hoping against hope that he’d missed some important clue. When the reality was, she could have very well decided to escape back to her cottage in Yorkshire.

At the top of the stairs that led to the main bedrooms, he turned right to the hallway that led to her room. Halfway down the corridor, he paused at the window that looked out to the sea and the cliffs, and set his lantern on the table in front of the window. He trained his eyes on Jenson and Hal’s lanterns lighting the path along the cliffs, moving slowly, their arms moving the lanterns back and forth to light the area.

“What are you looking at?” A sudden presence next to him. Izzie’s voice.

Fucking hell.

His look crept down to her, his voice a barely restrained growl. “Where in the bloody hell have you been?”

With her long chestnut hair in one long braid that hung over her left shoulder, she was in a night rail and a wrapper tied loosely that revealed far too much of the smooth slope of her chest. She was aggravatingly accustomed to his growls, and the tone of his voice produced nothing more than her furrowed brow as she yawned, her fingers covering her lips. “Sleeping. Why? What has happened?” She looked out the window. “Who is out there?” She tapped on the window toward the lanterns swinging in the dark.

“You weren’t in your room—where were you sleeping?”

His eyes went to pinpricks on her. Where in the hell had she been? Had she been hiding in the stables when he’d roused Hal to search for her? Did he miss it?

Her tired eyes stayed on the lanterns by the cliffs as she absently answered him. “In my room.”

He grabbed her arm, twisting her to face him. “You weren’t in your room.”

“I was.”

“No.”

Her jaw dropped at his clipped words, the furrow in her brow deepening. “I was in my room.”

His top lip turned into a snarl. “I saw your bed—it was empty.”

Her mouth clamped closed. She glared at him for one long second, then jerked her arm out of his grip and spun away from him, stalking down the corridor.

Right at her heels, he followed, grabbing her shoulder to stop her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

Her feet paused for the shortest moment as her lips pulled to a thin line, and she glanced up at him. “Then walk next to me.”

“To where?”

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and started walking again. “My room.”

Without waiting for him, she charged to her room, flinging the door open and walking to the middle of the chamber. Her arms clasped over her chest and she inclined her head to the left. “Look under there.”

Beyond exasperated, Thomas was a whisker away from grabbing her and shaking her for some real answers. “Under where?” The two words ground out through clenched teeth.

Her right arm flung out, her finger pointing. “The bed.”

He seethed out a sigh and stomped to the four-post bed, then bent over, looking under the heavy oak rail that lined the side of the bed.

His breath caught in his chest, his gaze running the entire length under the bed.

Shock sent shivers to spread along the back of his arms.

A pillow was sideways along with a rumpled blanket that looked like it had just been pushed aside.

His chest heaved with his next breath as he stood straight, looking to her. “You sleep under there?”

Her cheeks had turned red and her eyes closed, pained. “I do.”

“Why?”

Her gaze shifted downward, looking to the corner of the room as she silently lifted her shoulders, shaking her head.

Embarrassed. Shamed that she had to admit such a thing to him.

He took a step toward her, wanting to tilt her face up to him so he could somehow ease the humiliation that was obviously swallowing her. But he kept his hands at his sides.

There was no easing the intrinsic shame ingrained deep on one’s soul.

In control of the rage that had devoured him, his voice came out rough, like he hadn’t said anything at an even level in a long time and he’d forgotten how to talk without fury driving his words. “Once you’ve been forced to sleep on the floor for a long time, you never really lose that, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Fine.” He sucked in a deep breath, nodding to himself. “Fine. I am sorry.”

Sorry for not just yelling at her. Sorry her life had brought her to this.

More words he couldn’t say out loud and keep the uncrossable line between them firmly where it should be.

She was a problem that needed to be solved and moved out of Ravenstone. Nothing more.

Slowly, her look lifted to him. “I am sorry I am not sleeping on the fine bed you provided.”

So. Damn. Innocent.

His fingers threaded through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Why are you not sleeping in it?”

“Everything was sold from our home long ago.” She poked at the floorboards with her bare toes. “There was nothing in there except for one chair and one small table. That was all. That is what I know.”

He nodded, searching her face. “Did you even try to sleep on the bed?”

Her gaze flitted around the room. “It was generous, this room. I am sorry I am not using it. I can move to another room if you wish. Sylvie would appreciate this bed. She should move in here.”

He shook his head. “No. I need you to stay in here.”

“Why?” Her gaze lifted to him.

“Because you should be surrounded by normal. By fine things. Find a way to live with normal, even if your life hasn’t afforded you a chance to do so.”

“And you consider a bed normal?”

He looked to the bed. “Sleeping in one is, or so I remember.”

“You remember?” Her brows lifted high.

“It is vague, but yes, I remember what it is to sleep on a bed.”

A heavyset frown dropped the edges of her lips and she nodded, her look shifting away from him once more, shame eating into her.

Shame he didn’t want to see on her.

He cleared his throat. “I remember, but that doesn’t mean I sleep on a bed either.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “You only sleep in chairs?”

“Not exactly.” He shrugged. “Chairs I can abide when I am soused, but not beds. I haven’t slept in one in seven years. I sleep on the floor. Even when I returned to Ravenstone a year ago, I would try every night to sleep in my bed. I would start there. But by morning I was always on the floor. I finally gave up even trying the bed after the first three months.”

Her eyes went wide. “You were away from Ravenstone?”

“I was. For a long time. Years.”

Concern flashed in her blue eyes that looked aglow in the moonlight streaming in from the window. “Where did you go that would have you sleeping on the floor?”

His mouth clamped shut.

Too much.

Too many words flowing from his mouth. Too much information shared. The last thing he could allow was to feel any connection to this girl. No matter how tragically their lives aligned.

He inclined his head to her, his words curt. “Go back to sleep, wherever you wish. I will not bother you.”

He left her standing in her room before she could say anything else. Before he asked her more about her past—and he wanted to. The fact that his curiosity had reared was a sign.

A bad one.

One he had better heed, or suffer the consequences, just as he had before.