One flickering candle flame was all that stood between her and disaster. The lights had been extinguished, including the hanging lamp in the central hall. Aside from the occasional flash of distant lightning, the only source of illumination was a faint glow coming from the threshold of the family room.
As Gabriel had predicted, a storm had rolled in from the ocean. Its first rise was rough and furious, as it wrestled with trees and flung stray twigs and branches in every direction. The house, built low and sturdy to accommodate coastal weather, endured the gale stoically, shrugging off sheets of rain from its oak-timbered roof. Still, the sound of thunder made Pandora shiver.
She was dressed in a muslin nightgown and a plain flannel wrap, its sides folded around the front and tied with a plaited belt. Although she’d wanted to wear a day dress, there had been no way to avoid the nightly ritual of bathing and taking her hair down without making Ida suspicious.
Her feet were tucked into the Berlin wool slippers Cassandra had made, which, owing to an accidental misreading of the pattern, had resulted in two different sizes. The slipper for the right foot was perfect, but the left one was loose and floppy. Cassandra had been so apologetic that Pandora had made a special point of wearing them, insisting they were the most comfortable slippers ever made.
She stayed close to the wall, occasionally reaching out to graze it with her fingertips. The darker her surroundings, the worse her equilibrium, the signals in her head refusing to match up with what her body told her. At certain moments, the floor, walls, and ceiling might all abruptly switch places for no reason, leaving her flailing. She had always relied on Cassandra to help her if they had to go somewhere at night, but she couldn’t very well ask her twin to escort her to an illicit meeting with a man.
Breathing with effort, Pandora stared fixedly at the hushed amber glow down the hallway. The carpeting stretched like a black ocean between her and the family parlor. Holding the wavering lit candle far out in front of her, she took one step after another, straining to see through the shadows. A window had been left open somewhere. Moist, rain-scented air kept whisking against her face and across her bare ankles, as if the house were breathing around her.
A midnight rendezvous was supposed to be romantic and daring, something done by girls who were not wallflowers. But this was an exercise in misery. She was exhausted and worried, fighting to keep her balance in the darkness. All she wanted was to be safe in bed.
As she stepped forward, the loose slipper on her left foot flopped just enough to make her trip and stumble, nearly falling to her knees. Somehow she managed to catch her balance, but the candleholder flew out of her hand. The wick was instantly extinguished as it hit the floor.
Gasping, disoriented, Pandora stood engulfed in darkness. She didn’t dare move, only kept her arms suspended in midair, fingers spread like cat’s whiskers. Shadow-currents flowed around her, gently pushing her off balance, and she stiffened against their intangible momentum.
“Oh, damn,” she whispered. Icy sweat broke out on her forehead as she worked to think past the first rush of panic.
The wall was on her left side. She had to reach it. She needed stability. But the first cautious step made the floor drop from beneath her feet, and the world lurched in a diagonal tilt. She staggered and landed on the floor with a heavy thud . . . or was it the wall? Was she leaning upright or lying down? Leaning, she decided. She was missing her left slipper, and her bare toes were flat against a hard surface. Yes, that was the floor. Pressing her damp cheek to the wall, she willed her surroundings to sort themselves out, while a high-pitched tone rang in her left ear.
There were too many heartbeats in her chest. She couldn’t breathe around them. Her pained intakes of air sounded like sobs. A large, dark form approached so swiftly that she shrank against the wall.
“Pandora.” A pair of hard arms closed around her. She quivered as she heard Gabriel’s low voice, and felt herself wrapped in the reassurance of his body. “What happened? My God, you’re shaking. Are you afraid of the dark? The storm?” He kissed her damp forehead and pressed soothing murmurs into her hair. “Easy. Softly, now. You’re safe in my arms. Nothing’s going to harm you, my sweet girl.” He had discarded his black formal coat, and the turndown collar of his shirt had been unfastened. She could smell the spice of shaving soap on his skin, the acrid tang of starched linen and the hint of cigar smoke absorbed by his silk waistcoat. The fragrance was masculine and comforting, making her shiver in relief.
“I . . . I dropped my candle,” she wheezed.
“Don’t worry about that.” One of his hands curved around the back of her neck, fondling gently. “Everything’s all right now.”