“A dog would have more sense.”
“If you wake this child, I will break both of your necks,” came a low rumble from the parlor. Julia grabbed Wraxall’s arm, but he just grinned.
“It’s Mostyn.”
Julia was not so relieved. She stayed close, following Wraxall into the parlor. There, on her couch, sat the big brute of a man, Charlie curled up in his lap. Julia blinked, not certain whether she should believe her eyes.
“Ewan, this is a side of you I had not seen,” Wraxall said.
The blond man narrowed his eyes. “He said he needed a hug to fall asleep.” Mostyn’s voice was as hard as rock. “He looked like he might cry. I did what was necessary under the circumstances.”
Julia had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Mr. Mostyn was not so bad after all. Surely he could have put Charlie to bed after the boy had fallen asleep. She was willing to wager he had not minded hugging the boy as much as he pretended.
“You’re a good man, Protector,” Wraxall said. “A fine soldier.”
“Can someone take this…child now?” Mostyn looked down at Charlie pointedly.
Julia stepped forward and gathered the boy in her arms. “I will put him to bed. Good night, Mr. Mostyn. Thank you.”
He made a rough noise, and she left the men to themselves as she carried the warm bundle to his bed.
Nine
Julia usually slept like a cat snuggled beside the fire when it rained. She didn’t understand why people said slept like a baby, as little Davy had shown her that babies were not good sleepers by any stretch of the imagination. They awoke at all hours and slept only in short bursts.
Still, she wouldn’t have traded her time with Davy for all the sleep in the world. If she could only see him once more, she would have consented to a lifetime of restless sleep. But as the devil hadn’t yet approached her with that offer, she usually slept well. Charlie or the younger boys sometimes woke her when they had nightmares, but no one had called out tonight. Everyone slept peacefully while the rain tapped a lulling beat against the roof and windows.
So why was she lying awake, eyes wide open, in her bed?
“Wraxall,” she muttered. This was his fault. She couldn’t sleep because she kept thinking of the way he’d touched her in the carriage. She kept imagining him kissing her. Had he stayed at the orphanage tonight or gone home? He wouldn’t have left her alone after Slag’s threats. Would he? Perhaps she would tiptoe down and check.
Julia talked herself out of leaving her room and her warm bed and then talked herself back into it again before finally tossing off her counterpane, pulling on her robe and slippers, and cracking her door open. She held a candle with one hand and kept her hand on the latch with the other. The corridor was dark and deserted. What had she expected? Wraxall prowling outside her room or that of the boys? A small voice inside her head warned her to go back to sleep. If she did find Wraxall, he would only want to discuss Slag’s ultimatum more, and she didn’t have any answers or solutions. She could not go home, and she could not stay here.
Perhaps she should be certain Wraxall was still here. She did have a responsibility to keep the boys safe from Slag. Pulling the door open farther, she stepped into the corridor and shone the light on the pail outside her room. It was only about a quarter full of water, which meant someone had emptied it recently. The older boys usually took turns checking the pails, pots, and pans when it rained, but she hadn’t reminded them tonight. Had they done it of their own volition or had Wraxall ordered them to empty the water buckets? Perhaps he had done them all himself, which meant he’d been right outside her room recently.
And why should that thought make her belly jump and flutter?
Seeking Wraxall out was a bad idea. The way he’d looked at her in the carriage, the way her breath caught when he came around a corner, the way her heart melted when she saw him showing one of the boys how to use a tool or make a repair—these were all warning signs that she should keep her distance. She, of all women, knew what villainy men were capable of. Why would she open herself to more pain than she’d already endured?
Because she was a fool, just as Harriett had been. Julia held the candle with one hand and her robe with the other as she descended the back stairs that led to the kitchen. But she was an even bigger fool than Harriett, because Julia knew the dangers awaiting her while Harriett had not.
The kitchen was empty, as expected, and Julia moved silently into the main wing of the building, passing the dining room and parlor doors. When she reached the entryway, it was empty. Mr. Wraxall was not keeping vigil over the front door. She turned in a circle, making certain to search the dark corners. Perhaps he had returned home after all.
What should she do? What if Slag was outside right now? Had Wraxall fixed all the door and window locks? She would check on the children. She would make sure all of them were safe in their beds, and then she would find a large blunt object and keep watch herself. She was about to ascend the main stairway when it occurred to her that when she’d passed the parlor, a faint light had spilled from the doorway. Wouldn’t he have banked the fire before leaving? The fire shouldn’t have still burned unless…
Julia tiptoed back the way she’d come, pausing right before the doorway of the parlor.
Please not Slag, she prayed. Please.
She leaned forward, inching closer to the open seam. She could almost see inside. The fire was still burning—
“Come in, Lady Juliana.”
Julia jumped and almost dropped the candle she held. She fumbled, barely catching it, but managing to blow it out so at least if it fell it would not catch the rug on fire. Her heart raced but not from fear. That had not been Slag’s voice.
She took her time righting the candle, and when she had secured it again, and then again, she swallowed and looked up and into the parlor. In the firelight, she could make out the outline of the man seated in a chair before the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth removed.
“No, thank you,” she said hastily. “I thought I heard a noise and came to check all was as it should be.”
“You heard nothing of the sort. All has been quiet as a graveyard. You came looking for me.”
She stood in the doorway, wishing he hadn’t chosen to sit before the fire. She couldn’t see his expression. “Not at all. Why would I look for you?”
“You tell me.” But he must have already known.
She should return to bed. She should definitely not continue with this conversation. But then she said, “Very well. I wondered if you had gone home.”
“You are not so fortunate.”
Julia stepped into the room and saw that not only had he removed his coat, but he’d also rolled his sleeves to the elbow. His face was such a lovely, sun-kissed shade of bronze, and as the firelight played off the bronze skin of his arms, she wondered if the rest of him was that color as well.
And that was a thought better not explored further.
“Won’t you try and sleep?” she asked. He looked tired, his face drawn and his eyes heavy-lidded.
“No. The pails should be emptied about once an hour.”
“The older boys can take turns doing that. All of us, except the little ones, have taken a turn in the past. If we all take one hour, no one is disturbed more than once.”
Wraxall shook his head. “The boys worked hard today. They need their sleep, as do you.”
Julia moved closer to him. “You worked equally hard, and you did not sleep last night.”
“Leave it be, my lady,” he said, his tone one of warning. As if to emphasize his point, he pulled his legs in and sat forward.