An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Eleven

Hartley wouldn't sleep. Not that he couldn't. That much, certainly, wasn't up for debate. Should he stumble over towards his bed and burrow his face in the pillows, no doubt his exhaustion would leave him insensible before the clock could tick out a full sixty seconds. No, that wasn't the difficulty at all, he thought, and stretched his legs out towards the fireplace.

He was cold now, his bare feet having picked up a chill as he'd watched the fire die down to ash and coals. There was still some warmth there, surrounding the armchair in which he'd ensconced himself, but the cold had begun to creep in from the edges of the room, something the promise of oncoming daylight did nothing to dispel.

He pushed himself out of the chair, the edges of his dressing gown flapping about his legs like a cloak. He cinched the sash tight around his waist and left the dim circle of light still pulsing out from the glowing coals in the fireplace. Rain streaked across the windows when he glanced outside, and the wind seemed ready to shake the house down to its foundations. Another storm, then, as if Nature herself had decreed they pay more attention to her and so decided to send down the second onslaught of cold and rain in as many days. He gave another tug to the ties of his dressing gown and went in search of a pair of socks.

He couldn't begin to surmise where Jenson had placed everything. And so began several minutes of fruitless searching before he came across a pair of thin, woolen stockings he tugged onto his feet. He glanced back at the bed, that monstrous creation of wood and dark canopies that ate up half the space in the room, but he shook his head against attempting to find any rest there and instead lit a fresh candle from the nightstand.

Hartley had no desire to sleep. After how many hours spent slumbering in that bed, recuperating in this room, he found himself overcome by the same need to escape that had afflicted him the previous evening, driving him down to the kitchen for whatever small change in the scenery it would provide.

And, he was forced to admit, because he'd hoped to see Charlotte.

And he had seen her. Her back bent over some bit of needlework, her profile warmed by the vibrant flames of the fire, she had looked...

A dozen words slipped in and out of his mind, every known description of beauty and grace surveyed and then summarily abandoned. And then a final word appeared, and the air rushed out of his lungs on a heavy breath.

Untouchable.

That particular word lingered, taunting him until he snatched the candle from the nightstand and stalked out of the bedroom.

Because he had touched her. That was why the word mocked him, why it bit into his flesh and brought out a string of curses from under his breath. He knew the feel of his skin against hers, her fingertips grazing over his neck, the delicate curve of her wrist as he held her hand in his own.

And there'd been more than that, of course. Her body against his in his bed, that same bed he was so reluctant to return to now. Fool that he'd been, he hadn't even taken the opportunity to kiss her. Damn Jenson for his interrupting, and damn Ballard for taking it upon himself to trail him like a dog, all the way from London.

She hadn't recoiled from him as he had thought she might. There had been no censure in her eyes, no accusation molded into the elegant lines of her face. She'd voiced no allusion to his previous confession of responsibility for another man's death, and her own natural reticence seemed to have neither gained nor lost strength since the last time they had spoken.

But then he had reached out and touched her shoulder, slid his fingers along the length of her arm. He'd traced the line of her wrist and the edges of her palm, because he had wanted to touch her. And he had heard the catch of her breath, had witnessed the subtle parting of her lips, and he had realized at that moment how she could hardly conceive the level of power she wielded over him. A simple word from her, the smallest of gestures, and he knew he would do anything if it meant a continuation of that exquisite caress.