The silver tray held enough food to feed three of me, and I gave it an appreciative glance. “You needn’t have worried about my breakfast. I am capable of sending for my own tray.”
“I thought it might serve as a reward once we’ve finished cleaning your burn.”
I took a closer look at the table where the breakfast tray rested. A bottle of linseed oil was set to the side, the cap removed. Of course. I stepped back as it dawned on me why I’d been summoned. And Halstead stood there so calmly, knowing I had come at the promise of breakfast. The fiend.
My burn ached just remembering the stinging pain of yesterday. This morning the burn was not nearly so severe. Was it really necessary to go through it all again?
“Thinking of disregarding the doctor’s orders?” Halstead lifted a brow.
I made no move to come closer. “It had crossed my mind.”
“Come. Let’s get this over with.” He raised a hand and motioned me over as if he expected to be obeyed.
The discomfort between us returned full force. If he didn’t wish to spend time with me, I had no wish to be in his presence any longer than necessary. I straightened my shoulders and hurried to take a seat.
No hint of emotion played on his face, only a line of concentration marking his forehead. As he poured the oil into a basin, I took pains to distance myself. The thought of his proximity, of being so vulnerable in his presence again, made my chest tighten.
So I retreated.
It was a practice I had not used in some time, but I’d done it a great deal when I first moved to Lymington Park. Having watched my mother do it, it was not hard to imitate. I became a mere shell, hollowed out and unfeeling. It was easier—and safer—than feeling the sharp pangs of grief and misery that had encompassed my eleven-year-old heart at the time.
I did not wait. Once I was safely locked away, I thrust my hand into the linseed oil. Somewhere there was pain, but it couldn’t quite reach the safety of my refuge. Halstead’s voice sounded in the background, but it was murky and distant, as if I were underwater. I could see the whole scene but had no part in it.
Not until I heard Halstead repeat himself several times, his voice echoing through my mind, did I force myself to return. “Juliet? Juliet? Are you sure you are all right?” His tone was laced with alarm.
A wall of pain hit me as I emerged, but I only nodded. He had already rinsed my hand with water and now dabbed at it with a towel.
“By the heavens, you frightened me. The look on your face was . . . haunting.” There was a strain of concern in his voice that tempted me to retreat within myself again. I ignored the gentle strength in his hands and pulled away.
“I assure you I am quite well.”
The corner of his mouth ticked down. “Tell me what has changed.”
“Nothing.” I shook my head and reached for the gauze with my left hand. There was no reason I couldn’t wrap the burn myself. I bit down on my tongue to keep my emotions at bay.
Halstead reached out and covered my left hand with his own. “Please. You are angry with me.”
“And it’s no wonder. You push me away time and time again.”
“Is it because I did not answer your question yesterday?”
“No.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Yes. Halstead, if you are so determined not to share anything of yourself with me, very well. But don’t expect from me what you will not give.” I averted my gaze, my lashes thick with tears.
He sat forward. “And what part of me do you want?” he demanded.
“I want to understand you, all of you. Your memories, your hidden thoughts.” Your heart. I silenced myself before I could say the last words aloud.
Halstead scrubbed a hand along his clenched jaw. “Did you ever stop to think, even for a moment, that I push you away for a reason? There’s a chasm inside of me so deep and dark I sometimes think it will swallow me whole.” He paused, breathing heavily. “And I fear if I give you even the smallest glimpse, I will frighten you away.”
I looked down at his hand covering mine. “Do you think me so fragile? One look at something unpleasant and I’ll back away?”
Silence resounded through the room, but neither of us moved. Halstead kept hold of my hand, his grip as firm as iron.
He bowed his head. “You are the very opposite of fragile.”
“Then do not drive me away.” I bit my lip. Sometimes I could see the darkness he alluded to, the storm that swirled inside him. “Forgive me my candor, but my mother . . . she locked herself away from me, barricaded herself in her despair. And I watched her waste away to nothing. It is not a path I can walk again.”
Halstead nodded, comprehension dawning. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Be patient with me, if you can.”
His sincerity took me aback, and I sought to lighten the moment. “You would try the patience of a saint, you know. And I cannot claim to be such a blessed being.”
A devilish glint entered his eyes. “No. I think we’ve established you’re not even a lady.”
I gave him a saucy tilt of my head. “And it’s no wonder, given such company.”
The clock struck the hour, and I looked up. Drat. Ten o’clock. I was late for my meeting with Robert. “I am sorry, but I must go. I am late for an outing.”
I searched for something in his expression, the tiniest clue as to what he might be feeling, but he simply nodded. “Very well. Won’t you at least take something before you go?” He motioned to the tray of waiting food.
Ignoring the memory of his hand on mine, I snatched up a crumpet and hurried out the door.
I
