The young woman, seeming wholly unaware of the tumult she’d wrought, offered another curtsy, and then humming the tune of the carol that Myrtle continued to sing, she headed down the hall, belowstairs, and disappeared, with Val frozen to the spot where she’d left him, motionless, fearing if he moved he’d break apart.

He didn’t love Myrtle.

He couldn’t.

Yes, as he’d told her, he certainly cared about her. But that was different. Why, he cared about Horace and Jenkins.

You don’t feel about her the way you do Horace or Jenkins, a silent voice in his head jeered. And you’ve certainly never kissed either of them. Through the tumult, Myrtle’s singing drifted in and out of focus.

“And in thy arm thou hold Me warm,

And keep Me night and day.”

Her song came so clear, his awareness of her so keen, that her voice grew louder in his mind. It was as though she were right there.

“And if I weep, and may not sleep,

Thou sing, ‘Bye bye, lullay.’”

The door opened quickly.

And then she was there.

It hadn’t just been in his mind.

He stared dumbly at her. Attired in a proper white wrapper and nightdress, there was nothing scandalous or wicked in what she wore, only in that she wore it before him. And still with that, it was as though a siren had stepped into the entryway and called to him, drawing him hopelessly out to sea.

She smiled. “I thought you might join—”

“No,” he said before she’d even finished speaking.

“Me.” She concluded the thought anyway.

“Are you afraid?” he asked gruffly. He was a bastard. He should have considered the impact left by the pair of brutes who’d invaded her home and attempted to harm her.

“If I said yes, I expect you’d join me, but . . . no. I’m not afraid. I just”—she glanced down at her palms—“do not want to be alone.”

“You aren’t alone,” he pointed out. “You have Horace.”

Horace, who proved wholly uncooperative, rolled onto his side and proceeded to snore.

“Horace does not sing,” Myrtle said.

“No, he does not. Though he does howl fairly well.”

She laughed, merriment adding a sparkle to her eyes, her amusement contagious, and he joined in.

Where had that ability to tease come from? It was still there within him, apparently, one more thing stirred from the ashes by this woman.

He let his laughter and smile both fade, and it was as though doing so had extinguished her joy. “I don’t sing, either, Myrtle,” he said gruffly. Not anymore. Though he could now listen to the sound of those carols without pain. What did that mean?

Once more, he refused to let his mind linger on that.

“No, I know . . .” She sighed. “I wanted to spend our last night together.”

Her words sent a jolt through him, and his body jerked.