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She jolted, gasping into wakefulness, even as her balance threatened to teeter over the first stair and down into the darkness below. Before she could fall, however, hands grasped her from behind, and she was pulled back into a firm, strong chest, was being held tight as the last dregs of sleep left her and she got her feet beneath her.

Caleb. Montgomery Estate. She was here, she was married, she was not—there. With them.

She managed one shaky breath before Caleb’s hands turned her, moving them both back from the precipice. His gaze searched hers, eyes wild.

“What the hell were ye doin’,leannan?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep or perhaps fear. “Ye nearly tumbled over.”

She was horribly disoriented, though gradually the world was coming into sharper focus around her, thank goodness. She extended a hand, pressing it against Caleb’s chest. She could fear his heart racing through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. She wondered if her pulse was leaping as frantically before deciding yes, of course it was. He tucked a loose strand of hair back from her face, touch as rough as the gesture was gentle.

She couldn’t decide if it felt soothing or if it rattled her even more thoroughly.

“Grace,” he said again, voice insistent.

He was waiting for her answer, she realized, which meant she needed to provide one—immediately.

She channeled her years of training in deportment and politics to offer him her best attempt at a sheepish, but unconcerned smile.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said. “I must have been sleepwalking. It happens now and again.”

Caleb’s frown deepened. He looked unconvinced, but his tight clasp on her shoulders did slightly loosen. She wished, briefly, that he was a bit stupider; that would have been so dreadfully convenient.

“Sleepwalking.” He was still searching her, like her face would reveal more answers. She refused to permit it. “And this happens to ye often?”

“Now and again,” she repeated, hoping she hadn’t made her tone too light to be believable. “But, no, I wouldn’t sayoften.”

Goodness, she hoped not. It had been a frequent occurrence shortly after she’d been taken to the mill. She would wake to find herself already banging at the door of the small closet where she’d slept, one of more of the Packards already arriving to bang on the other side and scream at her to shut up and right quick, if she knew what was good for her.

Like with her nightmares, she’d gotten her sleepwalking under control out of sheer necessity, had stamped down her unconscious needs to serve her conscious ones—namely, not to get whacked with a utensil, shouted at, or given even less food than her usual scant rations.

“Is it because ye were dreamin’?” Caleb asked, too clever for his own good.

Grace refused to let her muscles clench.

“I dream all the time,” she said. “I don’t sleepwalk nearly as often.”

It was true and untrue. And she suspected that her husband knew it. As he held her, hands still on her, eyes still keen, she could practically hear him asking it.Why are you lying?

And the part of her that could hear that question echoing in his cantankerous, gruff voice almost considered answering. They’d had their moments, hadn’t they? On the balcony—in the library. They’d had moments where they’d let the veils of circumstance and animosity fall, and they’d told the truth, even if it was only in parts.

But then she remembered the gossip, the snickers hastily hidden behind fans. She remembered how matrons had eyed her with pity, their glances speaking.Poor Grace Miller. Spoiled goods.

Aside from her friends and her brother, nobody had cared much for Grace’s side of the story. Those who had bothered to ask hadn’t believed her.

Caleb hadn’t bothered to ask. And she didn’t know if she could bear it if he didn’t believe her. Not tonight, at least, when the walls of her past were closing in around her.

So he didn’t ask, and she didn’t tell him.

Instead, Grace broke his stare, looking down at her feet, though she knew it was the coward’s way out.

“I’m getting chilled,” she said. “And I’m tired. I’m going back to bed.”

Her husband’s hands dropped from her arms. She resisted the urge to reach up and brush at the spots where he’d been touching her, even as cool air prickled the uncovered skin.

“Very well,” he said. Did he sound…resigned? She didn’t dare risk a glimpse at his face. “Goodnight, Grace.”

“Goodnight.”

She scurried back to her room, feeling very much like a mouse seeking solace in its little hidey hole. The covers on her bed had grown cold, and it took a long time for their protection to feel safe enough for Grace to fall back to sleep.