Page 28 of The Dravenhearst Brides
—A
Margot’ssleepwasfitful.She dreamed in black and white. Dreamed of magnolia trees and cobwebbed chandeliers. Of a color-bleached stained-glass window and moonbeams over mahogany floors. The train of a wedding gown slithering up a stairwell. A bridal veil disappearing around a corner. A lilting laugh in the distance.
Margot gave stuporous chase, possessed. The hallway lengthened with every stumbling step. Tunneling. Growing. Longer. Colder.
The walls closed in. Her legs churned faster, breath fogging as the temperature plummeted. She slipped on ice, the floor rushing up to meet her. She braced for impact, but it never came.
Hands gripped her shoulders, halting her fall. Yanking her up.
Frigid nails dug into her skin. Pain. Sudden and sharp andreal.
A pair of black lips over sharp pearly white teeth. Lips twisting with derision as they spat,“Who thefuckare you?”
Margot jolted awake with a gasp, wrenched upright by the phantom yank. The tight press of invisible icy fingers still dug into her skin.
Beau stood in the open balcony doorway, silhouetted in moonlight and flanked by gauzy curtains blowing in the wind. His upper lip curled in a fearsome snarl, long hair standing on end down the length of his spine. He charged with a ripping growl. Margot’s heart seized with terror, imagining sharp canines tearing into her throat.
Move!
But she was frozen, spellbound. Only when Beau’s paws landed did the icy grip on her shoulders shatter. The force of the dog’s tackle pushed her down in the bed.
Margot cried out. Her arms, bare beneath the thin straps of a summer nightdress, were embedded with deep, slicing fingernail marks. A rivulet of blood dripped down her pale skin.
Beau’s canines vanished. He whined, pressing his muzzle into the trickle of blood.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, gently pushing him aside to strike a candle on her nightstand. She slid out of bed, light in hand, shivering.
There had been a woman in her room. She was sure of it. She’d heard her voice, felt the grip of her phantom fingers. Could smell jasmine on the air.
When Margot turned, her blood ran cold. Her wedding gown was draped over the foot of her bed. Lovingly. Deliberately.
She certainly hadn’t placed it there. Sheknewshe hadn’t—it had been stuffed into the corner of the closet only last night. So how…?
She gazed at her reflection in the vanity mirror, searching for answers. Her shivering silhouette stared back. In the mirror, she watched her breath fog in the frigid air. Her candle snuffed out, trailing smoke.
Margot glanced down. The flame in her hand still burned. But in the looking glass, only darkness. And there, over her left shoulder, shadows shifted. Movement. Margot leaned closer, could just discern the shape of a woman’s face. Watching her.
She spun.
No one was there.
A rumble outside shattered the stillness of the night. Margot rushed to the balcony. The roadster was pulled in front of the manor, headlights on and engine sputtering to life. A man’s broad figure puttered around it. His face was illuminated briefly as he crossed in front of the hood.
Merrick.
Her night skirt rustled. Beau slunk to her side, his neck stretched out, watching his master.
Merrick climbed into the roadster. The engine turned over with a roar, and the motorcar shot forward, disappearing into the night.
“Beau?” She looked to the dog for answers, knowing he had none to give.
The mutt prowled away, down the length of the balcony. At the far end, another set of white curtains shifted in the breeze. The balcony connected her room to Merrick’s.
Margot chewed her lip. Her husband had slipped out of his bed, out of their home, in the dead of night. Given his reputation, there was only one logical conclusion…and combined with the fact he refused to touch her, it was a damning realization indeed.
Merrick had a mistress.
She was such a fool. She spun on her heel and threw herself back into bed, no longer caring about the nightmare that awakened her or the puzzle of the wedding gown at the foot of her bed. Not any of it.
