Page 43 of Memories Made At Midnight

The truth was, she might not be able to stay awake to eat and bathe. Her head throbbed, every muscle in her body ached, and a tightness had invaded her chest.

“I’ve asked for our meal to be sent up and then for baths afterward. I’ll check on the dogs before and after.” He dug in his coat pocket and fished around before withdrawing a skeleton key. “I also paid a stable lad a hefty sum to keep their presence a secret.”

Nala and Teddy weren’t his responsibility, yet Cassius hadn’t exhibited a qualm about looking after them. She’d always thought the manner in which a man—any person for that matter—cared for animals said much about their character.

He inserted the key into the lock. It made a slight scraping noise as he turned it and then toed the door open with his boot. Ribbons of light from the corridor filtered into the dark room.

Leaving her standing just inside the entrance, he crossed to a table where he lit a candle, revealing a clean, if somewhat stark, chamber. A bed covered in a dark green bedspread dominated the small room. In the far corner, a washstand held a porcelain basin and pitcher, a towel, a bar of soap, and a chamber pot on the lower shelf. A single high-back chair sat beneath a window next to the table upon which the candle flickered.

“Stay in here and do not open the door for anyone unless I’m in the room too.” Cassius crossed back to Beatrice, searching her face. He pulled back her veil and touched her cheek with the knuckle of his bent forefinger, his expression tender.

As it had yesterday, his attention lingered on her mouth, and Beatrice was fairly certain he battled an urge to kiss her. What was more, she wanted him to lose that inner struggle.

Just once, so she would know a man’s kiss before she became a dried-up prune of a spinster.

Not any man’s kiss.

Only Cassius’s kiss would do.

Foolish girl.

She pulled a face at her silly ruminations.

He must have mistaken the contortion for an objection to the restrictions he imposed, for a muscle flexed in his jaw. Just as well, for Beatrice would die of humiliation should he ever become aware of her silly fantasies.

“I know these measures seem extreme, Beatrice, but we cannot be too careful. I’ll bring my brother to meet you later if I can arrange to do so discreetly.”

There was something comforting and stirring about having someone take care of her after a lifetime of deprivation. If Beatrice wasn’t careful, she would lose her heart to Cassius.

It’s only because he’s been kind and considerate.

Was it though?

After Cassius had gone and she’d locked the door, Beatrice removed her hat and cloak. The ill-fitting gown sagged on her slender frame.

It didn’t matter.

She’d never been one to care much about fashion—unlike her uncle, who was more fastidious and far pickier about his attire and appearance than any woman she’d ever met.

Several hoarse coughs forced their way up her throat.

Just perfect.

As if their escape weren’t difficult enough, she had to become ill.

Well, Cassius would not hear a single word of complaint from her, Beatrice vowed. She would do nothing to slow down their flight.

The bed looked so inviting. To stretch out and relax would be a little slice of heaven. Sighing, she lay down, intending to rest until Cassius returned. Allowing her eyes to flutter close, she resumed her mental inventory of what she intended to do with her money.

“Beatrice!” Someone shook her shoulder. “Beatrice! Wake up.”

No. I’m so tired. Just let me sleep.

“Beatrice.”

The fervor in Cassius’s voice finally stirred her.

Beatrice forced her leaden eyelids open.