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coming to so ignominious an
end gave her new strength. Slowly turning her head a fraction,
Christine saw Hawkhurst’s hand, resting just inches above her bare
breast.
    “Oh,” she breathed in a small voice,
silently wondering why she hadn’t screamed.
    The hand was nearly as pale as her own white
skin, but it was not soft, for she could feel the scrape of
callouses as the hand moved infinitesimally lower, sending her
pulse soaring.
    It was a large hand, masculine without being
wide, and it ended in long, tapered fingers and well shaped,
bluntly cut nails. A plain gold signet ring adorned the second to
the last finger of the hand, the hand that burned into her flesh
even as it caused a chilling shiver to run through her body.
    “Don’t, Christine,” Hawkhurst said quietly
from far above her head, his words nearly lost in the throbbing
inside her ears. “Please don’t. I’ll go now.”
    The hand lingered a moment longer before
lightly stroking the side of her throat and leaving her. She sat
completely still, facing front, as a blur of swirling black moved
past her tear-bright eyes and left the chamber through a door in
the corner.
    Only then did Christine begin to cry.

Chapter 8

    “Y ou’re terribly
quiet this evening, Christine, Aunt Nellis commented concernedly,
laying down her wooden embroidery frame to look over at her niece,
who was propped against the bed pillows, her usually sunny
expression disturbingly solemn.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Christine responded absently,
staring off into the middle distance.
    “I think that bath must have worn you out. I
warned you to wait another day, didn’t I? Never have I seen anyone
with such a penchant for washing themselves from head to toe. Why,
when I was your age we didn’t find it necessary to submerge our
entire bodies more than three or four times a year at the most.
Water is not good for anything, not even drinking, some say.”
    “Yes, Aunt,” Christine answered absently,
her fingers nervously pleating the bedspread into small, precise
folds. “I think water painting is very nice too.”
    Aunt Nellis rose, smoothing down her gown as
she silently congratulated herself. She had been correct. The bath
had obviously been too much for the girl. She’d been listless and
unresponsive all day, and had barely touched the dinner tray
Lazarus had brought up to her.
    “It’s getting very late, my dear,” Aunt
Nellis said kindly. “I think it’s time you lay down for the night.”
Crossing over to test Christine’s temperature by placing her
fingertips assessingly on the girl’s brow, she asked, “Are you sure
you’ll be all right? I could spend another night in here if you’d
rather not be alone.”
    Christine grasped her aunt’s hand to lightly
rub it against her cheek. “No, dearest, it’s time you had some real
rest. Lazarus has told me how you have barely slept since the
accident. If you don’t soon take some time for yourself we shall
find our roles reversed, with me nursing you. I’d make you eat
gruel, you know!”
    Aunt Nellis nodded her approval of this
statement. “Gruel is very beneficial to invalids. You’re showing
some sense at last, Christine. I do believe that is the first
really reasonable thing you have said to me since regaining
consciousness.”
    “I’m so glad. I live only to please you,
darling Aunt Nellis,” Christine teased, pulling her aunt down for a
kiss. “Now, go to bed. I’ll be fine, really.”
    Christine waved to her aunt as the woman
left the room, but her smile faded once the door closed and she was
alone. She had thought this terrible day would never end. How she
had ever survived the hours between her strange confrontation with
the earl and this moment without her aunt ferreting out exactly
what had happened, she would never know.
    Yes, she was exhausted. Who wouldn’t be? She
was exhausted from trying to keep a good face on things while,
inside, she was filled with trepidation mingled with