crawled out of the berth to turn the lights back on.
“What?”
he asked, clearly exasperated.
“What?”
“You haven’t slept for two days, Charlotte. Not that I can tell, anyway. And you’ve been seasick as hell all day, so I’m sure you must need to rest. I’m doing my best not to keep you awake, but would you like me to try sleeping in the sitting room instead? Or perhaps I can ask the bursar if there’s an empty stateroom.”
“That would defeat the purpose of—”
“So would having you keel over from exhaustion.” He put his hands on his hips, which drew Charlotte’s attention to areas she’d been scrupulously trying to avoid noticing. He wore perfectly sensible, conservative, striped cotton pajamas, and Charlotte chided herself for imagining what he’d look like without them. “What is it? What do you need me to do?”
She bit her lip. She was weary to the bone, but it wasn’t fair to Dexter to let him think it was his doing. “It isn’t you. It’s stupid, really. Only . . . I’m a little . . .”
Her eyes flicked to the thick, stiffened curtain, still half closed along the rail that hung from the ceiling. Dexter followed her gaze. “A little . . . afraid of damask? A bit terrified of slightly gaudy brocade? Constitutionally averse to the color oxblood?
Tell
me.”
“Claustrophobic,” she blurted, even as she smiled at his comic guesses. Saying it out loud felt surprisingly liberating. “I’m claustrophobic. There, are you happy? When that curtain is closed, I feel like I can’t even breathe, much less sleep.”
“Is that all? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He flicked off the light before he returned to the bed and tapped her legs, waiting for her to shift them out of the way before climbing back into his place by the wall. “Is this a recent development?”
“No, no. Ever since I was a little girl. It had improved for a while, then . . . then it got worse again. But the steward said we should close the curtains at night in case of swells, and loose objects flying, so—”
“I’m a light sleeper,” he said breezily. “At least I normally am, when I haven’t lain awake most of the previous night wondering why the hell the person in bed with me is
still
awake. I’ll probably sleep like the dead tonight. But the weather’s clear, so don’t be concerned. Tomorrow we can go about securing loose objects. Henceforward, if any rough weather starts I’ll be up in a flash and close the drape. In the meanwhile, leave the damn thing open and let’s get some rest.”
He was lying on top of the sheet and blanket, as he had the past few nights, while Charlotte snuggled beneath them. When he flicked the counterpane over both of them, she thought sleepily that she should probably offer to find him an extra blanket.
Dexter sat up, rousing her from the drowsiness that had already started to weigh down her eyes. “Move over.”
She slid out of his way once more, but he didn’t vacate the bed this time, only leaned over her to push the curtain fully open on its track.
“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered as Dexter flopped back down to the bunk and covered himself again.
“You’re welcome.”
After a few minutes of silence, time enough for Charlotte to grow drowsy again, Dexter murmured, “Please tell me Lord and Lady Darmont didn’t lock you in a cupboard when you were naughty, or anything like that.”
She snickered. “No, and neither did my nanny or governess. I’ve just always hated tight spaces. It improved for a time. For years I was able to talk myself out of it, but then . . .”
After a few moments of waiting, he prompted her. “Then?”
The sleepy humor was gone from her voice. “It all came back one day.”
“I see.” After another few moments, he added, “When I was a boy, I was afraid of dogs. Terrified, actually.”
“Really? But you have dogs now, don’t you? You’ve mentioned hunting with them.”
“Oh yes,” he
“What?”
he asked, clearly exasperated.
“What?”
“You haven’t slept for two days, Charlotte. Not that I can tell, anyway. And you’ve been seasick as hell all day, so I’m sure you must need to rest. I’m doing my best not to keep you awake, but would you like me to try sleeping in the sitting room instead? Or perhaps I can ask the bursar if there’s an empty stateroom.”
“That would defeat the purpose of—”
“So would having you keel over from exhaustion.” He put his hands on his hips, which drew Charlotte’s attention to areas she’d been scrupulously trying to avoid noticing. He wore perfectly sensible, conservative, striped cotton pajamas, and Charlotte chided herself for imagining what he’d look like without them. “What is it? What do you need me to do?”
She bit her lip. She was weary to the bone, but it wasn’t fair to Dexter to let him think it was his doing. “It isn’t you. It’s stupid, really. Only . . . I’m a little . . .”
Her eyes flicked to the thick, stiffened curtain, still half closed along the rail that hung from the ceiling. Dexter followed her gaze. “A little . . . afraid of damask? A bit terrified of slightly gaudy brocade? Constitutionally averse to the color oxblood?
Tell
me.”
“Claustrophobic,” she blurted, even as she smiled at his comic guesses. Saying it out loud felt surprisingly liberating. “I’m claustrophobic. There, are you happy? When that curtain is closed, I feel like I can’t even breathe, much less sleep.”
“Is that all? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He flicked off the light before he returned to the bed and tapped her legs, waiting for her to shift them out of the way before climbing back into his place by the wall. “Is this a recent development?”
“No, no. Ever since I was a little girl. It had improved for a while, then . . . then it got worse again. But the steward said we should close the curtains at night in case of swells, and loose objects flying, so—”
“I’m a light sleeper,” he said breezily. “At least I normally am, when I haven’t lain awake most of the previous night wondering why the hell the person in bed with me is
still
awake. I’ll probably sleep like the dead tonight. But the weather’s clear, so don’t be concerned. Tomorrow we can go about securing loose objects. Henceforward, if any rough weather starts I’ll be up in a flash and close the drape. In the meanwhile, leave the damn thing open and let’s get some rest.”
He was lying on top of the sheet and blanket, as he had the past few nights, while Charlotte snuggled beneath them. When he flicked the counterpane over both of them, she thought sleepily that she should probably offer to find him an extra blanket.
Dexter sat up, rousing her from the drowsiness that had already started to weigh down her eyes. “Move over.”
She slid out of his way once more, but he didn’t vacate the bed this time, only leaned over her to push the curtain fully open on its track.
“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered as Dexter flopped back down to the bunk and covered himself again.
“You’re welcome.”
After a few minutes of silence, time enough for Charlotte to grow drowsy again, Dexter murmured, “Please tell me Lord and Lady Darmont didn’t lock you in a cupboard when you were naughty, or anything like that.”
She snickered. “No, and neither did my nanny or governess. I’ve just always hated tight spaces. It improved for a time. For years I was able to talk myself out of it, but then . . .”
After a few moments of waiting, he prompted her. “Then?”
The sleepy humor was gone from her voice. “It all came back one day.”
“I see.” After another few moments, he added, “When I was a boy, I was afraid of dogs. Terrified, actually.”
“Really? But you have dogs now, don’t you? You’ve mentioned hunting with them.”
“Oh yes,” he
Similar Books
