A faint line of an arm slipped through the narrow gap of the door into view. My heart stuck in my throat, and I could barely breathe. Were we about to be robbed? A moment later, the shadow of a man fully entered and shut the door quietly behind him. He tiptoed closer, his gaze focused on the corridor, missing my presence entirely. My whole body seized with fear with his every step nearer, and though tempted to squeeze my eyes shut, I squinted at the passing figure.
Instinctively, I knew he was headed to Papa’s study. If I screamed, he would likely run for the door and escape before he was caught. But with everyone in the drawing room, and not a servant in sight, there was no one else to stop him but me.
Me?
But what could I do? Thoughts fired in my head, but all of them were better fit for a fictional character than a woman who spent her free time at a writing desk. But I had to do something or the opportunity would be lost much as it had been when I had let Rowan leave without stopping him.
Before I could properly think through my decision, I hiked up my dress, scrambled over the railing, and threw myself over it. My body slammed into the shoulders and head of the man, and I knocked him to the ground.
Pain flared from my knee, but my thoughts were on the man beneath me. My hands went to his neck, as any great hero would do, and I squeezed with all my might.
“Arabella!” croaked the man, his much larger hands clasping my wrists.
My rational mind caught up with my actions. That voice, choked as it was, belonged to Rowan!
I released him and brought my head closer to his. “Ro-Rowan?”
“Are we back to trying to kill each other?” His breath was short, and I felt terrible for hurting him.
“I thought you were a robber.”
He coughed. “I suppose it was worth almost dying to get you to throw yourself at me.”
Heat flamed my cheeks, and it was a wonder they did not light up the room. I rolled off of Rowan and straightened my dress over my knees.
Rowan sat up too and rubbed at his neck. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could make out more of his features than before. “You came back,” I blurted.
“Did your father not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That he asked me to read and return some books on the carriage ride before I made my way back to Ashworth Hall.”
“Papa said nothing to me. I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“You thought you were rid of me?” His voice held a note of derision. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me again, which is why I tried to sneak in.”
“Not at all. I thought I had missed my chance to speak to you. I overslept the morning you left.”
“You did?”
“I feel terrible. I wanted to tell you—”
The door of the drawing room swung open, and we jumped to our feet.
“I knew I heard something,” Mr. Mason said, swinging his candlestick our way. “Arabella? Mr. Ashworth?”
“Surprise,” Rowan said sheepishly.
My family crowded into the corridor, everyone talking at once.
“Did you make good time?” Mama asked.
“We didn’t know you were returning.” Elizabeth’s gaze swung to mine, but I had nothing to tell her. I was as surprised as she was.
“Let’s move to the drawing room,” Papa said. The housekeeper and butler had heard the commotion and hovered on the edge of the servants’ stair. “Bring up some tea and sandwiches,” Papa ordered. “Mr. Ashworth must be famished.”
Rowan’s gaze found mine in the chaos, holding it captive and keeping me from following as everyone filed back into the drawing room. Candlelight from the vestibule table now left dancing shadows on his profile. His hair was as disheveled as the day he’d arrived in Quillsbury. A dark scruff lined his jaw, making him appear older than he was, but not at all in an undesirable way. In fact, even as tired as he appeared, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. My heart knew it too. It stumbled all over itself, tripping to keep up with my racing thoughts that were all about him.