Susanna wished everyone would stop their fussing. Between Cook plying her with warm broth, Bessie insisting she help to wash Susanna's hair, and Hendricks keeping a hawk-eyed watch over her, she was stretched tighter than a lute string. Only Orlando seemed to understand she wanted to be left alone. He'd spent the remainder of the day in the garden with Monk. He'd not spoken to her since midday's dinner, and they hadn't found themselves alone. What he thought about Margaret Cowdrey's accusation, she couldn't determine. Aside from his initial vehement defense, he'd remained quiet, thoughtful.
Susanna, on the other hand, felt numb to her core. Margaret Cowdrey had just called her a whore and a witch. She probably should be concerned that the entire village would know by the end of the week, but she wasn't. She felt nothing.
The knock on her bedchamber door stirred her. She rose and answered it. Orlando stood in his work clothes, his arms crossed, his stance formidable. But his eyes betrayed him. They were cloudy and troubled.
"Susanna." He reached for her.
Instinct took over and she stepped into his embrace. He was so solid, so real in a world where everything suddenly felt like an illusion, a conjurer's trick. Margaret's words, the uncertainty surrounding Monk, Walter's proposals...all melted away so that there was only this man and his strong heart pounding against her cheek.
They stayed like that for a long time. "I'm sorry," he said. His voice vibrated through her body, across her skin, and down to her toes.
She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath then stepped away. "No. It's not your fault. None of this is."
"I should have kept away. I shouldn't have started this—"
"You didn't do it alone. We started it. Both of us." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. He moved to her again but she stepped back, out of his reach. "No, Orlando. It has to stop." Her eyes prickled with tears but she willed them not to fall. "It was time we ended it anyway," she added, as much to convince herself as him.
He bowed his head and his hair fell forward, covering his eyes. "I know. I came to you tonight to tell you the same thing." He gave a short, humorless laugh and looked up, a ghostly smile on his lips. "It's harder than I thought it would be."
She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his cheek. He caught her wrist and kissed her palm.
"It's for the best," he murmured. "Ending it now is for the best."
Was he trying to convince himself or her?
"Will you..." She cleared her throat. "Will you be leaving now?"
He suddenly looked up. "No! Not until we discover who the intruder is for certain, and what Monk and Lynden are up to. Susanna." He squeezed her hand. "I'm not leaving you alone while something is afoot. I will sleep outside your bedchamber until I know the danger is gone. In everything else, I am your servant to command, but not when it comes to your safety. In that, I'll make decisions I think will keep you safe whether you like them or not."
Her chest felt tight. Her heart hammered against her ribs, its beat echoing in her blood. She nodded and he gave her a small bow.
"Good night." He closed the door between them, shutting out the light from the candles blazing in the parlor.
The tears she thought conquered swelled and spilled, running unchecked down her cheeks. "Good night," she murmured.
Where earlier she'd felt numb, now she felt too much. And it was painful.