In that spirit, she’d tried not to think of him the rest of the evening as the boys had played games or listened to her read, then complained when she made them wash faces and brush teeth and climb into their beds—beds that had clean linen in rooms that were spotless.
But she would not think of that because noticing all of the changes would only lead to thoughts of Wraxall.
Finally, all the boys were tucked in. Julia checked with the new cook, who looked to have the kitchen in order and everything ready for the morning meal. Julia sent her to bed and told Mr. Goring he could retire. Part of Goring’s job was to lock all the windows and doors at night, but considering what she knew about Goring, she checked everything again. All was secure. Was it possible Wraxall had been wrong about Goring? After all, with the major away, now would have been the perfect time to send Mr. Slag word she was alone and vulnerable. But Goring had stayed close all evening and locked everything up tightly.
In fact, she was left with a dilemma. She was ready for bed, but Wraxall still had not returned. He’d given her no information as to where he’d gone or when he’d be back. She did not want to leave the door open, but neither did she want to lock him out. Finally, she decided she would give him until midnight. If he hadn’t returned by then, he was obviously not returning until the morrow. She built up the fire in the parlor and looked over correspondence and ledgers at her desk, but soon her eyes drooped and since she only had an hour until midnight, she decided to rest on the couch.
She opened her eyes what seemed like a moment later and screamed at the man standing above her. Before much more than a squeak left her lips, his hand came down and covered her mouth.
It was Slag, and he would kill her. Why hadn’t she locked the door?
“If you scream, you’ll wake the children.”
She stilled and stared up at the man, whose face was in shadow. He removed his hat, and she instantly relaxed. It was Wraxall. Then anger replaced fear. She wrenched his hand from her mouth. “Just what are you about, sneaking in here and scaring me to death?”
“Sneaking in? I walked in. The door was open—a matter I’d very much like to discuss with you.”
She sat and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Oh, don’t blame me for that. That is your fault, sir. I had no idea if you would return or not, and I did not want you banging on the door and scaring everyone to death when you returned to find the door locked.”
“Give me more credit than that.” He moved away to stand by the fire, and in the light, his features looked weary and a bit haggard. The man was exhausted.
“Very well.” She lowered her voice. “You probably would have behaved like an idiot and sat outside all night, keeping vigil or some such nonsense. It’s still raining, and you’d catch your death of cold. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”
He grinned at her. “Your concern is touching.”
“I hope so. Where have you been all night?” She was aware she sounded more like a wife than she ought, considering he was under no obligation to tell her anything.
“At my club.”
“Drinking?”
“I wish. No, I’ve been talking with friends of mine about the situation with Mr. Slag.”
“What sort of friends?”
“The sort who can help me rid you of him permanently. Do you mind?” He pointed to the couch.
“Mind?”
“If I join you.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he sat heavily beside her. She almost fell into him but managed to scoot over toward the arm and thereby maintain some space between them. Julia marveled at how small the couch seemed once he sat on it with her. She had considered moving it out of the parlor several times, as it was rather large for the small area, but now it felt decidedly too small.
Julia also marveled that she was still seated beside him. Why hadn’t she stood up?
He laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
“You should sleep, Mr. Wraxall. You look terrible.”
He smiled without opening his eyes. “You do know how to give a compliment.”
But she didn’t know how else to describe him when he had the shadow of a beard on his jaw, dark circles under his eyes, and a pallor under his bronze skin.
“You can go to bed now,” he said. And how was she supposed to sleep when all she could think of was kissing him again?
“I have a bit more work to do.” She stood and moved to the desk. As soon as she was away from the couch, she felt colder and missed his scent of coffee and baked bread. “Why don’t you rest for a few moments while I finish?”
“I know what you’re about,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I’m perfectly fine. You can go to bed.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” She sat at her desk and tried to look busy. “This letter to the prime minister will not write itself. I promise to rouse you when I am finished and retire. In the meantime, I assume you trust me to keep vigil.”
“Not a chance.”
“Mr. Wraxall, surely you assigned watches when you were in the army. You had to sleep at some point. Why not give me the watch for an hour and then I promise to hand it back for the rest of the night.”
One eye opened. One bloodshot eye. “Fine. But if you don’t wake me—”
“Yes, yes. The full power of your mighty wrath will fall upon me and my entire household. I will wake you, sir.”
He opened the other eye and gave her an assessing look. Then with a nod, he fell, rather than lay, on his side and was snoring softly within seconds. Julia stared at him, rather awed at his ability to fall asleep so quickly. She usually had to read for at least an hour, then toss and turn until the bedclothes were perfectly arranged and fluff her pillow at least five times before her mind would quiet enough for her to consider drifting into slumber.
Wraxall seemed to need only to close his eyes.
In case he was only pretending, she did write the letter she’d mentioned. Her father had told her about a bill he supported to give more aid to homes for unwed mothers. If the bill passed, Julia hoped more women would have the resources to keep their babies, rather than give them up. She could not vote, of course, but she had been writing the prime minister weekly to express her support for the bill and to urge him to take up her father’s cause.
She finished her letter and, having penned a rather passionate epistle, did not feel at all tired. She checked the clock on the mantel and saw it was nearing one. Surely she could give the major another half hour of rest. She sorted through more correspondence and made notes in the boys’ files, then finally had to admit her eyes would no longer stay open. Though she thought it ridiculous that Wraxall insisted on staying awake, she had promised to rouse him before going to bed.
She bent over the sleeping figure on the couch and looked down into his face. He looked so peaceful when he slept. He never looked thus when awake. Now that she had an idea of the demons that plagued him, she could understand why. But she hoped, for the past ninety minutes, his mind had been weary enough to give him nothing but blackness.
“Mr. Wraxall,” she said quietly. “I am retiring now.”
He did not move.
Julia considered leaving and telling him she’d tried to rouse him but that he would not wake. But she had promised. And she had not tried very hard.
“Mr. Wraxall.” She shook him a bit. “I am retiring now.” Nothing from him. Not even a change in his even breathing. Goodness but his shoulder was firm. Her hand wandered down his bicep, and even under the thick wool of his coat, she could feel the hard outlines of his muscles.
“Mr. Wraxall.” She sat on the edge of the couch and bent closer. “Major?” That did it. He made an unintelligible sound and his hand reached out and wound about her waist. His eyes still did not open.
Julia tried to pull away, but he was holding fast and she feared if he let go suddenly, she would fall to the floor. “Major,” she tried again. “Wake up.”
“Not now, sweetheart,” he muttered. With a shock, Julia realized he must think she was some sort of…trollop. He must think she was in bed with him and wanted him to wake for…carnal activities. “Lie down.”