Tilly glanced over her book to the snoring Mrs. Craven. Nearly an hour into the story, and her chaperone finally was asleep for the evening. Seeing Mrs. Craven to bed when they traveled was more dangerous than bedtime with Ethan.
The old curmudgeon was notorious for insisting on one more brandy or another few pages from her book. Since her eyes were failing, Tilly would read. And then there was the matter of being too hot or too cold, or not enough pillows or too many pillows and then her back would hurt. Last month, while traveling to Bath, Mrs. Craven insisted her hips would break because the mattress was too lumpy.
She quietly shut the book and slipped out of her companion’s room to return to hers.
Only, she didn’t wish to return to her room.
It was odd that Tilly often prayed for quiet only to finally have it and wish for anything but. Too much quiet fed the lies in her brain, which in turn only fed panic. And then she was alone, afraid of what she could lose if Roger proceeded with his threat.
Tilly craved peace.
Perhaps that was the difference. She didn’t want quiet, she needed peace.
She quietly hummed to herself as she strolled the hallway. It smelled of Christmas, and the staff hadn’t hung all the evergreens up yet.
Tilly thought of the twins hanging ivy…
And she would miss everyone on Christmas morning, instead spending it with a group of strangers so she could secure a benefactor for the theater’s next production.
She paused in the doorway, struck at how handsome the earl was as he sat hunched over a small table studying a chessboard. His cravat was loosened around his neck, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms, and dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.
She swallowed, her stomach a tangled mess of knots. It was best to return to her room, best to spend the evening in her own company.
But she didn’t wish to do what was best. She didn’t wish to let a moment pass when she could enjoy the earl’s company.
“It helps to have someone to play against,” she said finally, softly padding into the room.
She was nearly twenty-two, and she could make her own decisions, even if they were not the best decisions.
“Hmm,” he said, stuck deep in concentration. Then after a moment, he glanced up, his eyes wide with surprise at finding her standing in front of him. “I… good evening,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Surprised to see me?”
He fussed with his cravat and ran his hand through his dark hair as if sleekly putting himself back together for her. She liked the undone version of him better. It felt more honest. As if that grumpy, stern front was a piece of armor he wore after years of surviving in this world.
And that she understood.
She wore many more masks than the one he met her with that evening. Somehow, he understood that.
“You took dinner in your room again, and you left me alone with Mrs. Craven. So yes, I didn’t expect you.”
Tilly stepped around him and settled onto the sofa. She crossed her ankles and leaned forward, studying the board. “She was a terror this evening, so I venture to guess she wasn’t the best of dinner companions.”
The earl chortled. The noise took her by surprise, and she giggled, feeling that big, lazy grin return to her face. It almost always was there when she spent time with him. What a gift to be so relaxed around another. She hadn’t experienced it before.
They were strangers.
She was sure of it. They had known one another for a handful of days. And yet it felt more like a string of years.
“Are you winning?”
He studied the board, not glancing up at her, but she saw his grin, nevertheless. “You are teasing me, Miss Brennan.”
“Tilly, please,” she corrected. “Only Tilly.”
“I will agree as long as you stop referring to me as my lord. Henry will do. It’s done for most of my life.”
“Except for when we are in the company of others…”
“Of course. But don’t worry yourself. I came only for a quick matter. I will be leaving almost as soon as the rest of the party arrives.”
Everything within herself deflated. “Oh.”
She didn’t wish for him to leave. They had found each other once more, but something told her that if he left Haddington, she wouldn’t see him again.
“I don’t enjoy parties.”
Tilly reached out and pointed to the knight. “Here.”
He glanced up, and she felt herself tumbling into his dark brown eyes. They were endless and full of a low, simmering heat that caused her core to warm. She swallowed and licked her lips, desperate to think of anything other than Henry.
Henry.
And what it would feel like for him to touch her. To kiss her.
To bed her.
