Chapter 66
A moment later, Jacqueline spoke, her voice thick with a dazed quality. Her breath hitched, the warm air scattering in fragments against Windsor’s palm.
He retracted his hand slowly. The brief puff of air had left a lingering tickle in the creases of his skin. As if to shake off the sharp, distracting sensation, Windsor curled his fingers into a tight fist.
The dull pressure of his nails digging into his palm made the moment bearable. From below, a voice drifted up, laced with mild reproach.
“You gave me quite a fright! Whatever brings you here?”
“And where, exactly, is Miss Somerset wandering at such an hour?”
“The lightning—no, that isn’t what I asked! Why are you here?”
Jacqueline, nearly derailed by his practiced redirection, pulled the conversation back to its original point. Windsor took a measured step back.
“Thunder is merely an atmospheric phenomenon involving electrical discharge, though you seem to hold a different opinion on the matter.”
Jacqueline tilted her head, her expression one of utter confusion. Then, with a skeptical tone—like a scholar cautiously translating a cryptic foreign tongue—she asked again.
“So… you were worried about me?”
Sometimes, one had to interpret the other’s words into a language that actually made sense.
Windsor remained silent. Realizing her interpretation was spot-on, Jacqueline’s eyes rounded in surprise.
A silent laugh escaped her. She beamed, looking like a tightly furled bud finally opening its petals under the persistent warmth of the sun.
Windsor Preston had the ability to make her twice as angry as anyone else—but he also made her twice as happy.
Inside her chest, there was a sort of amplifier that magnified even the smallest emotions, a device tuned exclusively to the frequency of Windsor Preston.
In that fleeting second, the torrential downpour and the monstrous roar of the thunder faded away. A muffled, peaceful stillness wrapped around her.
Windsor didn’t understand the source of her laughter, nor why the air between them had suddenly begun to shimmer with a gentle heat.
Jacqueline wept when he least expected it and laughed when he could never have predicted it. Because of this, he found he could never truly let his guard down around her.
Then, Jacqueline spoke in a soft whisper.
“I was just going to check on Benjamin. Would you like to join me?”
Even Windsor possessed enough social grace not to ask, “Aren’t you simply terrified and using the boy as a shield?”
“So it is Benjamin you’re concerned for—and not the teddy bear?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Windsor turned and began to lead the way. Jacqueline stepped up beside him, falling into his rhythm.
“Of course, I’m worried about Colin as well.”
Wheeeeng.
The wind whistling through the cracks in the window frames sounded like a woman’s mournful wail. The chill clinging to the dark corridor made the hair on the back of their necks stand up.
The lanterns in the hallway, lit earlier by William, flickered violently in the draft. Their shadows danced in grotesque, twisted shapes against the walls.
Instinctively, Jacqueline pressed herself against Windsor’s side, freezing the moment she realized what she had done.
Through the thin layers of their nightclothes and robes, she could feel the hard lines of his muscles. The contact felt startlingly intimate.
His physique possessed a rugged solidity that was entirely foreign to her. This alien sensation set Jacqueline’s nerves on edge; the unknown always brought a mixture of caution and curiosity.
Suddenly, her throat felt parched. She wanted to swallow, but she feared the sound would be deafeningly loud against the backdrop of the storm.
An unusual tension settled between them, stretched as taut as a bowstring at its breaking point.
She couldn’t bring herself to break the silence, yet the weight of it was becoming unbearable. She felt trapped, her heart racing.
Her skin prickled with an odd sensation, and she found it difficult to draw a full breath.
The tingling in her legs felt like fear, or perhaps nerves—or maybe an emotion Jacqueline wasn’t yet ready to name.
She stole a sideways glance at Windsor, moving only her eyes.
Their gazes collided. He was already watching her, his gray eyes burning with a fierce, rough intensity in the shadows.
He looked almost predatory, a far cry from the composed Windsor Preston of the daylight hours.
Jacqueline found she couldn’t look away. She felt that if she broke eye contact for even a second, those metaphorical fangs would find her throat.
It was a chilling, exhilarating sense of danger.
As her heart skipped a beat, he tilted his head slightly. The shadows on his face deepened, making him look even more enigmatic.
Windsor studied her with a relentless, searching focus.
Had Jacqueline Somerset always looked quite like this?
The thought sparked a chain reaction of questions. His mind was suddenly consumed by her.
Had her eyes always been so luminous? Had the green of her irises always been this vibrant? Were her lips always that shade of red, and was her neck always so slender and delicate?
Subconsciously, Windsor clicked his tongue. With a look like that, she would be swarmed by every silver-tongued rogue at a ball, drawn to her like flies to honey.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt a surge of irritation. Abruptly, Windsor raised his hand. Jacqueline’s shoulders tensed reflexively.
Windsor’s scowl deepened.
Does she truly think I would strike her? Me, hitting Jacqueline Somerset? Preposterous.
He reached out again—slowly, deliberately, giving her every chance to see his intent.
Yet the moment his fingers brushed her cheek, Jacqueline flinched again. At that exact instant—
Kra-crack!
A bolt of lightning struck with a bone-shaking crash. Jacqueline’s eyes snapped wide, and she instinctively grabbed a handful of his robe.
Windsor looked down. Seeing her clinging to him, his rigid features finally began to soften.
To her, he was a source of security; his presence was a sanctuary. The restless churning in his gut began to fade.
He cupped her cheek, adopting the mask of a benevolent gentleman. With his thumb, he traced the skin beneath her eye—just as he had done once before to dry her tears.
“Pr…eston?”
Jacqueline’s voice trembled as she spoke his name. Her grip on his robe remained tight, her green eyes swirling with the chaos of a storm-tossed sea.
Usually certain of his own mind, Windsor found himself pondering the strange knot forming in his stomach.
If he hadn’t intended to strike her—then what was it he truly wanted?
He felt torn between two impulses: the desire to treat her with the utmost gallantry and a darker urge to corner her like a rogue.
The two sides of him clashed, but the gentleman eventually won out. In a steady, calm voice, he said:
“There is no cause for alarm. Lightning is merely an electrical discharge phenomenon in the atmosphere.”
With those words, Windsor pulled his hand away. Jacqueline finally let out a long, shaky breath as the electric tension in the air dissipated.
The atmosphere loosened, the dangerous edge of the moment fading away.
However, neither of them noticed that the fundamental nature of their connection had already begun to shift.
“…Of course not.”
Attempting to shake off the lingering nerves, she gave him a quick, light look and turned back toward the hallway.
Like warriors marching toward a dragon’s den—though Jacqueline’s bravery was undercut by the way she still clutched Windsor’s sleeve—they moved forward.
They reached their destination at last. Jacqueline knocked softly on the door, though the sound was nearly lost to the wind.
Waiting for a brief pause in the gale, she called out louder.
“Benjamin, it’s me.”
“…You may enter, Teacher.”
Benjamin’s voice was remarkably steady. The fact that the boy was awake at all told her everything she needed to know.
She looked back at Windsor. Their eyes met once more in the gloom—
—but before the gaze could become too heavy, Windsor gave a sharp nod. He was committed to being the gentleman tonight.
When Jacqueline pushed the door open, the boy—who had clearly been shaking under his quilts moments before—greeted them with a practiced air of calm.
“What brings you here, Teacher?”
“You’re still awake?”
Benjamin sighed, casting a glance at Colin and neatly shifting the blame for his wakefulness onto the plush toy.
“I was staying up to comfort Colin. He’s quite frightened of the thunder.”
“Is that so?”
Jacqueline smiled, charmed by the boy’s small show of bravado. She stepped into the room.
Rumble…
The sky roared again on cue. The boy’s shoulders gave a visible jerk. Even in the dark, it was clear his composure was fraying.
Jacqueline moved closer to the bed, her voice a soothing balm in the cold night.
“To be honest, I came because I was worried about Colin, too. We both know how sensitive he is. But are you doing alright, Benjamin?”
“Certainly, Miss Somerset. After all, thunder is merely an electrical discharge phenomenon in the atmosphere.”
Boom! Boom!
The sky, which had been grumbling, finally broke into a deafening peal. The force of it made Benjamin jump like a startled rabbit.
His eyes went wide, and his small hands squeezed Colin tight. Jacqueline, though she flinched herself, continued forward as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction.
Only when the silence returned did Benjamin notice the second, much larger shadow standing behind her.
“Uncle…?”
“Lord Preston came along because he was concerned for you.”
“…For me?”
Benjamin sounded genuinely shocked. A hint of shy pride peeked through his voice before he could suppress it.
“Thunder is just an electrical discharge… there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I know. But your uncle still wishes to stay here to make sure you sleep soundly.”
“Really?”
Benjamin stole a look at Windsor. His uncle, maintaining an air of indifference, sat down in a nearby chair without a word.
Though Windsor’s face was lost in the shadows, Benjamin let out a long sigh of relief.
With the Devil of the Black Fleet standing guard, the boy felt invincible. Neither the ghost of a one-legged captain nor any manor specter stood a chance against his uncle.
“Go to sleep now.”
“Um… will you be staying as well, Teacher?”
“Yes, I believe I will.”
Windsor glanced at her briefly. He remembered how confidently she had marched into the hall earlier, only to retreat to his side the moment the door closed.
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, hidden by the darkness.
“Good night, Miss Somerset. Good night, Uncle.”
