Page 38 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Pom Pom was deep in sleep, one foot kicking randomly in chase of some imaginary rabbit.
Rosamund rose, slipping a white angora shawl about her shoulders then lighting a lamp. With the flame turned low, she made her way along the passage, past her mother’s door, to the far end and onwards—only her own feet bringing a squeak to the old wooden boards.
From the long gallery, she’d be able to look down into the courtyard and across to the other wings.
If someone were about, she wished to discover for herself. And, if Bessie were still within these walls, somewhere unseen, she would do her best to find her.
All was as it had been when last she’d beheld this part of the abbey, though moonlight bathed where the sun had touched. Leaving the lamp upon the floor, Rosamund padded on soft feet past the portraits in their heavy frames. How bright the moon was, illuminating every corner of the old cloister. There was no movement across the cold flags below, nor in the tall windows upon the other sides. No face looking back at her, nor candle moving through the house.
She observed the closed doors of the chapel, then the side windows. For a moment, Rosamund thought she saw a light within, but then it was gone. Perhaps, it had been the moonlight glinting upon the glass.
She was standing before the painting of the late duchess: Titania, in silvered light, with her hair flowing loose over her white gown.
Rosamund took a step forward, gazing upward, and then a cloud passed across the moon: dimming its illumination, closing the space around her.
The dull glow of her lamp remained where she’d entered, casting a faint pool of light, but the far end of the room was obscured.
A prickle came upon her neck.
Had there been a footstep—or merely a disturbance to the air?
“Violetta?” The whisper came from the shadows.
There was a movement to Rosamund’s left.
The moon appeared again, flooding the gallery with its brilliance, and a man stepped fully into the ghostly light.
“Violetta!” His expression was both disbelieving and elated.
Rosamund remained fixed where she stood as the duke strode then ran, closing the distance between them.
His eyes were unnaturally bright, staring into hers with frightening intensity. “You have come.”
He pulled her tightly into his arms.
“Your Grace. I cannot—” Rosamund struggled for breath, so strong was his embrace. “Stop, I beg.”
As quickly as he’d taken her to him, he released her. The wild flame in his eyes retreated and the joy that had transformed him turned to ash.
Rosamund swayed but he grasped her again, this time placing his hands upon her shoulders. His touch glided up her neck until his palms cupped her jaw. “Forgive me. Briefly, I thought…but you shouldn’t be here, wandering in the night. Were you to stumble, who would come to your aid?”
Lord Studborne bent closer, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin of her throat, one hand moving to her nape, twining in her hair.
“You were searching, though you aren’t sure for what, wishing the nameless to be known. So it shall, when we're together. I've waited long enough, and you're ready for the ceremony. You want to give yourself, to become what you're destined to be.”
The duke’s words were like an enchantment, heavy upon Rosamund, making her limp.
In a moment of heightened emotion, he’d called her by the name of his last duchess. Was she ready to become the next, to give herself into his care, to belong only to him?
The thought scared her.
Her lips parted, to protest at the way he held her, and what he was saying. She needed more time.
It occurred to Rosamund that the duke intended to kiss her, and there was nothing she could do to prevent him. She was at every disadvantage. She’d placed herself in an impossible situation—wandering alone, wearing only her night attire. And the duke was master of this house.
Surely, he would only take a kiss, and then escort her back to her room. What could she do but comply? She closed her eyes, waiting for his mouth to crush upon hers, telling herself that she would submit to this as a necessity. In the morning, she would be able to think more clearly.
But the kiss did not come.
