“How long has she been ill?” Bernadette pressed.
“A few years, though her confusion has progressed a great deal in the last six months,” he said.
Flora could feel him forcing himself to be open, to give vulnerability rather than turtle up and protect himself. For her? Was it possible this was all part of his promise of honesty? She couldn’t help but reach out and cover his hand with hers.
“That must be difficult,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Yes. I hate to see her in this state. I hate knowing that I’m at a disadvantage in how to help her. It’s not an excuse for the mistakes I’ve made, but it is partly my reason.” His gaze went distant. “I hope that Theo…Lightmorrow…will be able to help her. That she’ll respond well and not with fear because he’s a stranger.”
“He will,” Bernadette said. “He has a vast capacity for kindness, gentleness, despite his reputation. And before he left, we talked together about strategies for how to approach her. I assure you he will be as soothing as you might wish.”
Flora tilted her head because Bernadette’s emotions were as plain in that moment as she feared her own must be. Her feelings for Theo were slashed across her face, though she schooled them immediately.
“I appreciate that, Your Grace,” Roarke said. “It takes a great deal of weight from my shoulders knowing that he will be. And that you are part of that. Thank you.”
Bernadette looked at him a long moment and then said, “I thought we agreed that you would call me Bernadette, Roarke.”
Flora could have sobbed at that renewed acceptance and understanding from her sweet friend. And from Roarke’s expression, it was clear he felt the importance of that offer to use her given name. “Bernadette,” he said softly.
Valaria and Callum had been watching the exchange. And though Valaria didn’t offer the same grace—not yet—Flora could see that this all had moved her. Her tone was gentle as she said, “Why don’t we retire to the parlor and have port together? We can talk or play a game if you’re up for it, Mr. Desmond.”
“I’d like to try,” Roarke said with a quick glance at Flora. “Though I think I might need some air first. Just to clear my head a little.”
The other murmured their understanding and they began to depart to the salon where they would do their after-supper activities. Flora should have followed them, but instead she moved toward Roarke. “May I join you?”
He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple work with the motion, saw his gaze flit over her, hot and a little possessive. She wanted to lean into that, into him, but managed to remain just where she was, as unaffected as she could pretend to be.
“Yes,” he said. “Why don’t you lead the way?”
She did so, taking him to the back of the estate, past the parlor where they could hear the others softly talking, probably about them, truth be told. They went through a small music room and out onto the large veranda that encircled the entire back of the house.
It was cold outside, and Flora shivered a little as the door closed behind them. She hadn’t thought to fetch a wrap, even though it was autumn. She’d been too caught up in him.
“Here,” he said, sweeping off his jacket. He stopped in front of her and gently placed it on her shoulders. The warmth of him permeated her, as if he were holding her, himself. And his scent had apparently been captured on the threads of Callum’s coat, because she breathed him in with a soft sigh of pleasure.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He stood there with her a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something. Then he shook his head and walked to the edge of the veranda. He leaned on the waist-high wall and looked off into the distance, pensive and troubled.
She followed his stare and shivered. Out there was where they had been attacked. She moved to stand beside him, their hands almost touching on the wall’s edge. “I hope I’ll be able to see those woods as a positive place again one day in the future,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “I hope that, too. I hope the past can be repaired.”
She turned a little toward him. He was talking about them now. About their past. “Roarke,” she said.
He looked at her, those green eyes piercing her. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do?” she repeated.
“To make up for what I did. To show you how much you mean to me. I would go, if you like. I’d stay if you needed me. Just tell me and I’ll do…anything. I would do anything.”
He said it in a rush, the words tumbling from his mouth like he’d been holding them back. And perhaps he had, after all she had told him such a short time ago that she never wanted to see him again. That had never been true, of course.
She looked at their hands together on the veranda wall. Slowly, she eased her fingers out and traced his, gently. Their fingers wound together, tugging at each other, stroking and suddenly her whole body felt weightless. Hungry.
She blinked up at him, trying to find some level ground, but all he was to her now was shifting sands. He would draw her in and she would be lost. She wanted to be lost despite every good reason she had to back away. She could see she affected him, too. His pupils were dilated and it wasn’t only because of the dim light. His breath was a little shorter, his body warm as he leaned toward her.
“Think about it.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, sending another shock of desire tearing through her. “I’m not trying to pressure you.”
Pressure. Oh yes, she felt that but not from him. She felt it from her own body, which throbbed in time to her own racing heartbeat. She felt it in the aching desire between her legs.
He motioned back toward the house. “Let’s join the others, shall we?” he suggested.
She couldn’t answer, but nodded mutely. As they entered the house, she slipped his jacket from her shoulders and handed it back. He shivered when he put it back on, just as she had. Like her body heat affected him as much as his had affected her.
They went to the parlor where the others were already drinking port and he smiled as he stepped in, the heated weight between them dissipating a fraction as he returned to friendly, easy guest with her friends.
“It was very kind of you to include me tonight,” he said to Valaria and Callum. “I appreciate it more than you could ever know. But I do think I should rest, so I’ll leave you four to your night if it isn’t too rude of me.”
“Of course,” Valaria said, but there was no edge to her voice now. She seemed genuine, as if this time together tonight had softened even her to the man. “Please do rest. We have the instructions for tending to your wound and we can look at it tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” he said with a slight bow of his head to them, then to Bernadette. He turned toward Flora then and she stared up at him, memorizing every part of his face from the harsh angle of his jaw to the soft warmth of his green gaze to the bruise that said how much he was willing to sacrifice to save her. “Thank you,” he repeated to her, touching her hand one last time, and then he left the room.
When he was gone she took a gulp of air she hadn’t realized she needed and tried to school her features so she wouldn’t be too obvious to her friends. From the way all three of them stared at her, she failed in that.