Mine Till Midnight

"—and my brother and sister called me Cyclops." She watched him struggle not to smile. 'They still do, whenever a bee flies too near."

He regarded her with friendly sympathy. "Everyone's afraid of something."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Ceilings and walls, mostly."

She stared at him in puzzlement, her thoughts still coursing too slowly. "You mean .. . you would rather live outside like a wild creature?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. Have you ever slept outside before?"

"On the ground?"

Her bewildered tone made him grin. "On a pallet beside a fire."

Amelia tried to imagine it, lying undefended on the hard ground, at the mercy of every creature that crawled, crept, or flew. "I don't think I could fall asleep that way."

She felt his hand playing slowly in the loose locks of her hair. "You could." His voice was soft. "I would help you."

She had no idea what he meant by that. All she knew was that as his fingertips reached her scalp, she felt a sensual shiver run down her spine. Clumsily she reached for her bodice, trying to pull the reinforced fabric together.

"Allow me. You're still unsteady." His hands brushed hers aside and he began to hook her corset deftly. Clearly he was familiar with the intricacies of a woman's undergarments. Amelia didn't doubt there had been more than a few ladies willing to let him practice.

Flustered, she asked, "Was I stung anywhere?"

"No." Mischief flickered in his eyes. "I checked thoroughly."

Amelia suppressed a little moan of distress. She was tempted to push his hands away from her, except that he was restoring her clothing far more efficiently than she would have. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she wasn't sprawled in a man's lap while he fastened her corset.

"You'll need a local beekeeper to remove the hive," Rohan said.

Thinking of the enormous colony in the wall, Amelia asked, "How will he kill them all?"

"He may not have to. If possible, he'll sedate them with smoke and transfer the queen to a movable frame hive. The rest will follow. But if he can't manage that, he'll have to kill the colony with soap water. The larger problem is how to remove the comb and the honey. If you don't take it all out, it will ferment and attract all kinds of vermin."

Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him in worry. "Will the entire wall have to be removed?"

Before Rohan could reply, a new voice entered the conversation. "What's this?"

It was Leo, who had just arisen from bed and pulled on his clothes. He came barefoot from the direction of his' bedroom. His bleary gaze moved over the pair of them. "Why are you on the floor with your buttons undone?"

Amelia considered the question. "I decided to have a spontaneous tryst in the middle of the hallway with a man I hardly know."

"Well, try to be quiet about it next time. A fellow needs his sleep."

Amelia stared at him quizzically. "For heaven's sake, Leo, aren't you worried that I may have been compromised?"

"Were you?"

"I..." Her face turned hot as she glanced into Rohan's vivid topaz eyes. "I don't think so."

"If you're not sure about it," Leo said, "you probably weren't." He came to Amelia, sank to his haunches, and stared at her steadily. His voice gentled. "What happened, sis?"

She pointed an unsteady finger at the closed door. 'There are bees in there, Leo."

"Bees. Good God." Her brother gave her an affectionately mocking smile. "What a coward you are, Cyclops."

Amelia scowled, levering herself upward from Rohan's lap. He braced her automatically, his arm firm behind her back. "Go see for yourself."

Leo sauntered lazily to the room, opened it, and stepped inside.

In two seconds, he had sped out, slammed the door, and lodged his shoulders against it. "Christ!" His eyes were wide and glazed. "There must be thousands of them!"

"I'd estimate at least two hundred thousand," Rohan said. Finishing the last of Amelia's buttons, he helped her to her feet. "Slowly," he murmured. "You might be a bit light-headed."

She let him support her while she assessed her uncertain balance. "I'm steady now. Thank you." Her hand was still clasped in his. Rohan's fingers were long and graceful, the thumb band gleaming against honey-colored skin.

Uneasily Amelia drew her hand away and told her brother, "Mr. Rohan saved my life twice today. First I nearly fell out the window, and then I found the bees."

"This house," Leo muttered, "should be torn down and used for matchsticks."

"You should order a full structural inspection," Rohan said. "The house has settled badly. Some of the chimneys are leaning, and the entrance hall ceiling is sagging. You've got damaged joinery and beams."

"I know what the problems are." The calm appraisal had annoyed Leo. He'd retained enough of his past architectural training to assess the house's condition accurately.

"It may not be safe for the family to stay here."

"But that's my concern," Leo said, adding with a sneer, "isn't it?"

Sensitive to the brittle disquiet in the atmosphere, Amelia made a hasty attempt at diplomacy. "Mr. Rohan. Lord Ramsay is convinced the house poses no immediate danger to the family."

"I wouldn't be so easily convinced," Rohan replied. "Not with four sisters in my charge."

"Care to take them off my hands?" Leo asked. "You can have the lot of them." He smiled without amusement at Rohan's silence. "No? Then pray don't offer unwanted advice."

Despondent worry swept over Amelia as she saw the bleakness of her brother's face. He was becoming a stranger, this man who harbored despair and fury so deep inside that it had begun to eat at his foundations. Until, like the house, he would eventually collapse as the weakest parts of the structure gave way.

Unruffled, Rohan turned to Amelia. "In lieu of advice, let me offer some information. Two days hence, there'll be a Mop Fair held at the village."

"What is that?"

"It's a hiring fair, attended by all the local residents in need of work. They wear tokens to signify their trade—a servant girl will carry a mop, a thatcher carries a tuft of straw, and so forth. Give the ones you want a shilling to seal the contract, and you'll have them for a year's employment."

Amelia darted a cautious glance at her brother. "We do need proper servants, Leo."

"Go, then, and hire whomever you please. I don't give a damn."

Amelia gave a troubled nod and raised her hands to her upper arms, rubbing them over her sleeves.

It was cold, she thought, even for autumn. Icy drafts rept around her stockinged ankles, beneath the edges of her cuffs, across the sweat-dampened back of her neck. Her muscles tensed against the strange, raw chill.

Both men had fallen silent. Leo's face was blank, his gaze focused inward.

It felt as if the space around them were folding in on itself, thickening until the air was as heavy as water. Colder, tighter, closer... instinctively Amelia stepped back, away from her brother, until she felt Rohan's chest against her shoulders. His hand came up to her arm, gently cupping her elbow. Shivering, she leaned harder against the warm, vital strength of his body.

Leo had not moved. He waited, his gaze unfocused, as if he were intent on absorbing the chill. As if he welcomed it, wanted it. His averted face was harsh and shadow-crossed.

Something divided the space between them, her and Leo. She felt the resonance of movement, softer than a breeze, more delicate than eiderdown...

"Leo?" Amelia murmured uncertainly.

The sound of her voice seemed to bring him back to himself. He blinked and stared at her with near-colorless eyes. "Show Rohan out," he said curtly. "That is, if you've been sufficiently compromised for one day." He walked away rapidly. Reaching his room, he closed the door with a clumsy swipe of his arm.

Amelia was slow to move, bewildered by her brother's behavior, and even more so by the splintering coldness in the hallway. She turned to face Rohan, who was staring after Leo with a level gaze.

He glanced down at her, keeping his expression carefully impassive. "I hate to leave you." There was a gently mocking edge to his tone. "You need someone to follow you around and keep you safe from mishaps. On the other hand, you also need someone to find a beekeeper."

Realizing he was not going to talk about Leo, Amelia followed his lead. "Will you do that for us? I would consider it a great favor."

"Of course. Although ..." His eyes held a wicked glitter. "As I mentioned before, I can't keep doing favors for you with no reward. A man needs incentive."

"If... if you want money, I'll be glad to?

"God, no." Rohan was laughing now. "I don't want money." Reaching out, he smoothed back her hair, letting the heel of his hand graze the edge of her cheekbone. The brush of his skin was light and erotic, causing her to swallow hard. "Goodbye, Miss Hathaway. I'll see myself out." He flashed a smile at her and advised, "Stay away from the windows."

On the way down the stairs, Rohan passed Merripen, who was ascending at a measured pace.

Merripen's face darkened at the sight of the visitor. "What are you doing here?"

"It seems I'm helping with pest eradication."

"Then you can begin by leaving," Merripen growled.

Rohan only grinned nonchalantly, and continued on his way.

After informing the rest of the family about the perils of the upstairs parlor, which was promptly dubbed "the bee room," Amelia investigated the rest of the upstairs with extreme caution. There were no more hazards to be found, only dust and decay and silence.

But it was not an unwelcoming house. When the windows were opened and light spilled across floors that had been untouched for years, it seemed the place was eager to pen and breathe and be restored. Ramsay House was a charming place, really, with eccentricities, secret corners, and unique features that only needed some polish and attention. Not unlike the Hathaway family itself.

In the afternoon Amelia collapsed in a chair downstairs, while Poppy made tea in the kitchen. "Where is Win?"

"Napping in her room," Poppy replied. "She was exhausted after the busy morning. She wouldn't admit it, of course, but you can always tell when she gets all pale and drawn."

"Was she content?"

"She certainly seemed to be." Pouring hot water into a chipped pot filled with tea leaves, Poppy chattered about some of her discoveries. She had found a lovely rug in one of the bedrooms, and after she had beaten it for an hour, it had turned out to be richly colored and in good condition.

"1 think most of the dust was transferred from the carpet to you," Amelia said. Since Poppy had covered the lower half of her face with a handkerchief during the carpet-beating, the dust had settled on her forehead, eyes, and the bridge of her nose. When the handkerchief was removed, it had left Poppy's face oddly two-toned, the top half gray, the lower half white.

"I enjoyed it immensely," Poppy replied with a grin. "There's nothing like whacking a carpet with a rug-beater to vent one's frustrations."

Amelia was about to ask what Poppy's frustrations were, when Beatrix entered the kitchen.

The girl, usually so lively, was quiet and downcast.

"Tea will be ready soon," Poppy said, busy slicing bread at the kitchen table. "Will you have some toast, too, Bea?'

"No, thank you. Not hungry." Beatrix sat in a chair be side Amelia's, staring at the floor.

"You're always hungry," Amelia said. "What's the matter, dear? Aren't you feeling well? Are you tired?"

Silence. A violent shake of her head. Beatrix was definitely upset about something.

Amelia settled a gentle hand on her youngest sister's narrow back, and leaned over her. "Beatrix, what is it? Tell me. Are you missing your friends? Or Spot? Are you?

"No, it's nothing like that." Beatrix ducked her head until only the reddened arc of her cheek was visible.

"Then what?"

"Something's wrong with me." Her voice roughened with misery. "It's happened again, Amelia. I couldn't help myself. I barely remember doing it. I?

"Oh, no," came Poppy's whisper.

Amelia kept her hand on Beatrix's back. "Is it the same problem as before?"

Beatrix nodded. "I'm going to kill myself," she said vehemently. "I'm going to lock myself in the bee room. I'm going to?

"Hush. You'll do no such thing." Amelia rubbed her rigid back. "Quiet, dear, and let me think for a moment." Her worried gaze met Poppy's over Beatrix's downbent head.

"The problem" had occurred on and off for the past four years, ever since the Hathaways' mother had died. Every now and then Beatrix suffered an irresistible impulse to steal something, either from a shop or someone's home, usually the objects were insignificant... a tiny pair of sewing scissors, hairpins, a pen nib, a cube of sealing wax. But every so often she took something of value, like a snuff box or an earring. As far as Amelia could tell, Beatrix never planned these small crimes—in fact, the girl often wasn't even aware of what she had done until later. And then she suffered an agony of remorse, and no small amount of fear. It was alarming to discover one wasn't always in control of one's actions.

The Hathaways kept Beatrix's problem a secret, of course, all of them conspiring to return the stolen objects discreetly and protect her from the consequences. Since it hadn't happened for nearly a year, they had all assumed Beatrix was cured of her inexplicable compulsion.

"I assume you took something from Stony Cross Manor," Amelia said with forced calm. "That's the only place you've visited."

Beatrix nodded miserably. "It was after I let Spot go. I went to the library, and looked in a few rooms on the way, and... I didn't mean to, Amelia! I didn't want to!"

"I know." Amelia wrapped her arms around her in a consoling hug. She was filled with a maternal instinct to protect, soothe, ease. "We'll fix it, Bea. We'll put everything back and no one will know. Just tell me what you took, and try to remember which rooms the things came from."

"Here?this is everything." Reaching into the pockets of her pinafore, Beatrix dumped a small collection of objects in her lap.