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A snort escaped him. “Well played, Miss Dawson.”
She winked. “All right, Duke. Let’s eat.”
A little while later they were finishing up the seed cake. The entire meal Rafe had the inkling that something was on her mind. She kept glancing at him, her gaze questioning. Small lines would form between her brows before she seemed to force whatever it was away.
“Is something amiss?”
She set her wineglass down. “I found out where you were sleeping.”
He blinked. Opened his mouth… Closed it.
“There is a cave…one hidden behind a waterfall that I frequented as a child.”
His eyes widened. She knew of his cave?
She watched him. “I still go there sometimes. For some reason, it eases my mind…gives me clarity. I found evidence someone was sleeping there. I’ve slept next to you for many nights, Rafe. It was easy to discern who had been sleeping on those saddle pads.”
He dipped his chin slowly, his brain still caught on the fact that she knew of his refuge. “Yes…I had been sleeping there. Not the most comfortable.”
“Which explains your stiffness and poor sleep when you first arrived.”
He didn’t respond. She was still looking at him as if she were trying to find the answer to something. She played with her plait, and his attention snagged on the fidgeting movement.
“Why the cave? How did you even know of its existence?”
“I grew up on this estate. Do you truly think I wouldn’t have discovered something such as that? I’d spent much of my time outside of those castle walls.” The softening of her features gave away that she knew exactly the reason for that. “It was where I escaped. As you mentioned, it eases something in me. Provides me comfort. It was where…”
He trailed off, his stare locked on where she was playing with her plait right in front of her mouth. A memory of her earlier came rushing back. When she’d been chewing on that very plait. An old habit.
A habit she’d had.
His brows drew together, and he studied Theodora again, trying to look at her from a different angle. Rich, dark brown eyes, pert nose, wild hair always escaping a plait. But Tessa had been blond, tresses the color of sunshine. Other than that…they were eerily similar, even down to how bold the little girl had been.
“I had forgotten your middle name was Charles,” she whispered.
His eyes widened.
It couldn’t possibly be.
She undid the ribbon at the bottom of her plait and held it out to him. He frowned but took it, let the soft, worn material slip over his fingers. It was embroidered—though faded. He glanced questioningly at her, but she just nodded back to the ribbon. He flattened it and finally made out the faded lettering. A name.
Tessa.
His fingers shook, and he glanced up sharply. Saw the same shock reflecting back at him. Like she felt the same as he did.
Like he was staring at a ghost.
Because he was.
“You’re her.” His hoarse words settled over them.
She swallowed hard. “It’s good to see you again, Charlie.”
Oh my God.
* * *
It all made so much sense now. Why it’d all been so easy with her. Why he’d felt comfortable right from the beginning. He’d never handed over his trust so easily before, but with her, he’d been helpless not to. For the love of God, he’d known Rupert since Harrow and still didn’t feel completely comfortable with the man. It’d only ever been Grandmama and Derek.
