Page 8 of Beauty's Beast

The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just you wait until you see what I have planned for your supper.”

“Has my … my husband already eaten?”

A shadow flickered in Mrs. Grainger’s pale blue eyes. “Lord Trevayne takes his meals in his room.”

“Oh. I … I didn’t know.”

Mrs. Grainger glanced around the opulent dining room, then sighed with regret. “No one ever eats in here.”

“No one?” Kristine frowned. “I thought … doesn’t his lordship’s mother live here?”

“Not for the last year or so, my lady. Her departure was quite abrupt. Nan said she heard Lord Trevayne and his mother quarreling one night, though what they were arguing aboutremains a mystery.” Mrs. Grainger clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry, my lady. I should not be telling you this. ‘Tis only kitchen gossip, after all.”

“And you have no idea why she left?”

Mrs. Grainger tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron. “I think Lord Trevayne ordered her out of the house.”

“He ordered his own mother out of the house!” Kristine exclaimed, shocked at the very idea. “Why would he do such a thing?”

Mrs. Grainger shook her head. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say.” The wordsI’ve said too much alreadyhung unspoken in the air between them.

“Where does his mother live now?”

“At the convent at St. Clair.”

“A convent! Whatever for?”

“It was her choice. She could have gone to live at one of Lord Trevayne’s other holdings, but she said she preferred to live with the good sisters. I think she just wanted to stay close by.” Mrs. Grainger cleared her throat. “Are you sure I can’t be getting you anything else, my lady? More tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” Rising, Kristine folded her napkin in half and placed it on the table.

“It will be all right, my lady,” the cook said kindly.

Kristine nodded, disconcerted by the look of sympathy in the older woman’s eyes.

Leaving the dining room, she wandered through the castle. It was large, immaculately clean, furnished in the height of fashion. Imported carpets covered the floors, expensive paintings and tapestries hung on the walls. One door was locked. She thought it curious, when all the others were open.

Going into the kitchen, she queried Mrs. Grainger.

“It’s the ballroom,” Mrs. Grainger said.

“Why is it locked?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask his lordship,” the housekeeper replied.

With a nod, Kristine left the kitchen and continued her exploration of the castle. Ask his lordship, indeed.

So many rooms, she thought as she toured the upstairs. All empty of life.

Finally, she settled on an overstuffed chair in the library, her feet curled beneath her as she tried to read. But she couldn’t concentrate on the words, couldn’t think of anything but the man who had come to her in the dark hours of the night. Her husband. Would he come to her again tonight?

She sat there for hours, watching the sun sink lower in the sky, watching the horizon blaze with color as the setting sun splashed the heavens with streaks of crimson and gold, her nerves growing taut as night cast her cloak over the land.

She had no appetite for supper. Mrs. Grainger hovered over her, encouraging her to eat, but the food tasted like ashes in Kristine’s mouth. She couldn’t enjoy the meal, couldn’t do anything but wonder if he would come to her bed again.

The maids, Leyla and Lilia, were waiting in Kristine’s bedchamber when she entered. Though their facial features were almost identical, Leyla was a few inches taller than her sister. Both were clad in long gray dresses and white aprons; both wore their dark brown hair in tight coils atop their heads.

As they had the night before, they brushed out her hair, dusted her with fragrant powder, and then helped her into a gown. It was a different gown from the one she had worn the night before. Made of fine black silk, it slid sensuously over her body, making her feel a trifle wicked somehow.

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