Her vulnerable, subdued words struck like lightning in an open field, their very meaning inciting a fire deep in him. He should seize this moment and declare the words he’d been unable to say when they had parted years ago. But he refrained. He could not forget that she was frightened. Skittish. Instead, he matched the timbre of her words with his own whisper. “And I thought about you. Daily.”
The conversation, simple as it was, answered a host of questions that had been his companions for so long. She had thought of him. She had missed him.
In that moment he knew what he wanted—he wanted her, and he wanted to reverse time to a point where his touch would be welcome and her smile would be only for him. When the future spread before them would be bright and optimistic.
Yes, his heart was ready for that, but he was not sure if hers was.
But that did not mean he would stop trying. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get to the bottom of this. I will notify Mr. Walstead, and we’ll—”
But movement at the door silenced him. They both turned to see a man in a hat. Coat.
Timmons.
Anthony immediately stepped back. He knew he was standing too close. His head was bent too low. They had been whispering. Alone. Intimately. In the dark solitude of the shadows.
He felt like a boy caught stealing a kiss.
“Been lookin’ for ye,” announced Timmons, his tone flat, his face not visible in the darkness.
To play off the uncomfortable discovery, Anthony stepped toward Timmons and extended the letter toward him. “Looks like we have a little trouble.”
Timmons took the letter, but he did not look at it. Instead, his dark brow rose and he glanced from Anthony to Charlotte and back to Anthony. “Trouble indeed.”
Growing impatient, Anthony blurted, “Just read it.”
Timmons angled it toward the lantern’s amber light and did as bid. A frown darkened his already-suspicious expression. “Where’s this from?”
Charlotte stepped forward. “It was found a short while ago outside the kitchen in the back courtyard.”
But as Timmons’s gaze flicked from the letter to Charlotte, his expression confirmed the last thing that Anthony wanted: his friend was discovering the secret they had guarded since the day he arrived.
Chapter 28
Every nerve stood on high alert as Charlotte adjusted Henry on her hip and stepped back to allow Anthony to enter her bedchamber with the cradle hoisted on his shoulder. Out of an abundance of caution, Anthony had suggested that Charlotte and Henry share the same chamber, which would make it easier to guard them both during the midnight hours.
As their situation was shifting around her, noisy thoughts and formidable emotions battled for dominance.
Fear for her son.
Nervousness and uncertainty with Anthony’s nearness.
Continued anger at Roland.
Lack of confidence in herself.
“Where do you want it?” Anthony turned toward her once he reached the middle of her bedchamber.
She pointed to an empty space between the tall, canopied bed and the paneled wall. “There.”
He placed it in the indicated spot and then adjusted the blanket that had shifted within.
They should not be alone in her bedchamber. In truth it would not matter who he was—any man in her personal space was shocking. But what about the past fortnight had not been shocking? All the rules that had so strictly governed her every action just weeks ago no longer seemed to apply. She felt adrift in a world where nothing made sense anymore.
She looked toward the little bed and reached down to run her finger over the vines carved on the canopy. She needed to add another blanket before she could lay Henry down. “Would you hold him for a moment?”
Anthony did not hesitate but stepped closer and lifted him from her arms. Henry giggled and batted his arms, then reached up and touched Anthony’s face. His coat.
The sight of her son in Anthony’s arms tightened her chest.
She could not recall Roland holding Henry. Not a single time.
How different Anthony’s pleasant countenance was from Roland’s haughty one. Even now a grin formed on Anthony’s face as he beheld the baby. Despite his rugged exterior, there was a kindness, a gentleness, that no number of scars or stubble could hide.
The planks beneath his heavy boots creaked with each step as Anthony paced the floor with Henry in his arms. When the creaking stopped, Charlotte lifted her gaze from her task of arranging the bed to see Anthony staring out the window.
Alarmed that he saw something dangerous, she stiffened. “What? What is it?”
He shrugged and turned from the window with a smirk. “Oh, nothing. It only seems that my colleague has taken a fancy to your maid.”
Slightly annoyed at such an observation during such a serious time, she abandoned her task and joined him at the window. Sure enough, Sutcliffe was there near the drystone wall, and Timmons was on the other side of the half wall. Their figures were mere shadows in the darkness, but the intentions were obvious.
She drew a sharp breath. “I thought you said Timmons could be trusted.”
“He can.” Anthony, as if sensing her discomfort, shifted to face her. “I’ll speak with Timmons about Miss Sutcliffe tonight. Besides, I need to talk to him about what he saw when he interrupted us, or thinks he saw . . .” His voice faded.
Anthony rarely was at a loss for words. And yet she knew exactly what he meant. It seemed foolish to tiptoe around formalities. Her initial attempts to avoid him and the past were failing. “Does he know that you and I . . . ?”
“He knows I’m from these moorlands. But he knows no details. About you. And me. The only thing he knows about is the mill.”
She stared down to her hands, trying to mask her concern with a light tone. “What will you tell him?”
“The truth, but as little of it as necessary. I owe him that much. But if you would rather I didn’t, I—”
She shook her head vehemently. “I am certainly in no position to tell you what to do or say. If you are concerned about my reputation, then do not be. I was Roland Prior’s wife, don’t forget. Nothing could happen to my reputation more damning than that.”
The light from the fireplace flickered on the angles of his jaw and lips as he sobered. “Have you told your maid about the letter?”
“Yes. I told her after I came back inside.”
“She seems very loyal to you.”
“Yes. She is. And I do consider her a friend. She’s the only one—” Charlotte paused. She was getting ready to reveal more of her life to him. How easy it was to fall back into that place where there were no secrets, no boundaries. “Sutcliffe has stood by my side through this entire ordeal. She’s very trustworthy.”
His voice lowered further, and his gaze was uncomfortably direct. “And does she know about me? About our history?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. She became my maid two days before I married Roland. She has only ever known me as Mrs. Prior. She knows very little of my life before that.”
Charlotte said nothing else and looked back down to the courtyard. Sutcliffe was walking back toward the house with slow, reluctant steps. Charlotte reached for Henry, seeking a change of topic. “He’s tired. I should put him to bed.”