Page 46 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
They burned her palm as she raced back up the stairs. Her heart trilled in her chest like a captured sparrow as she stood in front of both doors.
She selected the left one first. Inhaling a bracing breath, she slid the key in the lock and turned it, unlatching the door.
Upon first glance she was disappointed. She hadn’t really known what to expect, but in her more fanciful moments she might have conjured a lair befitting the so-called Knight of Shadows. Uniforms maybe. Weapons. Masks and the like.
Unsurprisingly, it was nothing more than an immaculate bedroom. Even the dust motes that’d danced across her open windows didn’t seem to dare venture into his space. The bedclothes had not a wrinkle. The shaving implements gleamed in a row on the curio as if they’d been shined with the silver.
But the faint scent of shaving soap clung to the air as the opaque water in the bowl had yet to be refreshed. That and other aromas drew her deeper into the room as if she’d been summoned by a spell. Cedar and fresh linen.
And that masculine spice that was distinctivelyhim.
The rustle of her skirts disrupted the almost mausoleum-like silence as she drifted to a high-backed chair where a dressing gown had been neatly draped but obviously discarded after use.
Lucy hadn’t laundered it yet or changed the pitcher, which meant that Morley, the master of the house, had straightened his own bed and shined his own shaving accoutrements.
What a bemusing man.
Unable to stop herself, Prudence lifted the robe to her face and inhaled. Since her pregnancy, she seemed to have the nose of a bloodhound. She’d never forget the warm, wild scent of him. It taunted her now, surrounded by his things as she was.
It might be the only appetizing aroma she’d encountered for weeks.
Belatedly, she looked around the room and noticed something amiss. The paper on the walls was decidedly feminine, little forget-me-nots wrapped in ribbons. There was no view on this side of the house, and the space was decidedly smaller than her chamber at the end of the hall.
Her sound of wonderment snagged the air as the robe slipped from her fingers back to the chair.
He’d surrendered the master suite to her. The room with the best view, the largest bed, and the most comfortable furnishings.
An awfully considerate gesture, for a man who couldn’t bring himself to share a meal with her, let alone a conversation.
It first occurred to her to offer the gesture back to him. To tell him she didn’t want it, that she’d take the smaller room so he could once again enjoy his own accommodations.
If he’d only come home.
She’d have to figure out how to offer without him finding out she’d snooped.
Heaving a morose sigh, Pru left and locked his room, burning with curiosity about the next door. She fumbled with the key twice before opening it, and when she finally managed, she stood in the doorway for several moments while tears stung behind her eyes.
The room was in disarray. A lovely chaos. The entrails of packing crates were strewn about their treasures as if the unpacking had been interrupted.
This was what her husband had been wrestling with the past few nights.
Floating inside, Prudence touched each one as if it were made of the most fragile glass.
A wicker cradle. An expensive-looking perambulator. Delicate furniture ready to store tiny things. Soft blankets and cushions. Cunning toys.
Her breath hitched as she stopped in front of a fine-crafted rocking chair. The piece, itself, was lovely but what had her transfixed was the simple little doll placed just so on the velvet cushion.
Pru couldn’t say why she used infinite care to retrieve it. The doll was neither fragile nor costly. The body little more than soft fabric stuffed with batting and covered in a white eyelet lace dress. The round head fit in the palm of her hand, the face painted somewhat catawampus, and the hair comprised of soft strings of lose gold yarn tied with blue ribbons.
No, the doll wasn’t at all extraordinary.
But the thought of the man she’d married. The intense, mercurial knight selecting it for this room… now that was… that was…rather a marvelous image.
Smoothing her fingers through the strings of yarn she wondered, what if their child bore his golden locks? Or the impossible silver-blue of his eyes?
Little butterflies erupted in her belly, this time not at all precipitating sickness. This person they’d created… would sleep here, God willing. Would fill this house with commotion, and maybe a little cheer.
Lord knew they all needed an injection of that.
