been a while since your last trip to the water closet.”
Alyssa felt the heat of blush rapidly sweep from her neck up into her face. The scarlet color graced her cheeks and Tray took pity upon her.
“I don’t think Dr. Birch will be angry if I hold your hand and you try a few steps toward the water closet on your own instead of being carried all that way. What do you think?”
Alyssa was so grateful she almost cried. She hadn’t expected any enemy of Ireland to show humanity. Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, she nodded and lifted her hand outward. The graceful gesture reminded Tray of the ballerinas he had seen performing in London. His mouth compressed and he gently pulled back the covers and gripped Alyssa’s hand firmly in his own.
“Come to the side of the bed and then just rest a moment,” he counseled softly.
Alyssa did so, wildly aware of his powerful, calloused hand surrounding her own, swallowing up her cool, damp fingers. The vibrating tenor of Tray’s voice thrummed through her like a beautifully played Irish harp, and she couldn’t ignore the sudden flutter of her heart in her chest.
“All right, stand, slowly.”
She was weak. More weak than she could ever recall being in her life. But with Tray’s assistance, she stood, wavering, but standing nevertheless. She felt the heat of his body, so close to her own, and suddenly wished that she could see his face. Faces told her so much about a person. And right now, Alyssa felt one part of herself desperately wanting to reach out and trust this stranger, yet she knew she couldn’t.
“How do you know so much about all these things?” she muttered, frowning.
Tray’s laughter was deep and free. “I’m treating you as if you were a newborn foal who is trying to get to her feet for the first time. Have you seen foals? First they push upright on their straight little front legs and then promptly fall back down on their noses. Next, they push with their gangly hind legs, getting to their knees in front.” His voice lowered intimately, heightening her already aware senses. “And then those tiny front legs come up and there they stand, wobbling and wavering on all four feet for the first time in their life. It’s quite a moment.” Amusement laced his voice. “And then the mother will urge her newly born foal to nurse. In this case, we’ll nudge you toward the water closet. Shall we take your first faltering step, little one?”
His voice was a mesmerizing drug, and without a word, Alyssa took her first faltering step forward. A delicious sense of protection and care surrounded her as he called her little one again. She hadn’t the meanness to tell him not to call her by that pet name.
“And another…” Tray urged, and so it went. Alyssa took ten steps before she felt her knees giving way. Her right hand flew out in his direction and he caught her, his arm sliding around her waist, allowing her to fall against him. The shock of her thinly clothed body meeting the masculine hardness of his brought a gasp from Alyssa.
“Easy, Aly, I’m not going to hurt you. Easy…” He slipped his arm beneath her thighs, lifting her up against him.
Alyssa’s muscles tensed. He was a man, and her enemy.
“Ten steps isn’t bad for a first time,” he told her conversationally as he carried her to the marble-tiled bath area, trying without success to ignore her reaction to him. Her once flushed features were now pale and taut, and he could feel Alyssa retreat inside of herself. He gently set her on her feet. Taking her right hand, he verbally laid out the dimensions of the water closet before releasing her.
“Call me when you’re done,” he told her. “I’ll be in the drawing room working at my desk. You may have to raise your voice a bit so that I’ll hear you.”
Tray tore his gaze from her waxen features and those large, haunted jade eyes that tore his soul apart. She didn’t believe a word he had said. Well, what did he expect? Going to his mahogany desk, he took up the quill and forced himself to concentrate on the work before him.
For the first time in almost eight days, the sun broke through the low-hanging gray clouds and its beams cascaded through the french doors, making the blue drawing room come to vibrant life. The warmth felt good and Tray lifted his chin, allowing the sunlight to fall across his face. He preferred being outdoors. Although he did not regret the past week with Alyssa, he missed the fresh salt air and his daily ride on Rasheed along the beach.
His thoughts were interrupted when he caught sight of Alyssa, clutching at the woodwork of the doorway in order to stay upright. His chair tipped over as, too late, he raced to catch her before she fell. Alyssa’s auburn hair spilled like a wine waterfall around her face as she crumpled to the carpet.
“You little fool,” Tray breathed savagely, gripping her arms and pulling her upright. “What do you think you were doing? Why didn’t you call for me?” Tray swallowed the rest of his anger as he saw tears form in Alyssa’s luminous eyes as they lifted toward his voice.
“I—I thought you were lying,” she choked. “I thought you were watching me all the time. I couldn’t stand the thought of—of—”
He groaned and knelt with Alyssa in his arms, burying her head against his chest. “God’s blood,” he whispered rawly. “I would never do anything to humiliate you, Aly.” His voice softened. “So you decided to see if I was secretly watching, knowing I would stop you from walking out of there?” Her logic was faultless. Had he been that devious, Tray would rather have admitted his lie than risk her falling. She knew him better than he cared to admit, which was rather unsettling. He didn’t want to be vulnerable ever again. He gave Alyssa’s cheek a gentle caress, his voice coaxing. “You have to learn to trust again. Trust me.”
Belatedly, as he lightly held her in his embrace while she valiantly refused to cry, he remembered what Sean had said: Alyssa had not been betrothed. She would have been protected from men. She was only seven and ten and, until recently, a virgin. She would have been protected from men all her life. At no time would she have had her maidenly privacy disrupted by a man. And now, he was the one to see her in little more than a nightgown and to carry her to and from the water closet. And she lay in his bed. Tray’s mouth quirked in understanding as Alyssa raised her head and pushed away from him. He released her, but only inches separated them.
“Better now?” he asked, his own voice unsteady.
“Y-yes.”
“Tears are the language of the heart. There’s nothing wrong with crying, little one.”
“Men don’t cry. Why should I?” she asked defiantly. “I’m ready to go back to bed.”
He gave her a patient smile. “Sometimes it’s better to cry, to let all your feelings out instead of bottling everything up. You’ve been through a great deal.”
She looked up, a challenging tilt to her chin. “And I suppose you cry?”
“Yes, I have. Several times,” he admitted quietly.
Her eyes widened. “Oh…”
“Do you want to try to walk or do you want me to carry you?”
Alyssa’s lips parted as she considered her answer. Her heart gave a funny twist in her chest. He had given her a choice. Tray could have dragged her back to the bed by her hair, as the sailors had dragged her from the cell, without consulting her on the matter at all. But he had not exerted
