Page 23 of The Pureblood Princess
“It was not so easy,” she says softly. “And some days were harder than others.”
The softness in Theodore’s eyes becomes hard for a moment, and he looks away, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Concern glows in his gaze, and Nadia moves quietly to stand beside him, enjoying the sunlight on her face and the sleepy pleasure still curling through her belly.
“I detest him,” he whispers at long last. “I cannot forgive him for what he did to you.”
Nadia doesn’t need to ask to whom he’s referring; Theodore only gets that look in his eye when Lord Gray comes up in conversation.
She reaches for his hand and clasps it in both of hers, then leans her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t wish for you to carry this hate in your heart,” she says. “But I know it’s not so easy to let go.”
A quiet moment passes, and Nadia allows herself to become lost in contemplation. On one hand, she’s pleased to see Theodore brought to anger for her, to know he’d go to battle for her if she ever called upon him. But on the other, she wishes not to be a cause for his anger, his resentment. It won’t serve them, especially in their new life as a wedded couple.
With a sigh, Theodore brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “Forgive me for bringing it up. I’d much rather focus on happy things, like giving you a tour of your new home.”
Delight makes her chest buoyant. “Seven bedrooms, you said?”
“Indeed.” He tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and pulls her close. “Do you suppose that will be enough?”
A thrill goes through her at the idea of having a house abounding with children, with laughter filling the cozy manorand spilling from the open windows into the gardens and rolling hills.
“I think it’s perfect,” she whispers, then rises onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Theodore. For everything.”
Chapter Eight
The halls are dark, litonly by candlelight. Nadia treads lightly, her feet bare, the soft cotton nightgown she wears tickling the tops of her feet.
She’s not sure where she’s going, only that she must get there.
And every step she takes carries her closer to the door at the end of the hall—Theodore’s door.
His room is far from hers—likely by design—and she’s spent very little time there since arriving at Graystone. But now she feels inexplicably drawn to it, as though a tether connects her to whatever waits behind that door, reeling her in ever slowly.
When she reaches the door, she finds that it has no door handle. Brow furrowing, she runs one hand over the smooth wood. How is she to get in if there’s no handle?
Amidst her contemplation, a sound drifts through the wood, and it makes her stomach twist violently.
Heavy breathing, the creaking of a bed, a woman’s sensual moans.
“Theodore?” she calls out, searching the door more fervently for a handle. But still, there isn’t one to be found.
Inside the room, the moaning grows louder.
Nadia runs her hands across the door, searching the wood, and her fingers pass over an imperfection in the smooth oak—a crack.
Leaning close, she presses her eye to the sliver, and the room on the other side of the door appears.
Theodore is in the bed, his bare back gleaming with sweat. Below him, with her legs wrapped around his waist, is Honora.
“Theodore!” Nadia screams, pounding her fists on the door.
He glances over his shoulder, then turns back to his lovemaking.
Honora turns her head and looks right at Nadia. She lifts her left hand to pull Theodore’s hair, and a ring—Nadia’sring—glints on her finger. When she smiles, her mouth is full of fangs, and Nadia screams when Honora sinks them into Theodore’s neck.
Nadia jolts awake, opening her eyes just as a tear slips across her lips and into her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and she brings a hand up when she realizes she’s crying.
Pain squeezes her rapidly beating heart as she stares up at the ceiling in her bedroom.
