“Juliet?” The soft timbre of his voice comforted me, undoing my defenses.
I cleared my throat, dropping my gaze to a knot in the wood on one of the stairs. “There was a storm the night we received news of my father’s death.” I paused, trying to collect my thoughts as I waded through painful memories. “The messenger came and handed my mother the note. She read it and didn’t say a word—just let it fall to the ground. So I picked it up and read it for myself.”
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory of how those words had so utterly changed my life.
Halstead shifted a little, but when I opened my eyes again, I saw that his attention remained fixed on me, and I was struck by the earnestness of his countenance. I pursed my lips, trying to keep my composure. “I was eleven, but Harry was still a baby. I remember my mother put him in his crib without singing to him or rocking him. As the storm grew worse, he began to cry, to scream, but she wouldn’t go to him or pick him up. Finally, I went and got him, tried to comfort him, but the lightning and thunder frightened him. I begged her to hold him, to make him stop, but it was as if she couldn’t hear me. She opened the front door and just went and stood out in the rain as the lightning and thunder continued, staring out at the sea.”
Hot tears balanced on my lashes, but I blinked them back, determined not to let the awful memories undo me. Halstead set down his cane, taking my other hand in his, his grip so firm it kept me grounded.
“I took Harry under my bed and pulled a blanket over us to try and soften the sounds of the storm, but it was hours before we cried ourselves to sleep.” I took a shuddering breath. “I’ve hated storms ever since.”
Halstead nodded slowly, his thumbs tracing gentle arcs over the back of my hands. “You lost both of your parents the same night.”
The truth of his words hit me, almost knocking the wind from my lungs, and a sob tore from my aching throat, so tired was I from holding in emotion as I’d been forced to do at Lymington Park. Aunt Agnes detested any show of emotion, and I had learned quickly how uncomfortable it made Robert and Hugh as well. But now that I’d begun, it was as if a sluice had been lifted, and the force of my tears couldn’t be stopped. A handkerchief was pressed into my hands, and the stairs creaked as Halstead shifted, pulling me against his chest.
My arms went around him, feeling the strength of his shoulders, the smooth skin at the back of his neck. Somehow his warmth, his solidness undid me further, for whenever I’d cried before, I’d muffled my sobs in a cold pillow to ensure no one could hear. I cried for the loss of my mother and father, and for Harry, who’d never really known either.
Slowly my tears abated, and the tension eased from my body, leaving me with an exhaustion that seeped down to my very core.
Still Halstead held me, one hand stroking back my hair. The steady rhythm of his heart beat beneath my palm. Comforting. Calming. I melted into his chest, peaceful at last. It was only when I heard his faint grunt of discomfort that I pulled back. In the cramped stairwell he’d been holding me in a terribly awkward position, and I could see now that he’d been straining his leg.
“I’ve hurt you.” I wiped fiercely at my eyes, knowing I must look a mess.
He shook his head. “No. No worse than usual.”
“Are you always in pain?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
He used both of his hands to readjust his leg, faint beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “In varying degrees,” he answered finally. His features slipped into the carefully schooled repose that hid all outward signs of discomfort.
“So there’s never a time where you are unburdened by pain?” The very thought made me recoil, as if his discomfort were my own.
“There’s no need for you to concern yourself.” His eyes grew hooded, his voice aloof.
Frustration rose up inside me. Halstead’s shirt, perfectly tailored a moment before, was now wrinkled and damp from my tears. I’d shared something of myself with him, given him a part of me no one else had ever had. And yet, now our fragile connection shattered, snatched away by my reminder of his accident, his injury.
“Why? Why must you do that?” I wiped at my cheeks again, trying to erase all evidence of the weakness I’d displayed.
“Do what?”
“Why must you throw up a barrier between us?” My voice cracked halfway through, my already weakened emotions pushed to a breaking point.
Halstead sighed, running a hand down his breeches. “Perhaps you want more than I can give, Juliet.”
Something in his words pressed on me, something terrifying. My mother had given everything to my father, yet he’d left and never returned, swallowed by the sea. It seemed every time Halstead and I were together I gave him something more, yet there was no certainty that what I offered would be returned.
“You, give?” I said bitterly. “No, you only take.” He looked at me sharply, but I went on. “You profess the wish to know me, to see my different sides, yet you offer little in return.” I shook my head, my hair tumbling over my shoulders. “It is the worst kind of selfishness.”
Something in him snapped, his mask disappearing, anger tightening the lines around his mouth.
Good. I’d touched a nerve.
“More selfish than your cousin Mr. Nicholson?” he flung back.
“Robert?” I asked, as a wave of defensiveness washed over me. “He is one of the most giving people I know.”
Halstead leaned forward. “Yet he demands
