Page 52 of Rescued from Betrayal
Something whistled and the door rattled again. This time, however, Melior realized it was not the door to the hall, but the one connecting her room to Sir Nathaniel’s. Was he trying to get in?
Pulling back the bed curtains, she peeked out. “Who is there?” Her quiet words carried no farther than a few feet in front of her, but she did not have enough courage to speak any louder.
No one answered.
After a few moments the door shook again. Reaching out, she grasped the brass candlestick on the side table. Her handsshook. If it was not Sir Nathaniel, she would be ready for her attacker.
The door rattled several more times, but not as insistently. After what felt like an hour but was probably only fifteen minutes, Melior found the courage to investigate.
A sliver of light shone through the curtains from the full moon, but it was enough for her to make her way to the solid wood door. Cold air hit her feet when she was close enough to touch it. The door rattled again. Was it really something so simple?
Placing a hand against the door to hold it still, she waited for the next waft of air. Sure enough, when the whistle of the wind picked up outside, the door pressed back on her hand but did not rattle. Melior had a wild urge to laugh at her ridiculous imagination.
Returning to her bed, she grabbed her wrapper. She did not think she’d be able to return to sleep anytime soon, especially with the door still rattling. Fumbling around, she found the poker for the fire. It took a few moments to locate the hot coals, but when she did it was only a matter of moments before she had a tiny fire to light her candle.
Now, how to occupy her time until sunrise? She checked her time piece. It was half past three. The sun would not be up for hours. Perhaps if she reread one of her informational texts the repeat of the information might bore her to sleep. But as she went in search of her books, another cold breeze blew in from under the connecting door.
She shivered. How was the outside air getting into Sir Nathaniel’s room? Had he left his window unlatched? Her room was growing increasingly cold by the minute. His room must be positively frigid. He would catch his death in this kind of cold.
Creeping to the door, she tried the handle, but it did not turn. Then she remembered she’d locked every door leading into herroom after the incident with the jewelry. She shook her head, feeling even more ridiculous for her earlier fear.
Key in hand, she carefully inserted it into the slot. A soft squeak accompanied the turn. What if she’d woken Sir Nathaniel? Perhaps that was all it would take for him to stop the draft from entering his room, but she heard no movement from inside.
Should she leave the candle so as not to wake him? But if she did, she’d certainly knock into something in the unfamiliar room. She grasped the candlestick tightly.
Hopefully he did not awaken and think her so brazen as to come seeking his attention. Her cheeks and neck grew hot with the thought.
Get to the window, shut it, get out,she repeated over and over in her mind.
When she found the offending opening, she was dismayed to find the latch damaged. Now how would she stop the icy wind from coming in? Her candle flickered and she quickly put a hand around it to keep it from going out.
“There is no use in trying to shut it,” someone said in the darkness.
Melior fairly flew back, dropping her candle in her fright. It landed on the bottom of the curtain and a tiny blaze started to creep up the cloth. Sir Nathaniel leaped from his bed, grabbing the washbasin, he doused the small flame.
Tears pricked Melior’s eyes and before she knew it, they made their way down her cheeks. “I’m… I’m… sorry,” she stuttered. “I was only trying to stop the cold.”
To her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. “I know. There is nothing to apologize for. It is my fault. If I had not been so careless in latching the window last time, the wind would not have flung it open so violently.”
She sniffled. “You are not angry with me for entering your room?”
“Angry? Heavens no.”
He rubbed comforting circles on her back. His tenderness surprised her. She’d seen evidence of it with his mother, but never directed toward her. Then again, there was the incident in the carriage with the lap robe, and of course the day she’d been cornered by Mr. Fairchild.
New insight flooded her mind as she realized how many times he’d actually stepped in to help her. There was the time she’d wanted to avoid dancing with Mr. Fairchild, and the day he rescued her from an uncomfortable encounter with her mother. The way his hand had settled over hers when the Primley men had appraised her like a cow at market. And so many other little moments these last few weeks as they ate dinner. How had she been so blind to this side of him?
“Are you well, Melior? The candle did not burn you, did it?”
She shook her head against his chest, the smell of him filling her nose. “No, I am not burned, only startled… and cold.”
“I had not thought about how the breeze might filter into your chambers. I should have tried moving something in front of the window, or at the very least, placed a blanket against the crack under your door.”
She shivered again and he tightened his hold on her. The warmth of his arms, while pleasant, was not enough to keep out the freezing air.
“Let's get you back to your bed. There is no need for both of us to suffer.”
He stepped back and grabbed her hand. The cold air rushed at her where once his warmth had been. Her teeth chattered.
