Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(47)

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.”

Her heart began to measure out beats more evenly, no longer casting them out in careless handfuls. The waking-nightmare feeling began to dissipate. But as her alarm faded, a hideous tide of embarrassment overwhelmed her. Only she could have botched a midnight rendezvous so terribly.

“Feeling better?” he asked, one of his hands sliding down to enfold hers in a reassuring grasp. “Come with me to the family parlor.”

Pandora wanted to die. She didn’t move, only let out a defeated breath. “I can’t,” she blurted out.

“What is it?” came the gentle question.

“I can’t move at all. I lose my balance in the dark.”

His lips went to her forehead again, and he kept them there for a long moment. “Put your arms around my neck,” he eventually said. After she obeyed, he lifted her easily, clasping her high against his chest.

Pandora kept her eyes closed as he carried her along the hallway. He was strong and superbly coordinated, sure-footed as a cat, and she felt a pang of envy. She couldn’t remember what it was like to move so confidently through the night, fearing nothing.

The family parlor was lit only by a fire in the hearth. Gabriel went to a low, deeply upholstered empire sofa with a curved back and arms, and settled with her in his lap. Her pride objected feebly to the way he was holding her, as if she were a frightened child. But his hard chest was comforting, and his hands slowly chased the nervous tremors that ran through her limbs, and it was the nicest, warmest feeling she’d ever known. She needed this. Just for a few minutes.