Alas, he was determined to be rid of her. She folded her arms around her middle, hugging herself tightly.

“Myrtle,” he murmured, caressing her cheek once more. “I’d never let myself be separated from you.”

A thousand butterflies danced within her stomach, thrilling, wonderful butterflies unleashed from the joy of—

“You don’t have to worry. I’ll be close so I might ensure you don’t find yourself harmed while you are in my care.” He turned to go, and a fresh swell of panic crested in her breast.

Myrtle took a frantic step toward him. “And then after that, whatever happens to me matters naught,” she said, unable to keep the trace of bitterness from her response, even as she knew it was petty and wrong.

He turned back, a frown on his hard lips. “That is not what I meant. I’d never see you hurt, Myrtle.”

He sounded stricken. And she’d never heard him sound that way. Now he did . . . because of her.

Her response had proven her petty and small. “No. I know that. I do,” she said on a rush. “I . . .”

Val crossed over to her, his long legs and even longer stride all but swallowing the small distance imposed by the room. He stopped beside her.

Myrtle drew in a breath, attempting to clear her thoughts, which always grew muddled at his nearness. “Forgive me,” she said, unable to meet his eyes, studiously examining the hardwood floor. “I did not mean to offend you.”

Val brushed his knuckles down the curve of her cheek, lightly dusting under her chin and then raising it so that she met his eyes.

The sheer beauty of those dark-blue pools sucked the air from her lungs. They always had.

She suspected if there’d been more tomorrows with him, they always would.

“I care about you, Myrtle,” he said gruffly. “My sense of concern for you and about you will not end when I bring you to your family.”

Myrtle bit the inside of her cheek hard. That should be enough. It wasn’t. She wanted more than his concern. “I . . .” Love you. Most desperately. Most ardently. His black brows came together, stitching in a single line of an unspoken question. “Care about you, too,” she said lamely.

His gaze, if possible, grew even more opaque.

He opened his mouth, and her heart lifted with the hope that he would say something else. Something beyond simply “caring about her.”

KnockKnockKnock.

That perfunctory rapping broke the moment.

Val let his arm fall. “Enter,” he called out.

A moment later, a young man entered with a small wooden tub that he set by the fire.

On his heels came a flurry of young serving girls with buckets of steaming water, all of whom bore a striking resemblance to one another, and the blondish-brown shade of their hair marked them as the innkeeper’s daughters.

They worked to fill the tub. Entering, leaving, and then promptly returning.