Page 42 of To Ride the Wind

“Lottie,” he said helplessly. “Talk to me! Please!”

She tried to form words, but the attempt only made her cry harder. Finally, with a muttered exclamation, as if driven past bearing, he closed the space between them.

Cautiously his hands reached out and, as she had predicted, her own reached back of their own volition. His fingers found hers, and he squeezed them, seeming to take courage that she wasn’t drawing back.

“Lottie,” he said again, sounding almost as pained as she felt.

Her heart expanded, the fresh sign of her husband’s care only making the pain worse. She sobbed more loudly.

With another exclamation, he closed the last of the distance between them, gathering her into his arms.

Shock stopped Charlotte’s tears, although a few sniffles still escaped. The feel of his strong arms around her was like nothing she had experienced before, enclosing her in an immediate sense of safety. But at the same time, it also made her senses thrill, sensation running through every part of her.

“Don’t cry, Lottie,” he whispered into her hair. “It hurts me to hear you cry. I’m sorry that I left you.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and tried to master the shudders that were all that was left of the sobs.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” he repeated. “Did you injure yourself?”

She shook her head against him, knowing it still wasn’t safe for her to speak of either her feelings or the woman in the portrait. Her tears might have stopped, but her heart still raged out of control.

“It’s just foolishness,” she finally managed to say. “Please ignore it.”

His arms tightened, and she was secretly glad he hadn’t ignored her tears. After the revelations of the day, she knew it was wrong of her, but she couldn’t help the way she thrilled at being held in his arms.

If she lay still, she could imagine for a moment that theirs was an ordinary marriage and Henry was truly hers.

“It’s all right, Lottie,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She didn’t doubt his words. That was the character of her husband. He might be full of secrets, but they were not ones of his making, and he would never swerve from the promises he’d made. He had promised to take her into his family and protect her, and he would never stop doing that. If he was ever going to be free, she would have to give him his freedom.

But still she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him. In that moment, there was no future, only the present. And in the present, she was his wife, she was in need of comfort, and she would accept the comfort he was offering. Perhaps tomorrow she would have gathered herself enough to speak to him safely.

Falling asleep within the circle of his arms was far easier than she could have imagined, and her sleep was deeper and more peaceful than she had anticipated after the upheavals of the day.

But, as always, when she woke, the bed was cold, and she was alone.

GWEN

Caution told Gwen she should wait at least until the next day before doing anything else that might draw her mother’s attention. But that instinct was balanced against the object that seemed to burn in her pocket.

How often did her mother visit the secret treasury? And if she did visit, would she notice something was missing? Would she know Gwen had taken it?

The fear of discovery overcame her sense of caution.

Mother and daughter had never been in the habit of eating the midday meal together, and so Gwen took it on a tray in her bedchamber. She found sitting at the small table by one of her windows less depressing than eating alone in a formal dining room. And that meant a servant always arrived at midday to deliver the meal.

It wasn’t always delivered by the same servant, so she waited by the window, shoulders tense as the minutes ticked by on her clock. She was much closer to some of the servants than others, and there was only one she wanted to see that day.

The door finally opened, causing Gwen’s anxiety to peak. Alma appeared, carefully balancing the tray as she closed the door behind her.

Gwen slumped down in relief before her eyes zeroed in on the closed door. Her eyebrows arched.

None of the servants ever shut the door when delivering the lunch tray. If Alma was doing so now, it was with a purpose. Which meant it wasn’t coincidence that she was the servant who had appeared on this of all days.

“What did you hear?” Gwen asked as Alma approached and deposited the tray on the round table.

The servant woman looked briefly back at the closed door before sighing.

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