Judging by the cool light filtering in through the window, it’s perhaps an hour or so after dawn. He should go.
He turns his head on the pillow—the softest he’s ever known—and looks at Thomas’s sleeping form beside him. He’s facing the window. James studies the back of his head. It’s ruffled from where James’s own hand swept through it the night before. His eyes follow the curve of Thomas’s bare shoulder, then down Thomas’s back.
He stretches his legs under the sheets. Everything still feels loose and pliant. Too good.
He sits up in the bed and pauses, waiting for Thomas to stir but he does not. He’s still sleeping soundly; the sleep of a man who doesn’t need to wake early. James very slowly slips out from the covers and swings his feet to the ground. The shock of the cold floor is a far cry from the warmth he’s just grown used to.
He stands and painstakingly and slowly dresses himself, all the way to his heavy coat and hat. The solid flooring under his boots is blessedly covered in a thick rug and he makes little noise. Thomas makes a small sound and rolls over on his back. James freezes. Fear seizes him, that Thomas will wake and see him like this, ready to leave. It’s not at all like the fear during battle and James is unable to push through it. Still he manages to cross the room to the door. He very carefully turns its gold-plated handle and opens it.
Miranda Hamilton is there, still in her nightgown but with her hair drawn atop her head, save for a thick lock of it framing her face. Her hand, ready to knock on the door, lowers to her side. A look of genuine surprise flits across her early morning features. James opens his mouth to speak but instead sucks in a lungful of air and says nothing. She leans to peer over his shoulder. She sees the still-sleeping form of her husband. Her features seem to solidify and the look of surprise James had never seen before disappears. He quickly steps outside the room and shuts the door close behind him.
“Good morning,” she says, dark eyes burrowing into his own. “If you needed food or water you need only to have come to me,” she adds. Her attitude is the same as it was when she had appeared just as unexpectedly at James’s own door, not so long ago; playing the coy game.
James’s mouth ticks down.
“You know I must leave,” he says.
She blinks rapidly.
“Do I?”
“Of course. The house will be stirring soon. And I…have matters to attend to.”
“Do you? It’s Sunday.”
James licks his lips and looks down.
“Please don’t make this difficult.”
“It will be more difficult for me to explain to my husband why you’ve left his bed, and without a word,” she counters quickly.
Her candid attitude still amazes him. James relaxes his right hand, just now realizing it was balled up and starting to ache. He touches her elbow gently.
“Miranda, I must <em>go.</em>.”
Miranda drops her eyes from his face and looks at where he touches her.
“I don’t believe that. And I don’t think you do either.”
A quick flash of irritation crosses his face.
“Are you this disagreeable with him all the time as well?”
But she takes no offense—he knew she wouldn’t—and instead smiles and raises an eyebrow.
“Sometimes, yes. Don’t change the subject.”
Their voices are still low but the fear James feels hasn’t abated and instead is growing. Thomas will start to wake. And <em>he</em> cannot be here when Thomas wakes up, cannot let Thomas see him leave like this because…
James clenches his teeth down before speaking again.
“If the time comes, I need to be able to walk away from this,” he says at last.
“Ah.”
Miranda smiles thinly, her hand coming up to trail along the sleeve of his coat, a now familiar habit.
“And can you?” she asks, eyes snapping up to his own again. “Walk away?”
“<em>Damnit,</em>Miranda…”
He steps to the side of her and moves to go down the hall but she’s just as quick and shadows his movement, still in front of him. Her eyes bore into his, imploring and possibly even pleading. And suddenly he’s terrified. Terrified of what lies behind him in the bedroom but more terrified of the remaining steps down the hall, down the stairs, and out. Away.
He turns his head towards the hall, away from her gaze and swallows thickly. Miranda steps away from him.
“Far be it for me,” she says, too softly, “To stand in your way, lieutenant.”
James sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them he removes his hat and tucks it under his arm, his other hand reaching out to touch her face before kissing her hard on the lips. He pulls away and turns back towards the bedroom door.
“Would you mind fetching two cups of tea?” he asks.
