“But you’re a grown-up.”
I tilted my head. “I wasn’t always.”
Her eyes grew wide. “And she still takes care of you?”
I nodded. “More than she should have to.”
“Why were you crying?” she asked.
Jesus, this girl.
“I wasn’t.”
“Daddy says that lying is bad,” she said.
I snorted. “I’m not lying.”
“I saw you.”
“Abigail!” boomed a voice from behind me that simultaneously fired the anger in my blood and made me weak in the knees. “What have I told you about sneaking out of bed?”
I whirled, ready to defend her, but the ire in Benjamin’s tone was in full contrast with the mockery in his eyes. Love emanated from him as he gazed upon Abigail, stealing my words.
“I told Josephine I didn’t sneak,” she said. “This is just the best room in the whole house.”
His eyes darted to mine, and the playfulness faded slightly.
“Apologies,” I said quickly, turning to move around him before this highly observant, well-spoken toddler picked up on the animosity. “I just stepped in here to get a moment of quiet, and—”
“Abigail is good at finding those places, too,” he said softly, the low rumble of his voice giving my feet reason to slow. “Tell Jo—Miss Bancroft good night, Abigail,” he amended. “And go back to bed.”
“But—”
“You can take the book with you,” he said. “I’ll be up to tuck you in again in a minute.”
Abigail sighed and rose to her feet, padding across the room with her book under her arm. “Good night, Josephine.”
“Miss Bancroft,” he corrected.
“Actually, you can call me Josie,” I said, kneeling to face her and whispering conspiratorially, “We half orphans sometimes have to bend a rule or two.”
Her serious little face broke into a grin. “G’night, Josie.”
“ ’Night, Abigail.”
Then she was gone.
And the déjà vu suddenly swam with a vengeance. This room, filled with the smell of old books and older wood, was my permanent memory of the worst night of my life. Along with the company.
His hand was outstretched to help me up, but I rose without it, not needing or wanting anything from him. Not even common courtesy.
“She’s quite something,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “I know you’re proud.”
“She’s my world,” he responded, and something in his tone made me look up.
This close, I saw more than just sadness in his face. Tiny lines fanned from his eyes, and something like anger set his jaw. His full mouth looked hard.
Anger . . . at me?
That was absurd.
“I didn’t seek her out, if that’s what you think,” I said. “I didn’t know she was in here.”
“Why are you here?”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “I told you, I was just looking for a quiet place.”
“I’m not talking about the library, but yes, I find it ironic that you’d come here for solace,” he said, his tone sarcastic, his eyes darkening. “Of all the choices in this house, you’d come in here.”
My jaw dropped. “I don’t know the other choices in this house, Mr. Mason, because I’ve never been farther than this in the five minutes I’ve spent here. Either time.” I felt my blood heating and my mouth was sure to overflow soon. “If you’ll excuse me, I have—”
“You have what?” he asked, closing the space between us. I could feel his body heat radiating off him and I curled my short nails into my palms to keep my hands from doing something stupid. “Why are you here?”
“I believe I was invited.”
“You’re always invited,” he said smoothly. “And you’ve never come. Not once since—”
“Since when, Mr. Mason?” I said, lifting my chin defiantly as he leaned closer. “Please finish that sentence.”
I watched his jaw muscles twitch in response.
“So, why now?”
It took all I had not to avert my eyes. To steel myself against his hard gaze and remain composed with his face just inches away.
“Maybe I came for the exquisite dinner,” I said finally, acid dripping from my tone. “Why do you care?”
The question backed him up, as if he’d just realized how dangerously close he was and remembered that we didn’t like each other. I tried to focus on that, too, fighting my body’s automatic desire to pull him back.
“Do whatever you want,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I need to go check on my daughter.” He glanced back at the open door behind him. “Do you want to go out first? I can wait a few minutes so the other guests won’t talk.”
“Please,” I said sarcastically, walking past him. “It’s a little late to worry about my reputation. If you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”
Chapter 7
1904
Ben
After doing everything short of making Abigail take a blood oath to stay in her room, I finally left her with her book and a cup of water—and a pastry from the dessert table—and went back downstairs. I couldn’t have her wandering around down there with strangers. Call me overprotective, but I didn’t know most of the people in my house.
And she was all I had.
She was my miracle baby who survived a premature birth that Winifred had not. As horrible as the woman I was forced to marry could sometimes be, the memory of her huge, terrified eyes as she screamed through her contractions that something was wrong haunted me.
Of course something had been wrong; the baby was too early. The doctor had been summoned, and yes, there was concern, but Winifred was a professional at being melodramatic. Crying wolf was her forte for just about anything. And my mind was distracted with thoughts of betrayal. Being almost a month early—what if my wife had lied to me? What if it had all been a ruse to trick me?
Anger had blinded me to the pain in her eyes. The baby was positioned wrong, and when Winifred went stiff and then limp in the middle of pushing Abigail out, I thought she’d just fainted from the exertion. It wasn’t until the doctor cut the cord and tried to rouse her to meet the tiny person needing her
