some rarefied atmosphere that increased her giddiness. "Oh, right. Appearances. I forgot."
"Shh, shh, shh," he cautioned softly in her ear.
The second floor of heaven seemed to be all blue and silver with stars shining from its ceiling and the polished floors she tried not to scuffle along. But, really, the air up here seemed so high and fine that she had great difficulty walking at all. "I feel kind of wobbly," she said just as Nicholas' grip tightened around her waist and he lifted her off her feet, "Another threshold to cross?" she laughed.
"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately, it's locked, and my hands are a bit occupied at the moment."
"Do you have your keys?"
"In my pocket."
"This one?" she asked and tilted dizzily to reach in and find them.
"Careful. Edmonds will kill me if I drop you on your head."
"I won't like it much either," she giggled. "Turn." As he did so, she frowned at the numerous keys on the ring. "Do you collect them?"
"It's the long, skinny one."
"Looks like a dungeon key? Should I watch out for bats and booby traps?" It took her three tries to successfully aim the key at its target and insert it. "Abracadabra, please and thank you." She turned the knob and the door creaked open.
Nicholas flicked the light switch with his elbow. "Ah, very nice, Mr. Brewer! Neat as a pin. But you will have to discharge your French maid now that you have a wife to look after you. No more hanky-panky with the household help, I'm afraid," she teased him.
"I'm the only household help around here," he muttered grumpily and carried her to the sleeping alcove. His bed was curtained from the rest of the room and was a cozy little nest of crisp, white linens and a blue and green tartan throw. It practically reached up and swallowed her in its cuddling comfort.
"In that case," she yawned, "I may have to reconsider the hanky-panky part."
"Hmph," he grumbled. "Let me take off your shoes." He sat at the end of the bed with her feet in his lap, slipping the black suede pumps from them one by one, then gently rubbing them to warmth. She arched and flexed them contentedly under his tender ministrations. His touch stirred warm tingling all up and down her spine that pooled in the very core of her.
But Nicholas stopped abruptly, shook his head and ordered her, "Now, go to sleep."
Exhaustion and the wine overtook her, and she remembered nothing more except the snugly toastiness of the wool throw he tucked around her and the fleeting kiss, as misty and delicate as angel wings, that touched upon her lips. "Mmmmm," she murmured, nodding into the pillow, "Maybe it was the kiss all along."
*****
Nicholas waited, watching, until her breathing deepened rhythmically and he was sure she slept. He tugged the bed curtain closed just enough to shade her eyes but still allow him a clear view while he worked. He needed an activity to ease his ruffled composure and calm his agitated mind. The rigid neatness of his room gave a facade of orderliness to his inner turmoil. He had to do something to forget her innocent teasing, and the memory of holding her so close for so long. It was too soon and there'd been too much wine for both of them. And it was all his fault.
She had too little experience to know any better, but he should have known. He should have been more conscious of her injuries and the way wine might affect her after the medication she had received. Having learned too well and at too high a price how alcohol worked on him, loosening his already tenuous hold on reality, he usually avoided more than a few cordial sips. But he had let happiness lull him into thinking himself normal. He had let himself relax as if insanity didn't wait to pounce at the least sign of weakness. He had let Maurice keep the wine flowing, and he had been negligent or worse not to notice.
Lighting his desk lamp and extinguishing the overhead fixture, he set to work clearing a drawer and one side of his closet for Trissa's things. Maurice and Jack had fetched them from the foyer and deposited them in his room. They didn't take up much space.
The sweater and skirt she slept in was the best she had. All the rest seemed tired and faded, survivors of many washings, lowered hems, and minor mending. A few pairs of jeans,