No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(37)

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.

“Perhaps I should keep you company. How am I to sleep when you sit up and keep watch?”

He blew out a breath and raked his hands through his hair, pausing to hold his head in his hands and shake it. “Why can’t you be one of those biddable females? Why don’t you do as you’re told or, better yet, stay in your room?” He looked up at her. “You shouldn’t be in here with me, alone, and in only your nightclothes. Aren’t you concerned about propriety and your reputation and all the other rot you females hold so high?”

“Why can’t you be one of those charming gentlemen who allows a lady to help him so she can return to her room and observe propriety?”

“Because I’m not!” He stood and stalked toward her. “I’m a soldier, and I’ll always be a soldier. I don’t need help or company. I will do my duty until you come to your senses and return home.”