by Bree Wolf
There, she stoked the fire in the stove for warmth, for nights still had a biting chill in the air. She put on a kettle of water and settled onto a chair, leaning her elbows on the table before her and resting her head in her hands. Suddenly, her eyelids felt heavy, and Rosabel cursed the world and everyone in it.
Still, she remained seated, sipping her tea, thoughts wandering in all directions, never lingering anywhere for long.
Hours after the house had fallen asleep, Rosabel heard hoof beats coming up the drive, and she wondered if a messenger had come or if it was her husband returning from one of his late-night exploits. The hoof beats stopped, and murmuring voices rose from the dark. Straining her ears, Rosabel could not make out what they were saying, only that they were quickly approaching, circling the house and coming around back. Before she knew what was happening, footsteps echoed just outside the door to the kitchen, and Rosabel barely had time to seek cover inside the pantry when the door flew open.
“Are you certain you do not want us to send over the physician? That shoulder of yours does sport all kinds of unnatural colours,” a gruff and quite inebriated voice slurred.
“There is no need,” her husband’s voice answered. Although he appeared to be in need of a good night’s sleep, his was not the speech of one too deep in the cups. “Now get yourselves off.”
Then the door closed, and the voices outside slowly vanished into the dark.
Peering out the pantry, Rosabel watched her husband move about the kitchen. From his pocket, he drew his handkerchief and, dipping it in a bowl he’d filled with fresh water, dabbed it to his left cheek.
Frowning, Rosabel inched closer, curious as to what he was doing. Her foot, however, caught on the potato basket, and, trying to catch herself, she banged into the pantry door so loudly that her ears rang.
Instantly, her husband spun around, face alert.
Upon recognizing her, the tension left his shoulders, and he exhaled. However, seconds later his entire frame seemed to stiffen as he avoided looking at her, hand still clutched to his face.
Stepping out of the pantry, Rosabel approached her husband. “Are you injured, my lord?” she asked, pointing at the handkerchief.
Taking a step backward, he waved her away. “It is nothing.” For a second his eyes swept over her nightgown partly visible under her robe as it hung open, the strap dangling loosely at her sides. “You ought to return to bed,” he said and turned away.
Retying her robe, Rosabel moved for the door, but stopped before she had taken more than a few steps. As she glanced over her shoulder at her husband, something changed her mind. Without another thought, she approached him. Walking around, she placed a hand on his arm and urged him to face her.
As he glanced at her, his shoulders slumped as though in defeat. “Why will you not leave me alone?”
“Because you are injured,” she whispered, moving her hand to cover his own, still holding the handkerchief to his face. Slowly, she drew it away, and gasped as she saw the bruised cut covering his left cheekbone. “Oh my goodness, what happened?”
She could feel the muscles in his arm tense, and his voice sounded strained as he spoke, “A misunderstanding, nothing more.”
Rosabel’s eyes opened wide. “You fought someone over a disagreement?”
Frown descending upon his face, he shook his head. “Not I. I merely sought to end the dispute.”
“I see,” Rosabel mumbled. “And were you successful, my lord?”
“I was, and I was awarded a souvenir as well.” He gestured to his face and cringed, clasping his right hand over his left arm.
Seeing pain distort his face, Rosabel moved to withdraw his arm and pull off his overcoat. “You suffered another injury?” she asked, remembering the slurred voice speaking of a shoulder sporting all kinds of unnatural colours.
As her fingers moved to remove his shirt, his hands stopped hers. “I do not need your assistance. It is but a bruise and will be all healed by the morrow.”
Watching him closely, Rosabel saw the slight tremble in his hand and the twitching of his muscles as he strained to maintain his appearance. Unable to leave him, she shook her head. “You will not get rid of me this easily.”
Upon hearing her words, his eye brows rose, and he stared at her. “Why are you so insistent? I assure you it is nothing.” Again his eyes swept over her form, then jerked back up to her face before trailing off to the iron-cast stove behind her. “You should return to your room.”
Seeing a hint of red come to his cheeks, Rosabel’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened, and her hands began to tremble ever so slightly. But again, she noticed that it wasn’t fear that had her shiver. On the contrary, the shiver filled her whole body with a new warmth, and without thought, she reached out and placed her hands on his chest, his thin shirt the only barrier left between them.
He drew in a sharp breath and would have backed away had he not stood pressed against the workbench as it was. As his eyes shifted down to hers, Rosabel’s hands moved of their own accord and slowly began to unbutton his shirt.
She could feel his chest rise and fall beneath her fingers, and her eyes spotted the traitorous goose bumps that rose every time her finger tips brushed his skin. Occasionally, he would avert his eyes and grit his teeth as though the process was pure torture.
When the shirt finally fell away, Rosabel gasped.
While his finely-chiselled chest and upper arms sported the occasional smaller bruise here and there, she could see a hand-sized bruise right below his left collar bone, shining deep blue with a tinge of purple in the flickering candlelight.
Lifting her eyes to his, Rosabel said, “You were right indeed. It is nothing but a scratch.”
A faint smile played on her lips, and after a moment of hesitation, the corners of his own mouth drew up as well. “Do you not feel foolish now that you see it for yourself?” he asked, a humorous tone to his voice.
“I do indeed,” Rosabel whispered, forcing her eyes from his. Turning to the stove, she poured the remaining water from the kettle into a large bowl. After soaking a linen towel in it, she carefully wrung out the towel so as not to burn her fingers, let it cool briefly and then turned to her husband. Again finding his eyes with her own, she stepped back into the spot she had vacated before, gently placing the hot towel on his shoulder. “There, this should help your muscles relax.”
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Now will you go to bed?”
As a smile curled up her lips, Rosabel again shook her head. “Will you never give up?”
Now it was his turn to shake his head. All the while his deep blue eyes gazed into hers, touching a part within her that made her want to scream with joy. Instead, she reached for another towel, this one dry and placed it over the wet one already covering his shoulder. Then she tucked his shirt back up, turning her attention to the buttons once more. While her fingers worked, she could feel his breath brushing over her skin from her forehead down her cheeks to the side of her neck. Goose bumps of her own rose as another shiver ran over her, making her fingers tremble.
“Are you cold?” he whispered, his right hand coming to wrap around hers.
Instantly, she jerked her head up as though lightning had struck her. Looking up, she found him staring at her with the same stunned expression on his face that she knew to be on her own.
Rosabel swallowed, again forcing her eyes away. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his, finding it as heated as her own.
As she reached for the handkerchief he still held clutched in his left hand, he relinquished it without a fight. Following his example, she dipped it in the bowl containing fresh water, then turned back to him, slowly inching her eyes up to meet his.
Feeling his gaze roam her face, Rosabel dabbed at the cut on his cheek, cleaning away any remnants of dirt that might cause infection. All the while his breath brushed over her skin, and the trembling in her hand would not cease.
Finished, Rosabel turned to
the pantry to retrieve the cooking port. Putting a little distance between them, she drew a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Being so close to him had her rattled, leaving her unable to think straight.
When she re-emerged from the pantry, she felt his gaze on her, following her every step until she stood before him once again, their bodies almost touching.
Avoiding his eyes, Rosabel poured a bit of the port on her own handkerchief and again dabbed at his cut. The second the cloth touched the wound, he drew in a sharp breath, his body tensing. “I’m sorry,” Rosabel whispered.
He didn’t say a word, but again kept his gaze focused on the iron-cast stove behind her.
“There, done.” Removing the handkerchief, Rosabel felt her eyes rise to meet his before she could stop herself. Once again a shiver went over her, all the way down to her toes. Her heart beat in her chest, straining against her ribs.
His blue eyes sparkled in the dancing candlelight, and Rosabel wondered how she could ever have thought them cold. Right then, there was nothing cold about them. On the contrary, Rosabel felt her cheeks flush hot, and her ears turn pink as they remained locked in each other’s gaze.
More than anything, Rosabel wanted to reach out and touch him, feel his skin under her fingers and his breath caress her neck. But before she could, he blinked, and the spell was broken.
Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes, glancing at the door. “Well, I guess I should be going. Thank you for your help.”
Then he turned away and strode toward the door.
Watching him leave, Rosabel felt the desperate need to stop him. No matter what, in that moment all she wanted was for him to stay.
Before her mind could interfere, her heart spoke. “You still owe me a kiss.”
Instantly, he stopped.
Chapter Twenty-Nine − Desire
Not sure if his ears had deceived him, Graham slowly turned. As his eyes met hers, she instantly dropped them, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks. Seeing her fidget with the hem of her sleeve, Graham took a step forward.
While part of his conscious mind screamed at him to leave and not entangle himself in a situation that couldn’t possibly lead to anything good, his feet wouldn’t move in the direction of the door. Forward, approaching her, however, was not a problem. He needed to know.
Stopping merely an arm’s length in front of her, Graham tried to peer into her downcast eyes. “I owe you a kiss?” he asked, feeling his own voice shake.
The crimson colour in her cheeks deepened as she raised her chin. Meeting his eyes, she began to gnaw on her lower lip. Her voice was barely a whisper, and he could see the hesitation in her eyes, yet, she did not try to back out of it. “Yes, from the night of the Christmas Ball.”
His own eyes widened as he remembered the moment Edmond had pointed out the mistletoe dangling above their heads. Although he had wanted to kiss her, he had refused, afraid to force himself where he was not wanted. But now here she was, demanding that kiss. Did she really mean it?
Eyes sweeping her face, Graham tried to determine why she would make such a request. Did she care for him? Could that be possible?
Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she held his gaze, unflinching, and yet, her cheeks burned red, and he saw a slight tremble in her fingers. Although all but certain what would be the most sensible course of action, Graham felt his feet move forward until his shirt brushed her robe. Gently, his right hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips. A small gasp escaped her lips, and he noticed his own breathing increasing in intensity. If he kissed her now, would he ever be able to stop? He wondered.
Inching forward, he carefully placed his left hand on her waist. Still feeling a stab of pain surge through his shoulder, he gritted his teeth.
Her small frame trembled, and again Graham worried that she did not really want this. Desperately trying to contain his own desire, he spoke, his lips a mere inch from hers, “Are you certain?”
In answer her lips curled up and she placed her hands on his chest, careful not to hurt him. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and he sucked in a breath.
Staring into her eyes, all doubt fell from him, and he slowly lowered his head toward hers. As she closed her eyes, so did he and allowed himself to live in the moment.
Her lips felt soft, welcoming him, and before he knew it, his hand moved from her face downward. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her closer to him.
When her fingers dug into his shirt, pulling her into him, he deepened the kiss, pushing her against the workbench behind her. As he tried to use his other arm to hold her even closer, a fresh jolt of pain went through his shoulder, and he cursed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes full of worry as she glanced at his injured shoulder. Letting go, she tried to step back. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
Feeling the moment slip away, Graham reached out with his good arm and drew her back. “Don’t. It does not matter.” Before she could answer, his lips crashed down on hers again, and a soft moan escaped her throat.
In the next instant, footsteps echoed on the back stairs leading down to the kitchen.
Rosabel stiffened, and he released her, head turned to ascertain the situation. Although still dark outside, Graham suspected that morning was closer than he had thought. Soon the kitchen would be swarmed with staff preparing breakfast.
“Come,” he whispered, drawing her to the other door, leading in a number of corridors to the front hall. Descending the curved staircase, her hand still in his, Graham realized he was taking her toward their bed chambers. Feeling his heart hammer in his chest, he pushed all thoughts away and decided to live step by step.
***
Still breathless from their kiss, Rosabel followed him up the stairs. Eyes darting left and right, he approached the door to her bedchamber. Grateful that no one was up and about at such an early hour, Rosabel shivered as he stopped in front of the door and turned to her. What now? She wondered. Yes, she had demanded a kiss, but was she ready to take this further.
Hesitant himself, he looked at her, still breathing heavily. His hand was still wrapped around hers, and she could feel the pulse hammering in his wrist. Unable to move, suddenly feeling shy, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Although she saw desire in his blue depths, he did not move forward or draw her to him.
When the sound of a door opening reached their ears, they both flinched.
Instantly, he dropped her hand, eyes searching the corridor. Although no one was in sight, footsteps approached quickly.
Rosabel knew they had to make a decision fast. Would he join her in her bedchamber? She wondered. Or would he−?
“Someone is coming,” he said, eyes darting left and right before settling on hers. “You should go inside.” As his eyes left hers and he leaned over to open the door for her, Rosabel’s heart sank.
As though nothing had happened, he bowed to her and quickly walked away, opened the door to his own chambers and disappeared inside.
Although she considered going after him, Rosabel entered her own quarters and closed the door. Why had he not come in? She wondered, feeling a stab of rejection. Did he not desire her after all?
Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and spilled forth as a heart-wrenching sob escaped her throat. Throwing herself on her bed, Rosabel wept until exhaustion took over and closed her eyes.
In her dreams, however, she felt the touch of his hands and the caress of his lips. Hugging her pillow, she smiled.
Chapter Thirty − A Foolish Woman
The days following their kiss, her husband again returned to avoiding her. Usually, such a treatment would strengthen her resolve and ignite the flame of anger, making her more daring. But then and there, Rosabel was exhausted. This war was costing her. She felt tired and worn out. If she could not get through to him any time soon, would she be forced to surrender? Would she forfeit and leave the battlefield?
Desperate for
a distraction, Rosabel gathered Georgiana, and they spent the day at her old home. Ellie and her younger cousins were delighted to see them, and the afternoon progressed far into the evening. Night had already fallen before they finally returned home.
With Ellie’s encouragements echoing in her mind, Rosabel spent the night in deep slumber, finally regaining some of the energy she had invested thus far. Waking refreshed, she ventured down to breakfast, disappointed, but not surprised, at her husband’s absence.
However, when she returned to her room, the door stood open. Stepping inside, she found Bridget and another maid packing her things while two footmen were already carrying her trunk out the door and down the corridor. “What is going on here?” she breathed, feeling an iron grip settling around her heart. “Why are you packing my things?”
Bridget looked at her with open eyes, clearly surprised she didn’t know. “For the journey,” she said.
“What journey?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Bridget said, “Back to Westmore.”
Her knees turned to pudding, and Rosabel sank into her favourite armchair. How could he do this? Shaking her head, Rosabel snorted. How could she have been so foolish? Nothing had changed. He still loved Leonora. Only Leonora. And whatever had happened between them in the kitchen downstairs had only served to remind him that no other woman could ever replace the only one he had ever truly loved. Tears came to Rosabel’s eyes, and she didn’t bother to hide them.
Bridget ushered the other maid from the room. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Is there anything I can do?”
Looking up, Rosabel was about to shake her head, when the door flew open, and Georgiana rushed inside. The little girl’s face held the same shocked, tear-streaked expression that Rosabel knew was visible on her own. Rushing toward her, Rosabel took her in her arms, holding her close.
“Father is sending us back,” Georgiana sobbed. “Why doesn’t he like me?”
Again Rosabel’s heart broke. “Listen, I will go to your father and speak to him,” she whispered, despite feeling the hopelessness of their situation as a new ache in her broken heart. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”
