Quietly, he set down the water glass on the sink, and moved back to the door, listening.
Another creak. He stayed very still. There was no light outside the bathroom; whoever was there would be moving around in complete darkness. Or was it possible that it was only the floorboards of the old house, groaning in the night?
Instinct told him it was more than that; he could feel someone's presence. His mind searched for possibilities. This was Harry's wing - there were no other bedrooms in the vicinity. Had one of the impromptu guests elsewhere in the house risen and, still drunk, strayed down a corridor and got lost? Suddenly, decisively, he seized the door handle and yanked it open.
In the gloom, he could make out a figure emerging from the small sitting room ahead and to the left. As the bathroom door opened they quickened their pace without turning around. The person was tall, with short hair.
"Hey," Dempsey hissed urgently. "Hey you – stop!"
Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the figure disappeared through the door at the end of the corridor. He moved after him, but by the time he reached the door, there was no one to be seen - the stranger had vanished. He retraced his steps and peered through the open sitting room door. Facing him was the couch where he and Harry had sat sipping gin and tonics in the early evening. All was silent and still. At a glance, Dempsey thought, the room appeared as if they had only just vacated it. He could see his clothes folded neatly over a chair where Harry had placed them after their bath. He'd never gotten around to putting them on again and despite his disquiet, he smiled at the memory. Maybe he was getting a bit TOO comfortable, parading around her father's place in the buff like that. Still, what Lord Winfield didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Then his thoughts returned to the intruder. Who would be sneaking around in the middle of the night? One of the servants, embarrassed to be caught? He would probably never know.
He was bare-chested and suddenly very cold. With a small shake of his head, he turned back towards the bedroom.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he paused for a moment, listening to Harry's regular breathing. Then he shed his trousers for the second time that night and climbed in beside her, settling next to her warmth. Sliding his arm around her waist, he fell gratefully back into sleep.
When he awoke again, the first thing he saw was Harry placing a tray containing tea cups and a silver pot carefully down on the bedside table. The heavy silk curtains were open, allowing cold sunlight to flood the room. He rolled over on his back, shielding his eyes against the brightness, and watched her move across the room, back to the window. The snow had settled in the night, leaving the sky a perfect blue. Unaware of his eyes on her, she surveyed the expanse of whiteness below and sighed. Her shoulder blades stuck out sharply beneath the sheer material of her shift nightdress.
"Mornin' princess. You made tea?" At the sound of his voice, she turned.
"You're awake. No, Porter left it outside for us. I forgot to tell him yesterday that you only drink coffee."
She came closer, and there was tenderness in her smile. "How're you feeling?"
He grinned back, rubbing his eyes.
"Not too bad – considering. What happened last night? That was like no party I've ever been to before."
She was breezy. "Oh James, I've got so used to Daddy's friends' eccentricities over the years, I didn't think to warn you... I suppose with country people, being in relative isolation sends them all a little bit mad."
She perched on the side of the bed, leaning in to give him a kiss. He pulled her down towards him, prolonging it.
"What about you?" he asked when they broke apart. "You crazy like that too deep down, angel? Would you have joined right in if I hadn't been there to stop you?"
She laughed out loud.
"Of course!" Not only would I have joined in – I'd have been a ring leader."
She surveyed him with a look he had come to know well, checking to see whether or not he believed her. The edge of a smile played on her lips. His face must have betrayed uncertainty.
"Dempsey darling, be serious. I've always been strictly an observer, I promise. Besides, daddy would be mortified if I behaved badly at one of his parties. It may be alright for his friends, but not for his daughter."
That made sense to him – he couldn't exactly imagine her falling asleep at a dinner party table or propositioning one of the staff - but at the same time, he thought it did explain some things. He knew there was another side to her that people rarely saw: a side that reveled in losing her inhibitions and 'letting her hair down'; that was the term the brits used, wasn't it? Harry didn't do things in half measures, and that included partying. He was probably one of the few people who knew that about her.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothin' angel, nothin'at all."
"Don't believe you. You've got a mysterious look on your face." She was looking at him quizzically. He reached up and flipped her over onto the bed.
"Mysterious? I guess it's just my dirty mind at work again."
Some time later, they lay quietly, drifting on the morning calm. Her head was against his chest, and he stroked her hair absently, wondering what the day had in store for them and who they would meet. Suddenly, he remembered the night time encounter. He swore.
She lifted her head up in surprise. 'James?"
"Just remembered something. I woke up in the small hours, and there was someone outside the room. Sneakin' around."
She sat up. "Are you sure? Who would it be? There's no one staying in this wing but us, and the servants would never be here at that time."
"Angel, I'm tellin' you, there was definitely someone here. Looked like a guy – tall, with short hair. It was too dark to make anything out. Could've been a servant, I guess."
She frowned. "How odd. We can ask Daddy at breakfast if he asked anyone to come up here and tidy or anything."
He shook his head. "I think it's best not to mention anything. Let's leave it, okay?"
She nodded, still looking sceptical. He could see she was having a hard time believing it hadn't been some weird dream of his. He could've told her that had come before the incident, but didn't.
"We should really get up and go down to breakfast," she said, after a pause.
"They'll be wondering where we are otherwise. It's after nine."
He sighed. "Breakfast babe? I'm still digesting all that cooked bird from last night."
"Sorry James. I know Daddy will have laid on smoked kippers especially for you."
He grimaced. He didn't usually like to look at food before around 11am, and then a bacon roll and black coffee was his preferred option. Oh well, it was just another thing for him to deal with at Winfield Hall, and the reason he was dealing with it was because he loved Harry. So it was all worth it, wasn't it? He just had to keep reminding himself of that.