Page 26 of Crying Wolfe
She looked across the way from her bedroom window often at night, wondering which chamber in Hespera House was his.
Which one would be hers?
A fortnight ago, Rosaline had been devastated to learn that she’d have to marry.
But their kiss had given her hope. Not only the kiss, but the reverent gasp he made when he watched the stars. The open curiosity he showed when she spoke of things that excited and inspired her.
She’d left Hespera Houselikingher husband-to-be.
It was why she’d expended so much effort for the wedding.
Her hopelessly straight hair had been in curling wraps for two nights, and she’d even allowed Emmett to splurge on one of the most heavenly wedding dresses she could imagine.
Nora had suggested she wear the family jewels and Baroness tiara for the occasion.
When Rosaline had looked in the mirror right before the ceremony, she hadn’t recognized herself. Eyes bright with a bit of hope. With anticipation. A neckline that swooped just below her shoulders and skimmed the tops of her breasts in a way that made her look as if shehadany breasts to speak of.
She’d felt like a princess. Like a woman a wealthy man like Elijah Wolfe would be pleased to see as his approaching bride.
Except, he hadn’t been.
Once she appeared on Emmett’s arm to advance up the aisle, Eli had dashed a swift glance at her, then affixed his gaze somewhere above her head as his expression shifted from grim to grave.
Rosaline had a lifetime of hiding her emotions from a man who didn’t want to see them, but it was all she could do to stop a disappointed tear from escaping.
In fact, escape was all she’d sought since. A quiet place to grieve her dashed hopes and muster up the courage to face him.
To face him every day until death did they part.
Unless he planned on stashing her away somewhere he wouldn’t be bothered by her.
Just like her father had done to her mother.
Her sallow, bitter, cruel mother who died early of nothing more than disappointment and distemper, leaving her children to the mercy of Uncle Reginald.
Worrying at the inside of her cheek with her teeth, Rosaline blinked when an emerald-green skirt and a cup of punch appeared in front of her.
Emmaline, her only full-blooded elder sister, always had a knack for finding her when others seemed perfectly content to allow her to disappear. “I added a bit of spice to it.”
Spice was her secret word for spirits.
Scanning the ballroom with her Baltic blue eyes, Emmaline scratched at the matching dress that set her copper hair aflame. “Do weknowany of these bloody people?”
“Emma,” Rosaline admonished in a loud whisper, though there was no real heat in it. “Someone will hear you.”
She waved Rosaline’s worry away with a hand she’d relieved of a glove before pinning her with a pensive examination. “Did something happen? You’re not quite the cheerful woman you were this morning.”
Cursing Emma’s observant nature, Rosaline smoothed her hand over the curls that were quickly becoming as limp as she felt. How did she share the strange and fickle emotions swirling inside of her? How did she burden someone who cared about her in all this helplessness she battled?
“I’m just…a bit overstimulated,” she lied, painting on a placating smile.
Emma threaded their arms together, careful of the fine dress and the artfully arranged hair and veil. “You made the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” she sighed, kissing Rosaline on the cheek. “And your groom isn’t difficult to look at either.”
No. No he wasn’t.
If Rosaline had been asked to remember a word of the ceremony, she’d have failed miserably. Because, even though her husband hadn’t been impressed with her,she’dalmost lost her wits at the sight of him.
They called him Midas, but if Rosaline were to give him a mythological assignation, it would be none other than Hades himself.
