Page 54 of His Haunted Duchess
Frederic’s eyes followed her.
“Are you certain you’re well?”
Her conscience and fatigue held her in mutual silence. Frederic pulled a dusty bottle from the sideboard.
“I was just about to have a glass of wine. Could I get you one?” He uncorked the bottle. Caroline watched as he filled it. “If you would allow me, of course, to keep you company?”
Caroline moved hesitantly to a chair. He had exerted himself today, working long hours on estate business. She didn’t want to weary him with her own troubles—especially not the evidence of her curse.
“It is very late in the day to be searching for something to read,” he remarked, sipping at his glass. “Why exactly did you say you were awake?”
Caroline stared at her glass.
“Nightmares,” she said barely above a whisper. “I’ve been having them—frequently.”
Frederic sat down his wine glass.
“No doubt you have heard—rumors about my past,” she began, “about how I received these injurious scars.”
She raised her hand until it was parallel to her face. Frederic frowned.
“I have indeed heard some stories, but I have put little stock in them. I would much rather hear it from your own lips.”
Caroline sighed and took another fortifying sip of wine.
“Many years ago, my family—known by Dresher—was bound on a return trip in our carriage. We had been to visit my Aunt Olivia, whom you know. The weather was spotty, but small squalls were common for that time of year, and we decided to return home regardless.”
She took a deep breath.
“Suddenly, the weather on the road changed. The wind drove the rain against the windowpanes like wolves after a sheep. As the carriage passed over the river, it swelled and tore out the bridge from under the very wheels. The carriage?—”
She covered her mouth with her hand, breathing through her nose. Frederic rubbed a hand across his chin.
“Go on,” he said slowly. “And then?”
“The carriage sank into the waves, dragging all souls with it—all but mine. The glass from the carriage window tore my face and arm, but somehow, I made it to the surface.”
She shivered. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.
“The water swirled all around me. I had no hope for life nor help when?—”
She stopped and took a shaky breath.
“Sometimes in my dreams, I see a dark stranger—a figure at the edge of the water—whether to pull me forward or push me back, I cannot tell. The next I remember, I awoke at my aunt’s home, badly injured with cuts all along my arm and side. These two scars—” She traced them with her fingers. “These two are all that remain.”
She shivered. It was so painful in the telling—so painful and such a welcome and blessed relief. She wrapped the robe closer around her.
Frederic was silent, staring at her. His eyes flickered with a strange light.
“The fear that torments me the most isn’t the stranger,” she continued. “It’s the water—dark, swishing, overwhelming?—-”
The same, cloying fear clutched at her now, laboring her breath, restricting her chest. She couldn’t escape, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t?—
And then Frederic’s arms were around her, wrapping her close like a blanket. He placed his hand gently over her mouth.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
She struggled to obey, wrestling against the fear that held her bound.
