Bless you.
He released her, squeezing his eyes shut. He was dangling by a thread already. If his eyesight miraculously returned to him at this moment, she would have no chance at all.
“Have mercy on a broken man. Just go to bed.”
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to her light steps spiraling up to the turret. Everything in him ached to follow. He leaned against the archway and gripped the stone, wrestling his desire.
As her last steps faded, he turned to walk away. He’d reached the end of the corridor and counted half the stairs back down to the great hall when he heard it.
“Ransom!”
He froze, one hand on the stone. A chill shot down his spine.
“Ransom, come at once.”
And then, in the space of a second, he understood it. He understood the reason he’d walked this castle every night in the dark. Learning the length and breadth of every room, arch, corridor, and stair. It wasn’t about regaining his strength, or mastering the space that was now his home and prison. He’d done it all for one purpose:
So he could get to her.
Now. As fast as his legs would carry him.
Chapter Eighteen
Izzy stood in the center of the room, frozen in shock. Ransom’s steps came booming up the stairs.
He emerged into the room, breathless and red-faced. A storm of fury had gathered on his brow, and his scar forked from it like lightning. “Izzy, what is it? Speak to me. Are you hurt?”
“No.” She felt horrible for alarming him. “It’s not that.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s this. You did this? You must have done this.”
“Did what?”
“The candles. They’re everywhere.”
She turned a slow circle. At some point since she’d last been in this room, someone had placed a dozen sconces around the perimeter. Each one held a lit beeswax taper. In addition, there were two candelabras on her dressing table, and one on the table beside her bed. The sheer number was extravagant and ridiculous—they filled the space with enough light to rival a star, and their collective heat raised the temperature of the room by several degrees.
Izzy was overwhelmed.
They could only be Ransom’s doing. She hadn’t told anyone else.
She sniffed back a tear. “Downstairs, you berated me for pushing in a chair or hanging a coat. And then . . . this?” She swiped at her eyes. “Ransom, this is just unfair. Why would you go and do something so . . .”
“They’re just candles.”
She shook her head. He had to know these were not just candles. They were caring. He was caring about her, for her, and it was such an unfamiliar sensation, Izzy didn’t know what to do with it.
In desperation, she fluttered her hands, as if she could shoo the emotion away. It didn’t help.
“For God’s sake.” He moved toward her. “You’re making too much of this. They’re meant to keep you up here. In your room. Away from me. Every night, you’ve been stealing downstairs in the dark, waking me up before dawn. I couldn’t understand what it was you were missing up here, but I tried everything. Blankets, brazier, writing desk.”
She pressed a hand to her throat. “Those were all your doing, too? I thought Abigail . . .”
He shook his head. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you, it’s not that way. This isn’t how it looks.”
“You had better hope not.” She swept another glance around the candlelit room. “Because this looks . . . sweet. It looks . . .” She swallowed hard. “Oh, Ransom, it’s so romantic.”
He pushed both hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “It’s not.”
“It is. This is romantic. You are being romantic.”