With an exhale, she sat up. Moonlight sifted through the splits of her drapes, illuminating the room enough for her to see. She flung her covers aside and climbed out of the bed, slipping quietly out of the room with a candle in hand.
Amelia wandered along a labyrinth of corridors, hoping to find the library. Perhaps she could read until exhaustion overcame her and she had no more energy to think about her husband. Each time he infiltrated her mind’s eye, a robust desire surged within her, sending her stomach into a flutter of butterflies. Adesire for what, however, she couldn’t ascertain. His company? That would be absurd!
She paused, placing her hand on her stomach in an attempt to quell the fluttering. Just as she was about to resume her journey, however, a soft thump from a nearby room caught her attention. Amelia froze, her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears. Another thump followed, leading her to suspect a servant might be the source.
But what could a servant be doing here at such an unconventional hour? She tiptoed towards the door. She quickly realized she wasn’t familiar with this particular section of the castle to know what lay on the other side, but her curiosity got the better of her and she gently pushed the door open, stealing a quick glance.
A handful of candles illuminated a chaise and some chairs surrounding a small circular table, revealing it to be one of the castle’s parlors. A hulking form was crouched on the ground in the corner, near to the sideboard. Amelia slipped through the door as a note of recognition whispered through her.
The sight of the familiar curls of black hair momentarily left her puzzled. The figure didn’t notice that she was approaching from behind, so caught up was he in searching for something on the floor. He had a full glass of brandy on the ground next to him, as if he had set it down there without thinking.
“Gideon?” she called softly.
He jolted, though he remained crouched. Slowly, Gideon turned his head to look up at her.
Amelia’s heart stilled in her chest at the sight of him. She had never seen him so haggard, with dark shadows encircling his red-rimmed eyes. He gradually pulled himself up with a groan, then bent down once more to reach for his drink, unsteady on his feet. He staggered and a splash of brandy sloshed over the side onto his hand.
Only then did she realize that the bandage was no longer around his wound. The slice on his finger had opened up and there was a thin line of blood trailing down his hand.
“I dropped it,” he mumbled. “Cannot find it.”
“What can’t you find?” she asked gently. Beyond his evident drunkenness, there was something different about him, something off. Amelia knew she should tread lightly.
Gideon didn’t bother answering her. He took a hefty swig from his glass before stumbling into an armchair beside the fireplace, miraculously managing not to spill the remainder of the drink. He sighed deeply, letting his head fall against the backrest of the chair as he closed his eyes.
Amelia watched him for a long moment. Then she turned back, set her candle down, and knelt by the sideboard. Bending slightly, she realized what he had been looking for. She reached underneath the sideboard, retrieving a fallen box, and then made her way toward him.
With gentle movements, she knelt beside him. Gideon started when she tenderly took his injured hand in hers, bolting upright.
“You don’t have to,” he murmured.
“I want to,” she answered without looking at him. She wasn’t going to question why she was doing this. Reflection could wait; her current focus was solely on tending to his wound.
Gideon didn’t say anything but she could feel his heavy gaze watching her every move. As deftly as she could, Amelia opened the box to reveal the array of clean bandages and salves for minor injuries. She ignored the salves, since she knew nearly nothing about medicine, and reached for the bandage instead.
“Have you called for a physician to see this yet?” she asked, her focus unwavering as she worked on his hand.
“I have not.”
“You lecture me for missing meals, yet you neglect your own well-being?”
“It is not the same thing.”
“I beg to differ, Your Grace.”
“Don’t do that.” His tone was soft enough to draw her attention. She didn’t stop the task of cleaning the blood from his hand.
“Don’t do what?” she asked, her voice just barely above a whisper.
“Don’t address me with that title. You have been calling me Gideon since our dinner together. I like it better that way.”
Amelia bit her bottom lip, lowering her eyes back to his wound. Now that his hand was clean, she gently wrapped the bandage around his finger, acutely aware of the fact his gaze had not once strayed from her face. The tension in the air was so thick that it threatened to choke her, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain that he could hear it.
When she was done, she sat back on her heels, staring at his bandaged hand, lacking the courage to meet his eyes just yet. “Please have a physician take a look at your wound. It would not do to lose a hand to infection because of silly pride.”
“Yes, my dear.” His swift acquiescence both surprised her and stirred some wanton thoughts. He shifted slightly, and Amelia started as his cool fingertips grazed her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to meet his, heart fluttering at the lust she saw glowing in his eyes.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured. And, with the way he stared at her, no words felt truer. His fingers curled against her reddened cheeks. “I have never met a woman like you, Amelia. You’re different. You’re…”
