He returned to his chambers, candelabra in his hand. Outside, a distant grumble of thunder faded quickly into silence. The damn storm was finally abating after raging for hours.
As he moved into the room, his foot skidded on a candle lying in the middle of the floor, throwing Reese backward. He almost fell, but caught his balance with a flail of his arm. He cursed. He’d have to speak to his servants about being so sloppy. He moved to the bed, but before he could partake of its luxurious comfort, his booted foot sloshed in a pool of water. His gaze slid to the window. A soft breeze rippled the now soggy curtains of his bed. He moved to the window and pulled the shutters closed, cursing the servants again. Then, he turned to the bed, this time managing to set his bottom on it. He sighed and reached out to place the candelabra on the table…
… and nearly dropped it when its base did not encounter the nightstand that should have been there.
“God’s blood!” he murmured. “What now?” He rose to his feet and took a step toward the empty space where the table had once stood. His foot crunched on something, and he paused, realizing it was broken glass beneath his boot sole. His foggy, tired mind instantly came alive. His hand moved for the hilt of his sword.
The image of the woman he had left alone in his bedchamber rose in his mind. Jayce. Even if she was only a Harrington in name, she was still a Harrington. Had someone dared to attack her? It would be an unforgivable insult if something had happened to her.
The bed was unslept in, the covers unmoved. He shifted his gaze to the closed window, then the broken glass. Had there been a struggle? His eyes frantically searched the darkness. Had she left the room? Forcibly?
“Jayce?” he called.
Silence answered him.
He took a step deeper into the darkness and the candlelight washed over the hem of a blue dress tucked away in a far corner of his room. Reese lurched forward, his fist clenched tight around the base of the candelabra, until the candlelight encircled Jayce in its glow. She sat slumped at the bottom of the wall, her head slouched-over on her shoulder, her arms limp at her sides.
Rage engulfed him. Has someone dared to harm her? he wondered incredulously as he knelt at her side. Without taking his eyes from her, he set the candelabra down on the floor. A stray strand of brown hair fell over her cheek, its darkness contrasting sharply against her pale skin.
Then, something tickled the inside of his stomach. Something he had never felt before and refused to acknowledge. He reached out and touched her hand. It was like ice. He engulfed her small fingers with his large hand, trying to warm them. Her fingers twitched, then curved around his, and he knew she was alive.
He scooped her into his arms, and she stirred, tossing her head, calling, “Father?” Reese gently placed her in his bed, noticing how the large bed made her appear tinier than she was. He pulled away from her, but her arms reached out, encircling his neck. Reese froze, unsure of what to do. He could pry her arms from his neck. He could settle next to this stranger and hold her. Or he could search her body for wounds.
“The storm,” she whimpered.
Reese felt her body tremble. A flash of lightning lit the night sky as if summoned by her words. He leaned close to her to duck beneath her arms. When his cheek brushed hers, he was startled to find the moisture there.
Guilt twisted his gut. Had he caused her this anguish? He ripped free of her hold, telling himself it didn’t matter. She was not his concern.
Her head fell back against the pillows, her cold hands leaving a path of ice along his cheek and neck. Instinctively, his hands skimmed her body, searching for wounds. But it wasn’t wounds he found. It was a shapely, strong figure. His hands fluttered over her slender neck, down her curvy sides, across her flat stomach and down her slender legs. Searching for blood, he told himself. In the dark, he could not see if she was hurt. His fingers moved back up over her legs. They were so smooth and sleek. He wondered what they looked like.
Reese had to jerk himself from her, pulling his hands away from her body as if she had suddenly burst into flames. His own body responded instantly to touching her. Disgusted at his primeval response, he told himself it was nothing but the wanting of a woman. He could sate his desires on a willing servant wench later. Reese pulled the cover up over her body, concealing it beneath the fur, hiding it from his hungry gaze.
Jayce groaned and tossed her head, and he shifted his eyes to her face. He could see the moisture on her cheeks as her tears glistened in the candlelight. He stepped closer and pressed a palm against her skin, fearing she was feverish. Her skin was cool against his hand. At his touch, she seemed to quiet and settle into the bed. Reese couldn’t help cupping her gentle chin and stroking her cheek with his thumb.