Too agitated to stay still for even one second, Mary moved around the kitchen. Having lit a fire in the parlor, she kept checking on the water she'd put to boil for the tea Mr. Crawford had requested and looking out the window in anticipation of his return. If only she had a clock nearby so she had some idea of how long he'd been gone. It felt like twenty minutes, but she suspected it was only ten.

“The children are all in bed,” Cassandra said, entering the kitchen. “Emily is reading to them from Robinson Crusoe.”

“It looks as though the world is ending out there,” Mary said, ignoring Cassandra's comment because it was impossible for her to think of anything else at the moment. Hugging herself, she forced her gaze away from the blurry window and went to find a teapot.

“He will be all right,” Cassandra said. “Mr. Crawford's a strong and sensible man.”

“I know that, Cass.” Preparing the tea strainer, Mary poured hot water through it and into the pot, busying herself in a futile attempt to keep her mind off the storm outside and the man who was caught up in it. She jumped when another boom sounded overhead and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I know my concern is irrational, but I cannot seem to make it go away.”

“Because you care about him,” Cassandra said. “Deeply.”

Mary closed her eyes briefly. “How is that even possible, Cass? When I decided five years ago never to form an attachment to another man ever again?”

“That was before you met Mr. Crawford,” Cassandra told her gently.

Mary stared down at the teapot that now stood waiting. “What am I to do?”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Cassandra’s hand touched her shoulder. “You could choose to give Mr. Crawford a chance and see where things lead.”

Mary drew a quivering breath. “The effect he has on me terrifies me. I worry it’s clouding my judgment and that it will prompt me to make the same mistake I made once before.”

Cassandra dropped her hand and fetched a tray which she set before Mary so she could place the teapot and cups upon it. “Having a relationship of any kind puts us at risk of getting hurt, Mary. The key is to determine whether or not the other person is worth that risk.”

“How can I possibly know that, Cass?” Mary shook her head. She wanted to believe the best of Mr. Crawford. His actions so far had certainly convinced her that he was thoughtful and considerate, but was that enough to ensure she could trust him?

Cassandra looked at her and smiled. “What does your heart tell you?”

Groaning, Mary scrubbed the palm of her hand across her face. “My heart has been wrong before. I’d be a fool to follow it again.” No. This time, she’d use her head, and her head was telling her to be cautious. “And besides, you heard him yourself this evening at dinner. He will leave here as soon as his work is complete. He gave no indication at all that he would have cause to stay.”

“Have you given him any, Mary?” Cassandra’s gaze held hers.

“Maybe not.” But suppose she overcame her fears and told him how much he meant to her. Could she ask him to stay when she knew his mother needed him? “I’m not sure doing so would be in his best interest.”

Cassandra sighed. “I hope you’re right about that, because the only thing worse than getting hurt is having to live with regret.”

The outside door burst open just as she finished speaking, bringing rain and leaves and a sopping wet Mr. Crawford into the kitchen. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his body, pooling around his mud-stained boots. In his arms, he cradled a scraggly clump of shabby fur that meowed with piercing dissatisfaction.

Crossing the floor, Mary brushed past Mr. Crawford and closed the door to shut out the cold. He was shivering badly, and she could see now that his face was terribly pale.

“Come on,” she said, applying her most practical tone. “Let’s get you warmed up.” She pulled Raphael away from Mr. Crawford and handed him over to Cassandra.

“I’ll take him up to Daphne,” Cassandra said. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford. She’ll be most pleased to know he is well and safe indoors.”

Mr. Crawford nodded in a jerky way, and Mary immediately set to work, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and hanging it over the back of a chair near the stove to dry. His shirt, she saw, was plastered to his arms while splotches of dampness stained his waistcoat. Somehow, she would have to get him dry before he caught a cold.

“I’ve made some tea,” she said and went to pick up the tray. “We can have it in the parlor while you warm yourself by the fire.”

He didn’t respond but she sensed he was following her out into the hallway and toward the cozy room that awaited. Reaching around her, he opened the door so she could enter, his arm grazing her shoulder to spark her awareness.

Mary stepped into the welcoming warmth, and he closed the door behind them to keep the heat in, which of course made her keenly aware of how very alone they now were. She crossed to the small table in front of the sofa and set the tray down while he moved closer to the fire. She poured two cups of tea and offered him one of them.

“Thank you.” His voice was low.

Mary watched as he sipped his drink. A sigh of supreme satisfaction rose from deep within his chest, then his gaze met hers, and the smile that followed almost knocked her off her feet. Her pulse leapt and her fingers tingled with the sudden urge to reach out and touch him and offer him comfort.

“Those wet clothes won’t do you any favors,” she said, not knowing where she found the words to imply something as scandalous as him undressing with her in the room, but it did seem like a reasonable thing for him to do if he wished to avoid getting sick.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to take them off?”

“I want to ensure your comfort,” she explained while fighting to keep her back rigid and her voice as serious as possible.

With a snort, he set his cup on the mantle and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I can think of a few ways for you to do so, Miss Clemens.”

Heat ignited in Mary’s cheeks, and she instinctively retreated a step. “I’m going to fetch you a blanket,” she muttered, backing away even further in the direction of the door.

Mr. Crawford watched her go with an underlying hint of amusement in his eyes. His fingers undid another button on the waistcoat, and Mary fumbled for the door handle somewhere behind her. Finding it, she allowed the escape it offered to calm her nerves.

“I will return shortly,” she said with a hoarse whisper she barely recognized as her own. And then she fled into the hallway, desperate for a moment’s reprieve from the man who addled her brain and left her longing for his embrace.

“I need a blanket,” she told Cassandra and Emily when she met them on the upstairs landing. “Mr. Crawford…” She glanced to one side, too distressed to offer a proper explanation.

“I see,” Cassandra said.

Brushing past her friends, Mary hurried into her own bedchamber, threw open the lid of the trunk at the foot of her bed, and pulled out a thick wool blanket she only used during the coldest winter months.

“Well, you’d best go and make sure he gets it,” Emily said from her position next to the door. The two women had followed Mary into her room and were both watching her with great interest.

“He was very wet when he came in,” Cassandra said. “The sooner he gets warmed up the better.”

“Can you manage on your own?” Emily asked with a yawn.

Cassandra promptly yawned as well. “It has been such a long day, and we are both rather tired. In fact, we were just off to bed when you met us in the hallway.”

“You were heading toward the stairs,” Mary said. She held the blanket against her chest, taking comfort in its warmth.

“Only with the intention of asking you about Mr. Crawford’s condition.” Emily’s expression was too serene to be taken seriously. “As long as you think you can manage without our assistance, I do believe we’ll retire.”

“I never said—”

“He’s welcome to stay on the sofa so he doesn’t have to go back out into that awful weather,” Cassandra said. “Just tell him to get undressed first so he doesn’t leave watermarks on the upholstery.”

Mary stared at her friends who were both pressing their lips together in obvious attempts to stifle their laughter. “You’re awful,” she said. “Do you know that?”

“Hmm…” Cassandra murmured. “I do believe you’ll thank us later. Good night.”

She left the room with Emily close on her heels. The sound of doors opening and closing nearby could be heard, followed by silence. Mary gripped the blanket harder, squared her shoulders, and strode toward the stairs. Her friends were being ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Mr. Crawford was chilled to the bone and in dire need of her help. That was all there was to it.

But when she opened the door to the parlor without thinking to knock, she saw that there was nothing ridiculous about this situation and that it threatened to become far more complicated than she had ever imagined it could. Because there he stood before the fire just as she’d left him, except he’d not only shucked his waistcoat, but his shirt, boots and hose as well. Indeed, he was completely naked save for the breeches that still preserved what remained of his modesty, and by God if he wasn’t the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on in her life!

Granted, his back was turned toward her, but it was the sort of back that was made to be admired. Muscle sculpted it to perfection, dipping inward toward his spine. His shoulders were broad and further accentuated by the well-defined shape of his biceps. Mary’s gaze traveled lower to his tapered waistline and the molded shape of his bottom. Her mouth went dry, and it took some effort to tear her gaze away from that part of his body. But to ogle that area was most improper. Certainly more so than it was to admire the rest. So she dropped her gaze further, to the bare calves dusted by dark brown hair and the feet that were firmly planted on the parlor floor.

“You should probably close the door,” he said, jolting Mary so forcefully she actually jumped.

Her chin jerked up, and to her absolute horror she saw he was watching her over his shoulder. Heat erupted inside her, and her stomach immediately dropped all the way to her toes. Embarrassed, she turned and closed the door behind her, pausing with her face toward it and her back toward Mr. Crawford for a minute in order to catch her breath and slow the beat of her racing heart.

“Are you all right?” she heard him ask.

“Perfectly,” she said with the most unsteady voice she’d ever used.

“I’m sorry if I have unsettled you, Miss Clemens, but I needed to get out of the wet clothes in order to warm up.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath and clutched the blanket even tighter before turning back to face him. “I…er…I brought you this.”

His gaze dropped to the blanket. “Thank you.”

“And Cassandra says you can sleep on the sofa just as long as you don’t get it wet.” She forced her feet forward one at a time until she was close enough to hand over the blanket. “It will save you from having to go back out into the storm.”

“I appreciate that,” he murmured. Accepting the blanket, he unfolded it completely and wrapped it around himself to cocoon most of his body from his armpits to his ankles.

Feeling as though she could breathe again, Mary went to make herself a cup of tea. “How was your horse?” she asked while taking care not to spill the tea on the table as she poured.

“A little anxious. He doesn’t like this kind of weather, but stroking his muzzle for a while seemed to sooth him.”

“I’m sorry we don’t have a proper stable.” She took a sip of her tea and sighed.

“You needn’t worry. It is not the first time he’s had to endure a storm and it probably won’t be the last, but it helps to remind him that I am close by and that he isn’t alone.”

Taking another sip of her tea she glanced toward him and almost choked. “What…?” she sputtered and coughed at the sight of him holding his breeches and smalls in one hand while keeping the blanket in place with the other.

“You said I had to avoid wetting the upholstery,” he said as he hung the pieces of clothing over the fireplace screen next to his shirt and hose.

“Well, yes,” she somehow managed to say without stammering or squeaking, “but I didn’t expect you to get completely undressed while I’m here with you.” The notion of him wearing nothing at all beneath the blanket was simply too scandalous to contemplate. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see anything. The knowing itself was enough to put her in a muddled state from which she feared there could be no escape, because now that her mind had ventured down that particular path, she could not stop herself from trying to form a complete image of what she might see if he suddenly dropped the blanket completely.

“Do you ever miss your family, Miss Clemens?”

His unexpected question, coming seemingly out of nowhere, disrupted her indecent thoughts. Blinking, she lowered herself to one of the armchairs. “My family?”

“Do you ever think of trying to repair your relationship?”

“I used to,” she said. Shifting in her seat, she made herself more comfortable and took another sip of her tea. “After my anger toward my parents had passed, I considered returning to London for a visit. But then I thought of my younger sisters and the reason my parents banished me in the first place, which was to protect their reputations by adding distance, and I ended up staying away instead.”

He took a seat opposite her, and for a brief moment, Mary’s discomfort returned at the sight of the blanket parting in order to make space for his legs. But then he asked, “Did they never write to you in all these years?”

Sadness swept in and she quietly shook her head. “I don’t believe they know where I am, and even if they did, I doubt they would want to associate with me in any way.”

Mr. Crawford frowned. “I find that a very harsh punishment, based on what you have told me with regard to what happened.”

“In their minds I was entirely to blame. I brought shame to them and the rest of my family. Getting rid of me was the only thing that made sense to them, I think.”

“I hope I meet them one day,” he muttered. “And if I were them, I’d hope the opposite.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, but I have made my peace with that part of my life, and I have come to accept that I will never again be the woman I once was. I’ve experienced too much.”

He watched her closely, intensely, until her skin pricked with awareness. “I think you’re probably a better person for it.”

“You believe challenges improve a person’s character.” Not a question but an observation.

“I have no doubt that it did so for me,” he said. He drew the blanket tighter and reached for his tea. “As angry as I was with my father when I left home, I was also young and inexperienced, with the kind of cocksure confidence only youth can give you.” His lips slanted as he took a sip of his tea. “I raced off to France, certain I’d find someone there who’d love the drawings of houses I wanted to build and hire me straight away. Instead, I was told my ideas were pointless without the necessary experience to realize them – that presenting a mere drawing of an idea to a group of builders would likely lead to an unstable structure.”

“So what did you do?”

He grinned. “Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to England and face my father’s patronizing glare. So I took a job with a bricklayer first, then with a carpenter who specialized in making window frames, doors, and roofing materials. After a couple of years I began an apprenticeship with a builder who worked on the sort of houses I had designed. He taught me most of what I know today. Also gave me the chance I so desperately longed for to make my own vision a reality.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He’s one of the best,” Mr. Crawford whispered. The tension in his blanket had eased a little, making it sag in the middle to show off more of his chest.

Mary tried not to look. She liked the comfortable repartee they’d been enjoying these past few minutes and didn’t want anything to disrupt it. So she decided to ask a question of her own. “Besides building houses, fixing roofs, and carving fishing rods for little boys, what other things do you enjoy doing?”

He stared back at her from across the small distance between them, and Mary could feel her blood heat in response to the fire now burning in his eyes. “Spending time with you,” he said as if any other answer would be absurd.

Warmth filled her heart, and a grin traced her lips. Sinking back against her chair, she nudged him playfully with the tip of her shoe. “Besides that,” she said, shoving aside all physical response to that comment. The only way she’d survive staying here with him dressed only in a blanket was if the tone remained light and friendly.

Thoughtfulness creased his brow. “History has always interested me. I'm fascinated by the people who came before us and by their incredible accomplishments. Just take the pyramids, for instance; the Viking expeditions to Greenland; or battles fought by the Romans. There's a wealth of knowledge to be found in the past, Miss Clemens. I always grab any chance I get to learn more.”

“You should take a closer look at our library then. We've a few books I'm sure you'd enjoy. Like The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. I read it myself last year and found it incredibly informative.”

“Thank you. I'll be sure to take a look at it. And then perhaps you and I can discuss its contents.”

“Perhaps,” Mary said. She finished her tea and returned her cup to the tray before rising. “I wish you a good night, Mr. Crawford.”

He stood as well and adjusted the blanket, drawing it tight around his torso. “Same to you, Miss Clemens.” His voice was low and sultry. Desperate to resist it, Mary went to the door while hot little embers skittered along her limbs. “Thank you for the tea and blanket.”

“You're welcome,” she said without daring to look at him again, because she saw where this ended now, and while part of her yearned for his kiss and everything else he was willing to give her, another part screamed in protest, too loud to be ignored.