Chapter 17 - Rapunzel

                                    

                                          
Plucking a comparatively plain shirt from the trunk, Abernathy rose and handed it to Rafe. "Put this one on; it should be safe enough."
They returned to the bedchamber, where Rafe quickly undid his cravat and removed the jacket. Too worried about Sewell to feel self-conscious, he stripped off his shirt, leaving him bare to the waist, and changed it for the other. He replaced the jacket, did up the cravat, and was making for the stairs in swift strides when Abernathy caught hold of his elbow.
"What now?"
Keeping hold of his sleeve, Abernathy herded him back into the privy closet and pointed him towards the mirror. "If you believe your hair to be in a fit state for this appointment, by all means do not allow me to disabuse you of the notion."
Rafe looked in the mirror to see that Abernathy was undoubtedly correct. With a sigh of impatience, he took up the comb and began the laborious process of taming his hair once again. He slicked it down with water as a finishing touch and spoke to Abernathy's reflection. "Well, Nanny, do you think this will pass muster?"
"Dear lord, no. You look more like a country parson than before." 
Without invitation, Abernathy began to run his fingers through Rafe's hair. Rafe's greater height made the top of his head a difficult reach, and Abernathy was forced to step in close to him and press against his back. It all happened too swiftly for Rafe to react, and before he knew it he was pinned between the stone counter before him and Abernathy behind with no possible route of escape. Deep in the pit of his belly, something began to flutter like a second heartbeat, and the firm press of Abernathy's body against his back was as bittersweet and intoxicating as the whiskey-spiked coffee had been the night before. Waves of dizzying warmth washed over him, and he thought how easy it would be to simply close his eyes and let them carry him away. 
This is lust, he thought. If it stops I am going to die, and if it doesn't stop it will surely kill me. In the mirror, he watched as Abernathy made small adjustments here and there, styling his hair into a sort of artful disarray. The pale-blue gaze caught his, the tiniest hint of a smile touched Abernathy's lips, and Rafe's heart skipped a beat. He had always thought the phrase a foolish exaggeration, the stuff of ladies' fancies, but it could not be denied: his pulse stuttered, then stumbled, then took off at a gallop. The dizziness in his head intensified and he reached for the stone countertop to steady himself, gripping it tightly with both hands. Please, oh dear God please do not let me faint. 
Abernathy made an irritated sound. "If you wish my assistance, I must ask you to stop squirming around like a little boy with a frog in his pocket."
"Sorry," Rafe said, and tried to stand perfectly still. No, there was not a frog in his pocket. There was nothing in his pocket. Nothing, absolutely nothing at all. He clung desperately to the lie until it was true, by which time Abernathy's work was done. Hoping Abernathy would fail to notice that his hands were shaking, he tried to straighten his cravat, which was somehow still askew. He made a poor job of it, finally tearing the knot apart to start over. The second attempt was no better than the first, but the third showed definite improvement. He was playing for time now, he knew, but could not keep himself from undoing the knot to begin once more. 
"Stop it." 
Abernathy's voice was soft and not unkind, but it hit Rafe like a spark on dry tinder. He whirled to face Abernathy with a dozen unkind comebacks on his lips, but Abernathy regarded him so solemnly that the words died in his throat. 
"You are angry, and you have every right to be. But you must not fall prey to the folly of using anger to mask fear." Abernathy's tone was measured and calm. "You are afraid – yes, you are, do not deny it." 
Rafe bent his head to study the toes of his boots, too ashamed to meet Abernathy's eye. 
"You are afraid, and you have every right to be. Under the weight of what has befallen you, a weaker man might have broken entirely. You did not. But my dear little Rapunzel," – Abernathy broke off, waiting until Rafe looked up before continuing – "you cannot stay up in this tower forever." 
Rafe drew in a shaky breath and slowly let it out again. "You're right. About all of it, damn your eyes. Can a man have no secrets from you?"
Abernathy remained unruffled. "You have secrets beyond number, I am sure, but in this case your unhappiness was plain to see and it was no great feat to divine the cause. Still, I allowed concern for you to overrule good manners, and for that I do apologize."
Concern for you. Rafe felt a warm glow at the words and resisted the urge to look down at his boots once more. "It's all right." 
"Shall we, then?"
"I suppose," said Rafe, somewhat sulkily.
"Chin up, old man. The Doctor won't keep us long, and truth be told I am quite looking forward to showing you around the place."