.
Julius stalked around the corner and stilled when his eyes caught sight of Maura. She was speaking to one of the women, holding her close and smiling as the other woman silently wept. He couldn’t hear a word Maura was saying but could imagine her voice, so delicate that it often slipped past Julius’ defenses and got under his skin, irritating him to no end.
And the voice matched the woman. Julius knew women, very well. In fact, he was known to drown himself in them, but Maura never said what he expected her to. She was a beautiful mystery.
And she was mad.
Completely mad.
Yet that madness seemed to work for her position at the Spinster’s House. Yet while she was capable of soothing others, it never worked for him.
Nothing worked.
He remained at his end of the hall and watched her dismiss the woman before turning to him and catching his eyes. He found her blue gazes unsettling as well. She hadn’t even looked for him. It was as though she found him instantly, sensing him in a room with some power or another.
Nothing but her eyes moved. Part of her was cast in shadow and the rest in the light from the window, and that seemed to fit her well. Darkness and light. A madness so pure it was likely complete sanity.
He leaned away from the wall and started toward her. He was less than a foot away when he finally spoke. “Maura.”
Her eyes had his locked. “Julius.”
Why did she say his name that way? There was always a hint of disbelief as though she doubted who he was. Did anyone else hear it or was it only him? He was Julius Hext, the Marquess of Darvess, and he’d make that plain. “How are the women?” They were under his and William’s care. It was only right he asked.
“What do you mean?” Her voice carried with it infinite impatience, which always angered him.
“What?”
She blinked slowly. “What is it you wish to know?”
He frowned. “I wish to know how the women are faring.” Was his question not simple enough? Why was everything a game with her? Her mind was like walking a labyrinth. Sure, she was civil around others, but never when they were alone.
“You want to know how they’re faring?” Maura asked.
“Yes.” He stressed the word and then lifted a hand when she was about to speak again. “It’s a simple question, Maura. Anyone else would have said ‘the women are fine’ or ‘as well as can be expected given their circumstances.’” There were times when she made him wonder if he was mad.
She tilted her head, but only faintly. “Well, if you already knew the answer you sought…”
He closed his eyes. “Maura—”
“May I?”
He opened his eyes to find her hands lifted, pointing in his direction.
Without knowing what she would do, he said, “Yes.” He then cleared his throat after finding it rougher than usual.
She’d touched him before. Last year, there’d been a party. She’d poked his side and for some reason, that action had forced a laugh from his lips. Believing the reaction to have simply been caused by where she’d poked him, he’d tested the spot himself for days, but not once did he laugh. So, then he’d tried to get William to poke him, but after a strange look, the Major General had declined.
Now he would be touched again, and he braced himself.
But there was no bracing for it.
Her hands went into his hair and, starting at the front, stroked backward until they reached his nape, a simple action that woke every part of his flesh. He clamped down on his teeth and stared at her face.
“Hm.” Her gaze was at her hands, but once she released him, she lifted her eyes to his.
“Well?”
She smiled faintly, a dimple appearing by her mouth. “It’s lovely. Soft. If you grew it long, I would cut it and fashion it into a pillow.”
His next question left him before he could stop himself, a trigger reaction to the thoughts that entered his mind at her odd yet equally pleasant words… He pictured her head on a pillow made of his hair. The imagery should have disturbed him. So, why was he aroused? This woman was dangerous, and he needed to remember to keep his distance. “Do you still see ghosts?”
“Do you?” The question came as swift as a bullet and struck him at the heart. He didn’t see ghosts, at least not the way Maura did. They didn’t visit his room in the middle of the night. Instead, they haunted his dreams.
“You should speak to someone about them,” he said.
She shook her head. “No one would understand.” A normal reply that he’d not expected. Were they about to have a good old English conversation?
“You’ve spoken to people before?” he asked.
She laughed. “I lived in an asylum for ten years. I spoke to endless doctors.” She frowned and looked away. “No more doctors.”
He didn’t wish to explore the emotions that came over him then, so he shoved them away. “Then perhaps you should speak to someone who isn’t a doctor. Maybe you should speak to someone you know, someone who knows you. Franklin, perhaps?”
She turned to him again, and her face cleared of its tension. “Frank.” His name was said with great knowing, which ticked Julius off. “Yes, perhaps…”
“Do it.” He didn’t know why he wanted this so much, but he did. “It would be good for you. Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes.”
She smiled. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
He joined her smile. “Excellent.”
“If you do it, too.”
His smile fled. “I speak to Frank all the time.”
She lifted a brow, but not high, not with disbelief or censor. It was a look of pure pity.
That look gripped his heart. He did speak to Frank often, but not in the way she implied. He never spoke to anyone about his demons. “I…”
“If you go, I’ll go,” she said again.
He stared at her and then rolled his eyes. “Very well.”
The smile she gave him settled everything within him. “Very well.”