Miss Kendall’s impossibly long eyelashes fluttered. “Forgive me,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “It sounded as though you said you needed me to spend the night with you.”
“I did, and I do.” It was a bold request, but Reese saw no reason to prevaricate. Figured she’d appreciate his candor. “But before you misconstrue my meaning”—clearly, it was too late for that—“please allow me to explain. I’m not suggesting anything untoward. I simply need you to help me sleep. Like you did the other night.”
“Oh,” she said, her relief obvious—and unintentionally insulting. “There’s no need for me to stay the night with you, Lord Warshire. I’ll simply give you some more valerian root.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’ve already tried it. I used the bag you left behind, and it didn’t work.”
She tilted her head. “But it’s the same mix.”
“I know. And it didn’t make me fall asleep.” On Saturday evening, he’d re-created the exact conditions on the night she’d been at the shop. Steeped the tea in precisely the same way. Reclined in the same old chair. Even tidied the room as she had, prior to drinking four cups of the damned potion. But he hadn’t slept a wink.
The tea hadn’t been effective on the three subsequent nights he’d tried it either. Apparently, the missing ingredient was Miss Kendall.
“Interesting,” she mused. She tapped a finger to her lips, thoughtful. “Why don’t I write out the exact steps and proportions I use and deliver the instructions to you in a letter?”
“You don’t understand,” he said as gently as he could, given the panic swirling in his gut. If she didn’t say yes, he’d be reduced to begging. He was terrifyingly close to it already. “It wasn’t the valerian root that helped me sleep for the first time in weeks. It was you.”
A mixture of understanding, pity, and denial dawned on her face. “It’s not me, Lord Warshire.”
“Call me Reese,” he said. “Please. Every time you use the title I’m reminded of Edmund, my brother.” And how he should still be there. Only, he wasn’t.
“Very well … Reese,” she said tentatively. For some reason, the sound of his name on her lips made his heart gallop. “I’m truly sorry that you’ve been suffering from insomnia,” she said, and the compassion in her voice gave him hope. “But if you think I had anything to do with your good night’s rest, you are mistaken. I have neither healing abilities nor magical powers,” she added with a shrug. “I simply brew a good pot of tea—and anyone can learn how to do that.”
Shit. He’d been afraid she wouldn’t believe him. But then, she didn’t really need to believe she could help him. She simply needed to agree.
“All I ask is that you stay with me. A couple of nights a week.”
She gasped. “Impossible.”
“I’d let you use the building,” he said, playing one of his last two cards. “Rent-free. As often as you wish.”
She froze, her beautiful face impassive. But he could tell from her eyes that she was sorely tempted. “You’d bribe me to spend the night with you?”
“It’s not a bribe,” he assured her. “More like a trade. You’d be doing me a service, and I’d be compensating you for your time. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it—to reveal the depths of his desperation. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought I had another option,” he amended.
She paced in front of him, the emerald silk swishing around her feet like waves churning along the shore. He could almost see her weighing her desire to use the tailor’s shop against her resolve to avoid trouble.
“No,” she said at last. “As much as I’d like to help, I can’t. Do you imagine for one second that my parents would permit me to spend the night alone with a bachelor? And if anyone learned of our little arrangement—innocent or not—my name would be trampled in the mud like primroses after a foxhunt.”
“You were wandering the streets alone on the night we met,” he countered. “If you managed to escape your house once, surely you could do it again.”
“That’s different,” she said. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
He arched a brow at that. She may not have been breaking any laws, but she clearly had a few secrets of her own. “I’m not asking you to do anything wrong either.”
She held out her palms helplessly. “I’m sorry, Reese. I know you’re convinced that I can help, but I can’t. And I can’t risk my whole future and my family’s good name just to prove that to you.” She shook her head regretfully. “I must go.”
Despair hovered, threatening to smother him like a shroud. He couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force Miss Kendall to spend a night with him.
But he couldn’t let her leave without playing his very last card, which wasn’t a card at all. “Wait,” he said. He reached behind the base of the birch tree and picked up the single rose he’d cut from his garden that morning. The yellow blossom, large as a saucer, had reminded him of her—bold and open, but soft, too. And the petals, brilliant gold with hints of orange at the edges, were as fresh as the sunrise. As warm as her smile.
He said none of those things, of course, as he gave her the flower, opting instead for, “This is for you.”
Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, holding it up in the moonlight. “I’ve never seen a rose quite like this. Did you find it in Lady Rufflebum’s garden?”
He shook his head. “It’s from Warshire Manor.”
“You have a garden?” she asked, as if he’d piqued her curiosity.
“I’m not certain you could call it a garden. More like a wasteland. A colorless collection of dead bushes and shriveled flowers.”
“But this rose,” she said, twirling the stem between her fingertips.
“It was the only blossom on the bush. Probably the one living thing in the whole damned place.”
“Truly?” she asked, intrigued.
He took a step closer, determined to memorize the gentle slope of her nose and the bowed shape of her lips. He didn’t blame her for refusing to help him. But if he wasn’t ever going to see her again, he might as well leave her with the truth. “In a sea of decay and death, that rose was a stubborn spot of sunshine—and it reminded me of you.”
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and swallowed a mouthful of despair and loneliness. Tried not to think about the endless days and torturous nights that stretched out before him. He inclined his head and said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” before turning on his heel and striding away.
He’d almost reached Lady Rufflebum’s back gate when he heard Miss Kendall call out behind him. “Reese. Wait.”
He froze, wondering if he’d wished her voice into his ears. But when he slowly spun around, she was standing there, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“I still don’t believe that I can help you sleep,” she said, “but I’m willing to try.”
A tiny seed of hope took root inside him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice ragged to his own ears.
Her deep sigh said she was already regretting her decision. “Meet me at the shop on Friday. The same time as last week,” she said smoothly. “We’ll discuss the terms of our … arrangement then.”
“Very well. I look forward to seeing you. On Friday.” He was already counting the hours. “Good night, Miss Kendall.”
She looked down at the yellow rose she held and smiled in spite of herself. “Good night.” He remained standing there, watching as she gracefully turned and walked toward the house. When she glanced back at him, it felt like the sun had peeked through the clouds. “Oh, and Reese?” she said, as if she’d almost forgotten something. Something important.
His heart hammered. “Yes?”
“You may call me Sophie.” She shot him a dazzling smile before she disappeared into the night like a nymph leaving the mortal world for her mystical realm.