Page 23 of Captured By the Cold Duke
Thomas, meanwhile, went to the window, where he waited less than a minute before seeing the telltale bolt of lightning illuminate the sky.
“Thunder is next,” he murmured to himself, and seconds later, the boom of the thunder seemed to rip open the sky.
At once, he heard the sound of something falling over in the room next to him, and he would have been willing to bet that it was Cherie knocking over something in her fear. He crossed to the door that separated their chambers and pressed an ear against it. He couldn’t hear much, except for the sound of footsteps going back and forth.
She’s pacing.
Behind him, lightning flashed in the window again, and, once more, the boom of thunder shook the house. It seemed to be getting closer and louder, and indeed, the rhythm of his wife’s footsteps increased at the same time.
There was a knock on the door, and his valet came in holding a small box.
“The wax you asked for, Your Grace,” he said, handing the box to Thomas before bowing and leaving the room.
Thomas turned to the door that separated his room from Cherie’s and hesitated.
She is still mad at you. But he couldn’t stand it anymore. Her anger, his own foolishness, how much of a mess he’d made of his marriage. They’d only been married a fortnight, and already, everything was a disaster.
Another clap of thunder sounded from outside, and Thomas didn’t even think; he raised his hand and knocked on his wife’s bedchamber door.
It seemed that she wasn’t thinking much either, because the door flew open at once, and Thomas looked down to see the fear-stricken face of his wife staring up at him.
“What is it?” she whispered, her face as white as a sheet.
Thomas held out the box. “I have something for you.”
She gave him a curious, wary look, then took the box from him. Tentatively, she opened the lid, and then looked up at him. “Candle wax?” she asked.
“It’s for your ears,” he said. “I used to do this in India during theHolifestival, when the streets were so loud that I couldn’t sleep at night. The wax will fit right into your ears and blot out all the sound. Then you’ll be able to go to sleep and you won’t have to be afraid of the thunder.”
Cherie turned the wax over in her fingers, as if deciding what to make of it, and then looked back up at him.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked, gesturing to her room.
“Yes,” Thomas said, more quickly than was proper.
She raised an eyebrow. “For a nightcap, I meant.”
“I know,” he said hurriedly.
He followed her inside, and she poured them glasses of claret from a small decanter on her dressing table. There was another strike of lightning and clap of thunder as she was pouring the claret, and her hands shook so violently that she spilled some onto the serving tray.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the glass. As he took it, his hands brushed hers, and he was shocked by how cold they were.
“How did you know I was frightened of thunderstorms?” she asked, as she sat down at her vanity and gave him a searching look.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, surprised.
She gave him an uncertain look. “Remember what?”
“The second summer I came home from Cambridge with Aidan,” he said. “We were at your family’s country estate, and there was that big summer storm. You were young, then. Only nine years old. So you were already in bed by the time the thunder started. But after a particularly loud burst of thunder, you came bursting into the parlor where the adults were drinking brandy and playing whist, shouting for your mother. You were still in your nightdress! And although you were frightened, you were still so brave, and after your mother had calmed you down, you stayed and wanted me to teach you how to play whist.”
He laughed at the memory of the smart, curious little girl who had sat on the chair next to him, her feet not even touching the floor, and tried to comprehend the rules as he explained them to her.
“I remember that,” Cherie whispered. Her eyes were very wide, and there was a strange look on her face that he couldn’t read. “I didn’t realize that was you.”
“That was me,” he said, shrugging and trying to sound casual. “Your mother allowed you to stay until the worst of the storm had passed, and by the time you went back to bed, you had mastered the basics of the game. We were all very impressed.”
Cherie smiled. “You know, to this day, whist is still my favorite card game.”
