eyes met hers, and the fear there launched a new terror inside him.
“Come inside.” He stood back, opened the door wider.
She stepped over the threshold, her arms hugged tightly around herself.
That treacherous uncertainty plagued him even as he knew what he should do. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
She started to argue but he turned his back and walked away. In the hall, he rummaged in the linen closet for a towel and a blanket. His housekeeper’s work was reliable. Despite the cottage’s run-down condition she worked diligently to maintain a certain level of cleanliness and orderliness.
Nicholas was grateful she did so without question. She appeared not to care who he was or what he did, only that he paid her a good wage for a good day’s work. For nearly five years that had been enough.
Bracing himself, he returned to where Camille waited. She looked pale and tired. Not well at all. Damp curls snuggled her soft cheeks, underscoring the dark circles beneath her eyes. His pulse reacted with worry and other emotions he fiercely wanted to deny.
“When were you released from the hospital?” He handed her the towel first.
She scrubbed at her face, then smoothed the terry cloth over her hair. “Two days ago.”
The frown etched more deeply into his brow. “You’re feeling better now?” She had teetered on the edge of death for days. He couldn’t believe she’d awakened and walked out of the hospital as if death hadn’t very nearly claimed her. “They determined what made you so ill?”
She clutched the towel at her breast and focused a glower on him. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by what looked like anger. “Don’t pretend to care about my well-being.”
He flinched at the accusation. “Of course I care about your well-being.” He took the towel from her, tossed it aside, then carefully draped the blanket around her shoulders.
She stiffened at the slightest brush of his fingers. The reaction was like a kick to his midsection. But then, what did he expect? Any tender feelings she’d had for his memory had vanished in the wake of the impact of his return…of his betrayal. He had allowed her to believe him dead.
“I need your help.”
Part of him wanted to assure her that whatever she needed he would gladly provide. He’d been supporting Raven’s Cliff’s recovery efforts since he returned. Anonymously, of course. It was the least he could do. But helping Camille would be another tragic mistake. She wouldn’t need money; her family was quite wealthy despite her father’s, the former mayor’s, recent fall from grace. Whatever help Camille thought she needed from him, she was wrong. He would only bring more pain to her life.
“You should go.” He cleared his expression of any emotion. It would be in her best interests if he acted like the beast he appeared to be. “Coming here was a mistake.”
She blinked, stood mute for a long moment as if she didn’t know how to respond to his refusal.
“Your presence could give away my identity. The villagers are already overly curious and suspicious about me,” he offered. He shouldn’t have bothered with an explanation, but that foolish part of him that still loved her so dearly wouldn’t allow the slight.
“I should have known,” she snapped, something far too much like disgust in her tone and her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t want me to risk revealing the truth. You might be inconvenienced with having to explain yourself.”
He clamped his jaw shut against the denial. Let her believe what she would as long as it sent her on her way.
“If my being here causes you trouble, that’s too bad,” she said, standing her ground. “You have to help me.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her but even that couldn’t disguise the way her body trembled. “No one else will believe me.”
“Stop.” He couldn’t deal with this. Being in the same room alone with her was difficult enough. She deserved better than him. Far better. He couldn’t allow her to drag him into whatever was going on in her life. He couldn’t risk hurting her again.
More important, his entire focus had to be on gaining access to the lighthouse, on stopping whatever plague the curse would send next. He wasn’t about to try to explain that to her. Even he didn’t fully understand. But he knew. He knew what he must do.
“Camille.” He swallowed, the taste of her name on his lips taking his breath. Forced away the need to touch her…to do anything she asked of him. “You cannot come here again. No one can know who I am. If someone sees you here, suspicions will be aroused and trouble will follow.” He reached for the door. “Go home. Your family can help you with whatever problem you’re encountering.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
Nicholas closed his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure. He could not be tempted. He could not permit himself to be drawn into her life again.
“Go home, Camille. I can’t help you.” He opened his eyes and leveled an icy glare on her. Whatever it took to push her away. “Go. Now.”
“Someone took my baby.”
Her words shook him. Shocked him. “Baby?” Camille had a child? Then he remembered, she’d gone missing on her wedding day. The day she was supposed to have married Grant Bridges. Misery ached inside him.
She nodded jerkily. “While I was…missing.” Her head moved side to side with the weight of uncertainty. “I don’t remember anything. The man…” She shrugged, clearly unsure of her words. “The man who held me kept me drugged or something. I don’t remember anything after falling from the cliff. All I know is that I was pregnant and now I’m not. The doctor said I’d given birth only a few weeks before I was found.” She drew in a jagged breath. “My baby’s missing and Chief Swanson thinks I…”
Tears welled in those big blue eyes. “Chief Swanson thinks what?” Nicholas heard himself ask, no matter that he knew with every fiber of his being that he should usher her out the door. He should not allow himself to be distracted…not even for Camille.
He’d made that mistake once. And it had cost them both far too much already.
“He thinks I did something—” she moistened her quivering lips “—with my baby. He won’t help me because he thinks I did something unspeakable.”
“Swanson is a reasonable man.” Nicholas steeled his emotions. He could not help her. “You should talk to him again. Insist that he at least consider all avenues, including the possibility that whoever held you took your child.”
The vulnerability disappeared once more. “He won’t help me,” she argued. “He and his men are investigating me. They’re not looking for my baby.” The anguish tormenting her trickled beyond the determination she attempted to exhibit. “I’ll have to do this without the help of the authorities.” Another big breath. “And I can’t do it alone.”
Enough. He had allowed this to go too far already. If he didn’t send her away now he would end up agreeing to her request, and that would be a mistake for her and for him. Trouble would soon descend
