Page 89 of Almost a Bride
Holding her breath, she lifted the latch and pushed the door inward. No sound greeted her, not the murmur of servants’ voices nor the clinking of pots somewhere distant in the kitchens. It was as silent and empty as any monument to wealth.
She hurried up the broad stone staircase to the second floor, then stared in dismay at the long line of closed doors. When she found an imposing set of double doors, she slowly swung one open and peered in. The draperies were closed, letting in only murky light. An enormous four-poster bed occupied the far wall, with bed curtains tied back to the posts, and a mound of rumpled sheets and blankets and satin coverlet in the center.
Roselyn closed the door behind her and tiptoed toward the bed, where a man’s head was buried beneath pillows.
“Spencer?” she whispered, then hesitantly lifted up a pillow.
She could see black hair, draped across a slumbering face whose contours she’d memorized by sight and touch.
Relief made her tremble as tears filled her eyes.
“Spencer,” she whispered, reaching down to shake his naked shoulder.
He gave a little groan and turned away from her.
She frowned, wondering how he could sleep so deeply. Wasn’t he just as frantic about her disappearance as she’d been about his?
She shook him harder. His eyelids fluttered, then he rolled onto his back and shaded his eyes as if bright light had suddenly pierced the gloom.
Roselyn just smiled at him, and he slowly smiled back.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
“Spencer, I was so worried,” she began, kneeling down on the edge of the bed. She reached out and brushed the hair from his face, then allowed her fingers to stroke his cheek. “When I couldn’t find you, I—” She pressed her lips together and struggled not to cry.
“Shh,” he whispered, drawing her down to lie against his side. “’Twill all be fine now that you’re here.”
Safe in his arms, sheltered in his big bed, she allowed herself to relax. He grinned and came up on his elbow, then leaned over to gently kiss her lips. With a sigh, she slid her hands up into his hair and held him to her, slanting her open mouth across his, suddenly hungry for the taste of him. Though they had been separated for only one day, it seemed a lifetime.
But…something was wrong. Spencer’s kiss was different—even his weight pressing her into the bed was wrong.
She twisted her head aside, and he trailed kisses down her cheek. “Spencer,” she said sternly, “look at me.”
“Oh, I’ve looked, believe me,” he murmured against her ear.
She pushed at his shoulders until he propped himself on his elbows above her, grinning down in a carefree manner that made her fears grow.
“Something is wrong,” she said slowly.
As her gaze wandered down his chest, she gave a sudden gasp, and put her hands where a scar should be—but wasn’t.
Before her shocked mind could comprehend, the door opened and a worried voice said, “Roselyn?”
The voice was Spencer’s—and he still wore Philip’s old garments, and a bemused expression.
Roselyn gaped at the identical face grinning down at her in the bed.
Chapter 27
The man who looked like Spencer—but wasn’t—tugged her closer. She gave him a quick elbow to the stomach, and as he collapsed with a groan, she rolled out of bed and onto the floor.
Spencer was immediately there to pick her up and draw her into his arms, and while she clung to him, she stared at the other man, now lounging back against the pillows and watching her beneath half-lowered lids.
“Spencer, you said you had a brother,” she finally said, “but you never said he was your twin.”
Spencer squeezed her tighter. “It never came up. This is Alex—who’d better keep his hands to himself from now on. Roselyn, I’ve been so worried! Where have you been? How did you escape?”
She still frowned at his brother. “But I called you Spencer, and you didn’t correct me!”
