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“Raphael.” His thumb tugged gently on her bottom lip. “Or Rafe, if you would prefer.”
This crossed all sorts of lines she shouldn’t be crossing. Lines that had nothing to do with propriety. But everything to do with safety. To self-preservation.
She gripped his chin, and his hands fell back to her sides. She guided him down to her, lips hovering, anticipation building in the hairsbreadth separating them. Sparking. Crackling.
They stood there, gazes locked, whatever this was between them building, amplifying. Until she feared this feeling might implode, crushing them both into nothing more than dust. She should diffuse it.
Instead, she did something impossibly dangerous.
“Rafe.”
His breath hitched, fingers biting into her hips.
He moved toward her at the same time she did him. They crashed together, hands everywhere, fingertips bruising, teeth tugging—
Knock! Knock!
They jolted apart.
Knock knock. Knock. Knock knock.
“Shite,” Theo said vehemently. That wasn’t just any knock.
She slipped off the counter. “Hurry,” she said quietly, voice choppy from her ragged breaths. “Bedchamber now.”
His Grace—Rafe—blinked slowly like he was coming out of a trance but slowly stepped toward her hall. She shoved him hard. “Chop chop!” As soon as they were inside her room, she yanked her legs into her trousers and threw a lawn shirt over her head.
She twisted her hair into a knot behind her head. “Wait here. And whatever you hear out there. You didn’t hear.”
He frowned, mouth opening.
“Nn-mm. You. Are. Not. Here.” Then she spun around and left him standing there, clearly confused. But she didn’t have time to deal with that. These visits could be urgent, and she didn’t want to leave Sarah and whoever she’d brought with her outside for long.
Theo threw open the door and stepped aside. Sarah smiled at her and guided a woman in a hooded cloak inside.
Theo restocked the range and put a kettle of water on for tea while Sarah seated the woman at the worktable.
The woman removed her hood with shaking fingers. Her face was pale, gaze skittering over Theo’s kitchen and refusing to settle.
Theo threw on her warmest smile. “How can I help you?” When the woman only stared at her clenched hands resting on the worktable, Theo glanced at Sarah.
“She is a scullery maid at the Gaffington estate.” Sarah’s gaze and that statement said everything. “We’ll be needing to bring down the flowers.”
A heavy weight filled Theo’s stomach. “What are we looking at?”
“I should have had my courses three weeks ago,” the woman said quietly. She couldn’t be more than twenty.
The all-too-familiar rage ignited inside Theo. She reached forward and squeezed the woman’s hand gently. The woman flinched, but finally glanced up at Theo, fear swimming in her eyes.
“I’ll have you sorted out; don’t you worry, dear. Is there anything else you need? Are you hurt?”
The young woman’s gaze slipped away, and an expression Theo had seen too many times before crossed the woman’s features. Theo glanced at her hall, an expression she’d seen on the man hiding behind her bedchamber door. One haunted by the evil that walked this earth.
“I am well,” the woman finally said in a small voice.
Theo shot Sarah a meaningful look. Get to the bottom of this. Sarah nodded, and Theo turned toward her range, pulling out her cookbook and flipping to a well-worn page, the one right between a recipe for preserves and pudding. She knew the recipe by heart, but she’d never risk making it incorrectly.
“We can help with finding a new position if you need it.” Sarah’s words drifted over to Theo as she worked. It wasn’t easy pulling information from the young woman. She was clearly traumatized. But Sarah knew how to put anyone at ease. She could get anyone talking. Part of the reason she was so adept at running her father’s inn.
