“What do you want from me? Do you want me to promise I shall never interfere again?”

“That would be an excellent beginning.”

Caroline planted her hands on her hips and jutted her chin forward. “Well, I won't. I should like nothing more than to keep myself out of peril for the rest of my life, but if you are in danger, and I can do something to help, I certainly will not remain idle. How could I have lived with myself if you'd been hurt?”

“You are the most muleheaded woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” He raked his hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath before saying, “Can't you see I'm trying to protect you?”

Caroline felt something rather warm tickling within her, and tears formed in her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “but can't you see I'm trying to do the same?”

“Don't.” His word was cold, clipped, and hard, so hard that Caroline actually took a step back.

“Why are you being so cruel?” she whispered.

“The last time a woman thought to protect me…”

His voice faded away, but Caroline needed no words to understand the stark grief etched on his face. “Blake,” she said softly, “I don't want to argue about this.”

“Then promise me something.”

She swallowed, knowing that he was going to ask something to which she couldn't agree.

“Don't put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I—I couldn't bear it, Caroline.”

She turned away. Her eyes were growing teary, and she didn't want him to see her emotional response to his plea. There was something in his voice that touched her heart, something about the way his lips moved for a moment before he spoke, as if he were searching in vain for the right words.

But then he said, “I can't let another woman die,” and she knew this wasn't about her. It was about him, and the overwhelming guilt he felt over the death of his fiancée. She didn't know all of the details surrounding Marabelle's demise, but James had said enough for her to know that Blake still blamed himself for her death.

Caroline choked down a sob. How could she compete with a dead woman?

Without looking at him, she stumbled toward the door. “I'm going upstairs. If you have anything more to say to me you can say it in the morning.”

But before she could wrap her hand around the doorknob she heard him say, “Wait.”

Just one word and she was helpless to resist. Slowly, she turned around.

Blake stared at her, unable to take his eyes from her face. He wanted to say something; a thousand words crashed through his mind, but he couldn't think of a single sentence. And then, without realizing what he was doing, he took a step toward her, and then another, and then another, and then she was in his arms.

“Don't scare me again,” he murmured into her hair.