Page 16 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Ian fell into a comfortable sleep, hopeful for a chance to further his latest project and to have a reason to think of something other than dratted squirrels or a pair of luminous brown eyes. Everything was finally falling into place.

Sleep, however, was short-lived. A crash somewhere in the house startled him awake. And a shriek followed directly after. He bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding. A rumble of thunder roiled through the sky outside his window, and a flash of light filled his room. Had the storm woken him? Or had it been Amie? It took a moment for his mind to process what he’d heard.

The shriek had been distinctive.

Digging around for his trousers in the dark, he located them on a chair and shoved his legs inside. He tucked in his nightshirt and ran barefoot through his door toward Amie’s.

In his eagerness to check on her, he didn’t bother to knock but threw the door open. His eyes began to adjust to the dark, but it wasn’t until a second flash of lightning that he saw that Amie’s bed was empty.

“Amie?” His whisper was lost in a resounding crack followed by a torrent of rain against the house and window. He moved inside the room. He thought he’d heard a crash earlier. His foot hit something sharp. Lowering his gaze, he saw pieces of either a vase or a pitcher.

“Amie?” he called again, rounding her bed. The room was empty. She wasn’t here. Maybe the storm had awakened her, too, and she’d knocked over the vase on her way to the kitchen for a bite to eat. Or perhaps she’d gone to the library for a book. He was tired, but he couldn’t go back to bed without cleaning up the glass. He didn’t want Amie to hurt herself. At the fireplace, he discovered the flint. It took a moment to light a candle, which he then held to assess the damage.

A boom like a cannon sounded outside. What a storm. He had observed a few dark clouds with the gamekeeper but nothing this severe. A whimper sounded from somewhere. Whirling around, he saw nothing. His tired mind was playing tricks on him. Shaking his head, he bent to pick up the largest piece of glass when he heard the whimper again.

His gaze flew to the closet door. It had come from that direction. There was no way she was in there, but he could not put the thought aside. “Dash it all,” he muttered under his breath. He set the piece of glass on her dressing table and took the candle to the closet. With a yank, he opened it, fully expecting to see nothing.

He was wrong. Amie sat on the floor with something tied around her eyes. She had her hands over her ears and was rocking back and forth. Another whimper tumbled from her tightly squeezed lips.

Alarm seized him. “Amie,” he said again, not bothering to whisper this time.

She stilled, her head turning to him.

He crouched into a sitting position, set the candle aside, and quickly had his hands on her blindfold. He pulled it off her head with a gentle tug. “What in heaven’s name?”

Tear-streaked eyes looked up at him. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I heard a crashing sound. What are you doing in the closet? Was there an intruder?”

“I was just—” Another resounding crack sent her hands over her ears again.

Ian’s eyes widened. She was scared of the storm. He scratched the back of his head. What was he supposed to do? He still held her blindfold, or handkerchief, or whatever it was.

After a moment, she lowered her hands again. “I put that on so I wouldn’t have to see the lightning. And I came in here so I wouldn’t have to hear the thunder.” She swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “You must think me ridiculous—a grown woman in a closet.” She turned away from him, clearly embarrassed. “Please, go back to sleep.”

And leave her here like this? “Are you certain you will be all right?”

“Yes,” she said much too quickly. It reminded him of her hasty answer at dinner when she’d said she desired her independence. He had not dwelt on it then, but now he wondered what else she had meant. Her hesitancy here felt like determination but not honesty. Had it meant the same earlier?

He stood and offered her his hand. With some reluctance, she took it, and her nightdress unfolded like a waterfall. Her long, curly hair hung to her waist. Something in his gut pulled at him. He didn’t feel like he should be seeing her this way, but neither could he bring himself to walk away when she was so frightened. “It feels wrong to leave you upset, Amie. Should I call your maid?”

“No. I will go back to sleep.” She moved to step past him when a bolt of lightning flashed through her window. Jumping back, Amie snagged his shirt and dragged him inside the closet with her. Her hands trembled, shaking the fabric against his chest. He felt her gaze climb up his neck to reach his eyes. “That, uh, surprised me,” she breathed.

And she kept surprising him.

He gulped, not sure whether she planned to let go of him. This was no mere fright. She was terrified. “What helps comfort you when there’s a storm?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of storms. I just don’t care for the lightning or the thunder. It keeps me awake.”

“Are you certain I cannot call for Edna?”

She gave a furtive shake of her head. “I don’t want to trouble her.”

Not even the dim light of his flickering candle could obscure her true feelings painted so plainly on her face. He was beginning to learn her mannerisms and expressions, and she was a terrible liar. His problem was guessing what she wanted to say instead but couldn’t let herself. “Then, trouble me instead,” he said.

“You?”

He nodded. “Tell me, what helps you sleep?”

She slowly released her grip on him. “Mama usually strokes my hair and sings to me.” She shook her head again, lowering her eyes. “Oh, please leave me. This is humiliating.”

He had been about to leave when she had dragged him into the closet, but he couldn’t do so now. His shoulders sank with the reality of what he was about to offer. “I can ... I can pat your head.” He groaned inside. Pat your head? Had he really said it like that? Life had never been this awkward before he’d entangled himself with Amie. Now he was volunteering to break one of his own rules.

She scoffed, though it sounded choked from emotion. “Do viscounts pat heads? It seems more appropriate for a nursemaid.”

He smiled. “Do not underestimate this viscount’s abilities.” The words were teasing, almost flirtatious. He was scaring himself.

“No, it’s too much to ask. I couldn’t.”

“Amie.” He said her name like a whispered command. “Let me help.”

She held his gaze for several beats before giving an almost imperceptible nod. “Since you seem determined, I suppose we could try it.” She took a deep breath and moved around him. She went straight to her bed and practically jumped beneath the covers at the sound of more thunder.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. This was going to be a long night.

He bought himself a few minutes by cleaning up the glass before inevitably returning to her side. There was nothing else for it; he had to stroke her hair. This storm wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Amie laid on her side, turned away from him, her face half hidden in the covers. Kneeling beside the bed, he reached for her tangled hair. His hand wavered just before it made contact. The texture surprised him. Soft, silky strands coiled beneath his fingers. He lost his hand in the long tresses, completely absorbed by them.

It took another crack of the night sky and a jerk from Amie’s body for him to remember why he was touching her hair. She was likely keeping her tears at bay sheerly because of his presence. His hand on her hair wasn’t putting her to sleep either.

Her mother had sung too.

He squeezed his eyes shut, battling his pride. But Amie was his responsibility. He didn’t want her to be afraid of anything, not if she was to survive here without him. A strong urge to protect and comfort her humbled him enough that he found himself humming the lullaby “Lavender Blue” from his childhood.

Lyrics came next, his singing voice a little rusty. Very well, a lot rusty. It took a verse or two before he gained confidence. His hand all the while continued to stroke her bewitching curls. The ones by her temple were tighter, and his fingers lingered there, playing with the hair. He repeated the verses he knew over and over again. Amie slowly stopped jumping at every noise or flash of light and relaxed beneath his hand.

He wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep, so when his voice went hoarse, he went back to humming. His own eyes were heavy, his knees ached, but he couldn’t stop. She needed him.

And it was nice to be needed.