were recently in a fight for your life. It does not require psychical talent to know that you need time to recover and fortify yourself for whatever lies ahead.”
He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again without speaking. She was right. Logic and common sense dictated that he ought to try to get some rest.
“You are correct when you say that I need to fortify myself,” he said. “A short period of waking sleep would not be a bad idea.”
“What is a waking sleep?”
“It’s a form of meditation—a self-induced trance—that will allow me to gain some of the benefits of sleep without shutting off my senses.”
Her expression softened. “You can trust me to keep watch while you rest.”
“I know,” he said, without stopping to think.
It was only after the words were out that he registered their full meaning. He could trust Beatrice. Hell’s teeth, he did trust her; he had trusted her almost from the start even though logic told him that was not wise. He had broken one of his own cardinal rules—never trust anyone involved in a case. Everyone was hiding something.
But somewhere along the line he had made an exception with Beatrice, an exception that could not be justified by logic and cold reason. He had allowed himself to be ruled by his passions and he did not give a damn.
It was a stunning discovery, definitely one he wanted to think long and hard about, but this was not the time to contemplate such a significant event.
Belatedly he realized that Beatrice was watching him very intently.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to intrude, but are you in some sort of trance at the moment? You appear quite transfixed.”
He pulled himself together. “Yes, I am transfixed. But I’m not yet in the trance.”
He limped to the bed, sank down and stretched out on the quilt. He closed his eyes and started counting backward from one hundred.
Thirty-Two
He surfaced from the trance, aware that he felt refreshed and invigorated. Beatrice had been right. He had needed rest.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the window. The fog was thicker than ever but now it was illuminated with the first light of dawn.
Beatrice was sitting in the chair, watching the street. She had taken down her hair. It tumbled around her shoulders. How was it possible, he wondered, for a woman to appear at once innocent and delicate but simultaneously infused with spirit and feminine power? The combination was enthralling and deeply arousing.
And this was not the time to be distracted by such fanciful thoughts.
He sat up on the side of the bed. “I’m awake.”
He spoke quietly, not wanting to startle her.
But she was already turning in the chair. She gave him a searching look. Whatever she saw in his face must have satisfied her because she gave him an approving smile.
“You look much more fit,” she said.
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I take that to mean that I looked very unfit before I went into the trance?”
She glared. “Must you always twist my words?”
He winced. “I will try not to be so touchy on the subject of my physical limitations.”
“I would suggest that you try not to be so melodramatic, instead. By the way, how is your leg?”
“It’s fine,” he said, aware that he sounded touchy again.
“Do you have some of Mrs. Marsh’s tonic left?”
“Yes.”
She jumped to her feet. “Is it in your bag? I’ll get it for you.”
“Stop,” he ordered. “Do not move.”
She halted, eyes widening in alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He pushed himself to his feet and gripped the cane. He went forward, putting himself directly in front of her.
“If you take one more step toward that bag,” he said evenly, “you will collide with me, in which case one of two things will happen.”
She blinked. “Yes?”
“The impact will either cause me to lose my balance and topple to the floor—”
“Unlikely,” she said. Her eyes were very bright. “What is the other possibility?”
“I will grab hold of you in a desperate effort to steady myself.”
“Oh,” she said.
She looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. His blood heated. The atmosphere in the small space was charged as if a thunderstorm was gathering. He dared not move.
“I might not be able to let go of you,” he said.
Beatrice took two very small, very cautious steps forward. When she stopped she was mere inches away. The skirts of her gown brushed his bare feet. She lifted one finger