“Once. When George and I first moved to London with Cynthia, we went there one evening.”
James frowned. Perhaps his question had not been the best. He’d no desire to speak of her husband right now. “Not to rush you or anything, but it is getting late and we should try to make an early start. Any chance you might begin preparing for bed?”
As if the very idea of doing so came as a shock, Mrs. Lawson’s gaze roamed around the small room. “Right. Of course.”
James flung one arm over his eyes and pretended he paid no attention to her, though that wasn’t true at all. His every sense was on high alert, his ears tracking each move she made as she started to get herself ready. He heard her open her bag and riffle through some of her things. Fabric rustled and then…nothing.
“Promise you won’t look?” she said after what seemed like endless silence.
“My eyes are tired, Mrs. Lawson, and I just want to sleep. So yes, I promise I will not look.”
Another moment of silence followed – clearly a hesitation on her part – before a series of rushed movements followed. Without peeking, James followed the sound of her taking off her shoes and setting them aside. Next, her dress swooshed as it landed upon the floor. It sighed as she picked it up and hung it upon a hook. A brief pause followed before he heard the ties of her stays give way. Then the smack of the boned material as it landed somewhere, most likely on top of her bag.
James held every muscle in check while forcing himself not to look. Familiar with women’s clothing, he knew she only wore her shift now. She’d have to remove that too if she wanted to put on her nightgown.
Tension coiled through him at the prospect of her getting naked. But then he heard her footsteps approach. The mattress dipped and all remaining light was snuffed out as she turned down the oil lamp completely.
Unless he’d missed something, she had decided to sleep in her shift instead of her nightgown. Most likely because she’d not wished to risk a state of complete undress, if only for a second. But this meant she’d be far more scantily dressed than otherwise. For although James was not acquainted with Mrs. Lawson’s underthings, he knew shifts were shorter than nightgowns, made of finer linen, and tended to have shorter sleeves.
And given the narrow width of the bed, avoiding contact would be impossible.
“Are you all right?” he asked once she’d stretched out beside him and pulled up the covers. His shoulder and hip were both pushed into the wall and since he could not feel her, she had to be lying on the very edge of the bed.
“Yes.”
“If you want more space you can come a bit closer.”
“I’m fine.”
Deciding not to argue, James clamped his mouth shut and told himself to go to sleep. He wanted to get an early start in the morning since progress would be slow until they managed to switch out the injured horse. And with every second they dallied, Michael and Cynthia moved closer to their goal.
A disgruntled sigh caught his attention. Mrs. Lawson shifted, pulling the blanket they shared as she turned. She still didn’t touch him, which meant her knees were probably hanging over the side of the bed. James yawned and tried not to worry about her wellbeing. If she said she was fine, then who was he to insist she wasn’t?
But when she continued to wriggle about in a futile attempt to get comfortable, James decided he had to do something for both their sakes. Either that or suffer a sleepless night.
“Mrs. Lawson?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to suggest something without frightening you.”
A pause, and then, “What?”
“If both of us sleep on our sides and without any distance between us, we’d have more space.”
“I…ah…that probably wouldn’t…I mean that’s completely—”
“Mrs. Lawson. I’d never attack you as Cloverfield did. You know that don’t you?”
“I do.” Her lack of hesitation with regard to this response pleased him.
“I’m not trying to coax you into doing something you don’t want to do either. All I’m suggesting is that we might benefit from applying a bit of practicality.” When she didn’t respond he gently asked, “Do you trust me?”
It seemed like forever before she answered. “Yes, Mr. Dale. I trust you completely.”
James’s heart tripled in size as a surge of warmth swept through him. “Good.” He rolled onto his side and scooted backward, as far up against the wall as he could manage. “Come toward me then.”
She did as he asked, proving to him that she valued his word. He’d stick to it. But since he wasn’t a saint, he failed to avoid scandalous thoughts as the length of her body connected with his. Christ, it would be easy to run his hand over her thigh, to hike up her shift and pull down his smalls…
The very idea caused an ache in his groin. He backed up a little to give her more space – to avoid any inappropriate contact. She sighed with contentment and he briefly paused. A smile caught his lips as he casually wound his arm over her waist, hugging her to him. She didn’t protest but rather reached for his hand. As she held it, her breaths grew deeper, steadier, until James knew she slept.
A deep sense of rightness pushed through his veins, calming his spirit and sending him after her into oblivion.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Cynthia said. Lying in bed, she stared up through the darkness while holding Michael’s hand. Another day had gone by without her coming any closer to confiding in him. It was past time for that to change.
He rolled onto his side, propped himself on his elbow and dipped his head until their lips met. She welcomed the sweet caress, lost herself in it for a brief moment, but when his hand stole up her thigh, she placed her palm against his chest and pushed him back.
“This is important, Michael. Please listen.”
He took a deep breath and expelled it, then flopped back onto his pillow. “Go on.”
Cynthia worried her lip, struggling once more to find the right way to begin – to ease into a subject she knew might ruin the bliss they presently shared. Eventually, she chose to simply spit it out. “I can’t have children.”
A dreadful silence followed during which her heart leapt along with unsteady beats.
“How do you know?”
The whispered words meant he’d heard her and understood the consequence. There was no escaping the issue any longer, and in spite of the dread she’d felt over Michael knowing, it also brought a welcome relief.
“Henry and I tried to conceive.” Michael winced at that, no doubt because he did not enjoy thinking of her with another man. “But it never happened.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice defiant. Rising back up onto his forearm, he gazed down at her through the darkness. “It can take time.”
She desperately hoped he would not be able to see the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Michael, but the doctors have confirmed it. I am…” She took a deep breath, afraid her voice might crack with emotion, yet somehow she managed to force out the necessary word. “Barren.”
The mattress shifted as Michael moved into a sitting position. He still held her hand, but his lack of words were telling. Eventually he asked, “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”