Page 16 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“Again!” Gil cried, so they repeated the action at the top of the stairs, this time with a trifle better coordination.

Noelle glanced over at Thorne. He seemed an entirely different man at the moment, his implacable visage softened, his gray eyes warm as he smiled down at Gil. She realized that Lisette had been right; he was a handsome man—and younger than his usual sternness made him seem. She had no doubt that he truly did like Gil. Maybe she could trust him.

He raised his head, his gaze meeting hers, and the smile fell away. She was reminded that he just as surely did not like her. Perhaps she could rely on him with Gil, but when it came to herself, she would be a fool to trust him.

They continued to the next floor, repeating Gil’s game on the way up to the nursery. It occurred to Noelle that if Adam had lived, the two of them would have done this together often, and the thought made Noelle’s chest ache. Her grief over Adam had burned off long ago; she no longer missed him every day. But now and then, such as this moment, the thought of him twisted her heart.

The next floor was obviously not in use, containing only the nursery, schoolroom, and a couple of smaller bedchambers, and the place had a dark, cramped look. But Thorne pulled back the heavy curtains in the schoolroom, and the room was flooded with light. Gil was enchanted by the child-sized table and chairs and immediately bounced over to sit in one of them.

“They fit me.” He swiveled his head, looking all around the room, and his gaze fell on the low bookshelves against one wall. “Look!” He shot out of the chair and dropped down on his knees in front of the shelves. “Mama, look at all these books.”

“Yes, I see them. They’re lovely.” The ache in Noelle’s heart grew as she thought of her father’s house, where books were crammed into every nook and cranny and a child could read to her heart’s content. But books were expensive and heavy to carry around with them from place to place, and she and Gil had only two, a Bible and a well-worn book of folktales.

“Are they stories? Like our book?” He grabbed one volume by the spine, then thought of his manners and turned to Thorne. “Can I look at them?”

“May I,” Noelle corrected gently.

“May I look at them?”

“Yes, of course. But I can assure you that book is dull.” Carlisle crouched down beside him, running his fingers along the spines, then pulled out a volume and showed it to Gil. “I think you’ll like this one better. It was one of your father’s favorites. I used to read it to him when he was your age.” He laid the book open on the table. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Yes, please.” Gil nodded his head decisively and plopped down in the chair. Thorne, on one knee beside him, began to read.

Noelle watched them, Carlisle’s dark head bent close to Gil’s shining golden curls. Whatever the man thought of her, the important thing was how he felt about Gil. With Gil, with the countess and his friend Dunbridge—well, really, she supposed it was with anyone except her—Carlisle Thorne was pleasant. She thought of the affection in his eyes when he spoke to the countess, the way he smiled at Gil. She could not believe that was deception, a play acted out for her benefit.

She thought of everything Thorne could give her son. If the man truthfully was willing to let her live with Gil...well, that would be quite wonderful. However much it might hurt to give in to her enemy, the thought of having as much time with her son as she liked, freed of worry about him being taken from her, was tantalizing. She and Gil could have a true home. She could stay in one place, no longer looking over her shoulder for the villain who pursued her.

The only problem, of course, was that she would be in the very lair of the villain who pursued her. How could she trust Carlisle Thorne after all the times he’d sent ruffians who had chased her like a hound after a rabbit, intent on snatching her child from her?

Perhaps Carlisle saw his offer to her as a form of payment—like his first attempt to buy her baby—a life of comfort for her in exchange for Gil. It rankled that if she took him up on it, he would assume he was right about her, that she had agreed because she wanted the luxury. But, in truth, what did it matter what Carlisle Thorne believed? It was Gil who was important.

She was tempted to say yes, but Noelle was too experienced, too cautious, to act so impulsively. And so, when Thorne had finished the story, she said, “Thank you for showing Gil this, but we should leave now.”

“But we aren’t through yet.” Gil jumped up. He cast a forlorn look down at the book and faced his mother, setting his chin stubbornly. “I don’t want to go.”

“I’m sorry, love, but we must.” Noelle prayed her son would not choose this moment, in front of this man, to turn disobedient.

To Noelle’s surprise, Thorne intervened. “You must do as your mother says. Here.” He closed the book and extended it to the boy. “Why don’t you take this with you?”

“Really?” Gil’s face lit up, and he reached out eagerly to take the book. “Can I, truly? I mean, may I?”

“Yes, of course. It was your father’s.”

“Thank you.” Gil executed a courteous bow, as Noelle had taught him to do. “I want to show Grandmama.” He trotted out of the room, cradling the battered book.

A small knot formed in Noelle’s chest as she followed Gil. He was skipping down the hall ahead of her, already looking at home. Noelle felt as if she were being swept along by an increasingly swift current, with Gil now joining the countess’s gentle pressure and Carlisle’s hard determination. No, she definitely would not consent today. She must think it over in quiet solitude. However easy the path seemed to be, she had to be certain.

Thorne and the countess insisted on having the carriage brought round to take them home, and Thorne politely escorted them to the vehicle. Gil scrambled up, grinning broadly. Thorne turned to Noelle to offer her a hand up and said stiltedly, “Thank you for coming today. It has made Lady Drewsbury very happy.” He hesitated, then went on in a constrained voice, “I—Gilbert is—you have raised him well.”

Noelle, taken aback by his grudging compliment, wasn’t sure whether to feel gratified or indignant. In an equally formal voice, she thanked him and stepped up into the vehicle. She ignored his proffered hand, reaching for the door frame, but he deftly intercepted, taking her hand in his, and she was forced to close her fingers around his, accepting the little boost. She wore no gloves—another sign of her lack of ladylike status, for she wasted no money on any gloves but those for warmth—and she felt his flesh against hers, warm and strong, and her stomach fluttered.

He closed the door, and the carriage rattled away. Across from her, Gil alternated between bouncing on the cushioned seat and peering out the window, talking all the while about Mr. Thorne and the book, his grandmother, the wonderful cakes, the cunning little chairs and table, and the delightful number of stairs one could jump up and down.

Noelle leaned back, listening to her son’s chatter, and let the tension seep out of her. The cushioned seat was luxuriously soft, just like the graceful chairs inside the mansion and the rugs into which one’s feet sank. It would be easy to sink into this plush life in the same way. And that was exactly why she had to get back into her home, her life, to think without the tempting distractions.

Could she trust Carlisle Thorne? He had been polite, and she thought of the way he had knelt beside Gil, reading, altering his voice for each different character and imbuing it with tension as the wicked troll approached. She thought of Gil’s laughter and his wide-eyed attention, of the way he had edged closer to Thorne as the troll in the story stalked his prey.

She thought of the man’s compliment to her as he handed her into the carriage. She was almost sure he meant it—it had sounded too much as though it were torn out of him to be a deception. Indeed, she was not certain that Mr. Thorne had any deceptive ability. He had been quite straightforward in his dislike of her and his intentions toward Gil. He had pursued her openly, his attempts to abduct Gil relentless, but also quite open. He was, she thought, a man of force, not stealth.