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He quickly agreed, and they took a bottle of red wine and glasses into the little medieval sitting room and its far too comfortable sofa. As they talked about secret tunnels and medieval architecture, and made subtle attempts to discover what the other wanted for Christmas, Juliet’s phone kept buzzing. She’d checked it when they entered the house and had seen three text messages from her mother. They’d all said basically the same thing: Call me, please. We’re all fine, but I need to talk to you.
Finally, Noah asked, “Same person as before?”
“No, just my mom. I can call her later.”
“Sounds like she’s going to keep calling until you do.”
Juliet sighed. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I even promise to save you some wine.”
She pressed the callback button as she walked down the corridor toward the hidden solar staircase. Her mother answered immediately. Because of course this would be the day the cell reception was perfect.
“Juliet, where are you?”
“What do you mean, where am I? I’m in the middle of Northumberland. Where are you?”
True to form, her mother didn’t waste time in snark or answering unnecessary questions. “I had to call the police on Duncan last night. He showed up at our door at midnight, drunk and furious, and looking for you. When I reminded him that threatening a federal judge was a felony, he took off in that stupid convertible of his.”
Shit. “I’m sorry he bothered you. He’s been suspended by the university—”
“I know. We keep tabs on him. It’s you we’re worried about.”
“Mom, he’s hardly likely to drive the convertible across the ocean. Even if he did know where I was.”
“I’ve never thought him particularly stable,” her mother retorted. “But if he has nothing to lose, I don’t like the thought of what he might do. Sociopaths can be both clever and relentless.”
Juliet closed her eyes, swearing freely in her head.
“Juliet, I’m not trying to frighten you. I just want you to be careful.”
She wasn’t frightened—she was furious. How long was Duncan Whittier going to keep contaminating her life? He’d already cost her ten years and the deepest grief she would ever feel. How dare he worm his way into this fragile new life she was beginning to construct?
Somehow Juliet got off the phone and leaned against the door that hid the solar staircase, an incipient headache coming at the base of her skull. Beneath her anger she could feel other emotions beating—loss and fear and hope and an absolute determination to do what she must to protect what she loved. Juliet could almost feel the weight of Liam in her arms, but instead of grief she felt only awe and gratitude. And when she focused her eyes, the infant she held wasn’t pale and still but pink-cheeked and fair-haired, his eyes open and fixed on his mother’s …
Edmund … I shouldn’t name him for his father, but how can I not … already he looks entirely like a York … but not for my son the loss of war and the games of power … I will protect him, I will save him, I will hide him from danger …
“Juliet?”
Her eyes flew open. She’d forgotten about Noah. She’d almost forgotten herself. Juliet straightened up and knew, with irrational certainty, that those images and feelings had seeped into her from whatever lingered in the medieval solar. Edmund … could that be their nameless ghost boy? Oh God, she thought, I hope not. Because if he’s a child ghost, it means his mother couldn’t protect him from everything.
Her complicated emotions must have been written all over her face, because Noah didn’t say another word. He simply drew her against his shoulder. The simple kindness—missing for so long from her life—undid her. For the first time since the hospital, Juliet began to cry.
At some point she slid to the floor, and he continued to cradle her while she wept out more emotions than she had names for. Slowly, her sobs lengthened out and stopped. Even more slowly, she became vividly conscious of every place she and Noah touched, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the fact that she hadn’t been with a man for almost a year—ten weeks into her pregnancy when Duncan had laid a hand on her still-flat stomach and said, “You know you don’t really need to gain more than fifteen pounds, right?”
That memory might have put her off, but Noah chose that moment to shift one arm—not to withdraw but to bring his hand to the back of her neck, where he rested it while his fingers stroked the bare skin beneath the collar of her sweater.
Suddenly she wanted nothing more in the world than to be kissing him. She tipped her head up and he met her mouth with his, his tongue flicking in and out until she groaned and moved her hands to the first of his shirt buttons.
Noah drew back and instantly Juliet dropped her hands, face flaming with embarrassment and swollen with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m such a fool. Your instincts must be screaming at you to run away from the crazy woman.”
“Hey.” He waited for her to meet his eyes. “If it were up to me and my instincts, we’d have gone to bed the day we met. I’m too often reckless and sometimes selfish, but I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women. I wouldn’t want you to regret anything done when you weren’t thinking clearly.”
“I am thinking clearly. I’m thinking that you’re the kindest man I’ve met in years. I’m thinking that I don’t deserve this chance after how badly I screwed up my marriage. I’m thinking Rachel would forgive us for missing dinner.” She darted a quick, butterfly kiss to his chin. “And I’m thinking that my bedroom is right there and what are we waiting for?”
He pulled her up and swung her into his arms. As they passed into the bedroom, Juliet thought she heard a soft sigh, as though the house itself approved of their decision.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
