Angelica would take her chances out the window. Even if she broke her neck, she’d be better off. It didn’t matter that she was only being paranoid—the chances of the house catching fire were slim—but she swore to herself that she was not going to die here, a forgotten girl in a forgotten room.
She wiped a tear from her cheek. Then, she wiped another. Angelica didn’t know why she was being childish. She cried for a fire that would never happen. She cried for her mother, father, and Freddie, who’d been dead for years. She cried for herself, for Captain Neill, and the lies he almost made her believe.
She was a fool for that man. He didn’t want her love, he only wanted her body—the only thing she had worth giving, apparently. Spreading her legs was the way to keep a man. Offering it up, little by little. Keeping them surprised and satisfied were the only ways to keep them coming back. Not love, not whispered promises, or sighing kisses.
Outside her bedroom, a floorboard strained. Someone was there, listening at her door. Angelica sat up, clutching the bedcovers to her chest. She tilted her head, and listened for another telling sound. Yes, another creak of the floor, but, this time, the knob squeaked.
“Who’s there?” she whispered.
The door inched open. “It’s me.”
Captain Neill. She frowned at him in the darkness. Could she get no peace in this place? “It’s late. What do you want?”
“I…uh…was on my way back from the toilet. Thought, since I was up, that maybe you needed to go…”
Though he’d shown her the way, Angelica could never find the toilet on her own. It was humiliating, but she was grateful for his consideration. “I’m all right, thank you.”
He didn’t move. “I’m surprised you’re up. I thought you were tired.”
“I am tired, but I cannot sleep. Your house makes noises, and my mind gets carried away.”
“Ah. Well, if it’s any consolation, I can’t keep my mind quiet, either. I’ve been wandering the halls like a specter.”
“Then it was probably you keeping me awake,” she told him. “Stop pacing and go to bed.”
He came toward her. “Angelica…”
“Stay if you want, but shut the door.” She might be his whore, but she didn’t want the entire house knowing it.
The knob clicked, and then the latch caught. He was going to have her—here, now—in his family home. Did the man have no shame? His bare feet shuffled across the carpet, and then he sank down onto the mattress behind her.
Captain Neill pulled the covers up around them, before pressing her back against him. He wore soft pajama trousers and no shirt. His skin smelled like…car leather and petrol. Reluctantly, Angelica moved to lift her nightdress over her hips.
“Don’t,” he said, stopping her. “I’m not here for that.”
Her cheeks burned. “Then why?”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. It was selfish, and I could see that my words hurt you. I’m sorry.” Captain Neill bent his head to kiss the sharp peak of her shoulder. “Forgive me?”
She let him rest his face against her heated skin. “Of course.”
“You’ve been crying…”
“How do you know?”
“The pillow is wet. Either that, or you’ve been drooling.”
She scoffed. “I don’t drool.”
“Then why the tears, Angelica?”
“I was afraid. I convinced myself that there was going to be a fire. That I’d be trapped, and everyone would leave me behind.”
He squeezed her tightly. “I would scorch myself to the bone before I’d let you burn.”
“Brody, please…”
“I’m serious. You never have to worry about that as long as I’m around.”
Damn, the tears. She tried to wick them away before he noticed. “How will you find me in the flames?”
“I won’t have to,” he said. “I’ll be right here with you.”
She turned into him now, weeping. She soaked his bare chest with her tears, while he murmured sweet, indistinguishable words in her hair. She didn’t need to understand them—the sound of his voice, and the strength of his embrace was enough. “You won’t leave me?”
“Never, never,” he chuckled, giving her a playful jostle. “I learned my lesson the last time.”
She shook her head at his words. Couldn’t he be serious for one moment? “I did wait, you know. I told myself that you wouldn’t…do the thing you did to me…and not come back. But, Brody, why did you have to leave? Why couldn’t you have stayed?”
“I went to hospital. I thought it would take a week, perhaps two. It took four months.”
“Were you that badly injured in your crash?” she asked, stunned.
“No, but I was very sick—the morphine, you remember?” When she nodded, he continued, “Turns out, I was worse than anyone ever imagined. Even now, I’m not completely cured. Doubt I ever will be.”
“So you don’t have your injections anymore?” She’d noticed he was better from the moment he’d returned. He didn’t smell like death. His body no longer felt rotten beneath his skin. But she had no idea that this health and vigor wasn’t his normal state.