He hesitates on the opposite side of the bed from the one I chose.
“What is it?” I ask. “Did I take the side you prefer?”
“No.” He swallows and glances away, as if he’s embarrassed. “I have never shared my bed with anyone for an entire night.”
“Never?”
He shakes his head.
So he hasn’t been married before. Or if he was, he and his wife slept in separate rooms.
I fold back the covers on his side and pat the sheets. He climbs in with me and lies down stiffly at first, but as soon as I move close to him, he relaxes, letting out a long breath.
“Don’t be afraid, husband,” I say softly, stroking his chest. “I don’t bite.”
His chuckle is raw and dark. “What if I do?”
Playfully I push one finger between his lips, into his mouth. “Try it, I dare you.”
His chest surges, his breath coming heavier, and for an instant his jaws tighten around my finger, pinching it slightly. Then he takes my wrist and pulls my finger out from between his teeth, kissing the tip of it. “Sleep, wife.”
At first I’m afraid I’ll lie awake for hours because this place and this arrangement are so new. But thanks to the night breeze outside and the steady breathing of my husband, I’m able to sleep.
11
Inthe night I wake up, and he’s gone.
The instant my eyes open in the darkness, I know he isn’t there, but I feel across the sheets for him anyway. The place where he lay is empty and cool to the touch. He has been absent for a while.
I sit up, shivering from cold, prey to a creeping horror. It’s so dark in the room that I can’t see a thing.
“Beresford,” I whisper, and then I try his first name. “Theron.”
No reply.
Throwing back the blankets, I hop out of bed, and then I lay the covers back in place so my spot will remain somewhat warm. I don’t know where my robe is. I don’t remember where any lamps or candles are in this room. The fire is out.
Hands outstretched to keep myself from running into things, I make my way to the bathroom door. It’s open, and a bit of moonlight shines through the frosted glass of the narrow window. Beresford isn’t there.
I return to the dark bedroom, locate the door, and open it. The hallway feels even colder, and it’s drafty, like the house is breathing. There’s no light to be seen.
“Beresford,” I repeat.
If only there were servants here, someone I could ring for, another person who could help me look for him, whose presence might help me feel less terrified.
“Where are you?” I call, louder.
I make my way along the hallway to the lofted area of the second floor, where there’s a row of windowed doors leading to the exterior balcony. When I push back the curtains from one of the doors, watery moonlight flows in, allowing me to see my surroundings a little better.
Grasping the railing of the inner balcony, I peer over it and scan the front hall below. “Beresford?”
There’s no reply, but it’s a huge house. He could be anywhere, unable to hear me. He isn’t used to sharing a bed with someone; maybe he couldn’t sleep. Maybe he decided to wander the halls or use one of the guest rooms. I should return to our room and try to rest.
A door closes somewhere below, and I startle, my pulse spiking. A few seconds later, Beresford crosses the entry hall, heading for the stairs. He’s wearing a long robe that flows behind him as he walks, and his arms are laden with firewood.
My first impulse is to run back to our room, slip into bed, and pretend I never left, but he’s climbing the stairs too quickly for that, so I move toward him like a ghost in the moonlight.
When he reaches the top of the stairs, he spots me standing there in my pale nightdress. His eyes widen slightly, but he gives no other sign of being surprised.
