20
She couldn’t sleep. The fire had long since dwindled to embers, but Rosalind lay awake beneath her quilt, her eyes fixed on the shadows dancing across the ceiling. She could still recall the way Yuri’s hand had felt on her cheek, soft and warm as he’d wiped a tear away with his thumb.
And she could still see the look of worry that had crept into his eyes when she said she was searching her father’s study.
Her stomach let out a low growl, reminding her of the hunger pains she’d ignored for most of the evening, including during the library committee meeting.
She had Leeland to blame for them. He’d decided to start serving her food at meals. At first it had seemed thoughtful and gentlemanly—until she’d realized exactly how little food he planned to let her eat.
He’d barely set any food on her plate for both breakfast and lunch, so she’d been starved by the time dinner had rolled around. But Leeland had dished food onto her plate then too. When she’d reached for the platter of turkey for a second helping, he’d gripped her hand and told her she’d had plenty.And when the servant had come around with slices of pie for dessert, he’d told the servant that she didn’t need any pie either.
Father hadn’t said a word, and neither had Uncle Simon. All Father had talked about was their marriage contract and how it couldn’t be finalized until some unnamed associate arrived from San Francisco or Seattle or maybe even from Washington, DC.
She hadn’t quite caught where. She’d been too focused on the heaping platters of food in front of her that she could no longer help herself to.
Hopefully Leeland wouldn’t try to restrict her portions again tomorrow. She wasn’t sure she could endure another day of eating only bread, a small bowl of soup, and half a serving of turkey for dinner.
Her stomach growled again, and she threw off her covers. That was it. She was going to the kitchen. She padded across the floor and opened the door, then made her way down the familiar hallways and stairs despite the darkness.
When she reached the kitchen, she didn’t even need to light a lamp. Dim light emanated from embers in the stove’s hearth, allowing her to make her way across the flagstone floor to the pantry.
A plate sat waiting on the shelf at eye level, with pie and stuffing and two slices of cold turkey wrapped loosely in a linen cloth. Had Foster said something to the chef about how little she’d gotten to eat at dinner? She’d have to thank him in the morning.
She took the plate and set it on the table that the chef used for rolling out dough, then dragged a stool as close as she could to the hearth.
The house was cold at this time of night, but she’d been so hungry, she hadn’t thought to put on slippers or throw a wrapper on over her nightgown. She sank her fork into the pie first, never mind the turkey and stuffing on the opposite side of the plate.
Flavors exploded on her tongue. She didn’t know how their chef did it. All she knew was that pie wasn’t supposed to be this good. It seemed like it should be a sin, really, for pastry to melt in her mouth and berries to taste like they’d been sweetened by sunlight instead of sugar.
She closed her eyes as she chewed, letting the warmth of the embers in the stove and sweetness of the food ease some of the hunger gnawing inside her.
The house remained silent,the walls thick enough to muffle the wind, and even if Father discovered her here, he likely wouldn’t be angry over a quick visit to the kitchen. But she still ate her food as fast as she could, finishing the pie before moving on to the turkey and stuffing.
Once she was done, she pumped water into the sink and washed her plate, then dried it and put it away, removing all evidence that someone had visited the kitchen in the middle of the night.
She should probably go back to bed and catch a few hours of sleep before the scullery maid woke her early to search her father’s study. Except she still felt wide awake, and she had little desire to stare at the ceiling for several more hours until dawn lit the sky.
Should she try searching her father’s study now? It was half past two in the morning. No one was up. And this would give her an even longer amount of time to search than usual. She still hadn’t looked through the large cabinet with her father’s property ledgers and land deeds. Perhaps he’d hidden his bribery records in there.
Rather than take the stairs when she left the kitchen, she padded softly down the hallway and turned right. She was nearly to the study when a shadow separated itself from the wall.
“Well, well, well,” Leeland’s low voice echoed through the hallway. “This is a pretty sight.”
She froze. Could he tell she’d been to the kitchen? Would he be angry about her eating?
He stepped closer, then reached out and settled his large hand on her shoulder, letting his thumb stroke the skin of her neck. The scent of brandy clung to his breath, but his movements were too steady for him to be drunk. “This is a rather lovely nightgown. White, too. Nice and virginal.” He raked his gaze down her and smiled, but there was nothing kind about the curve of his mouth. “I’ll have more made before our wedding.”
Her stomach churned, and she tried to shrink against the wall. He was too large and too close. Too powerful.
He chuckled, low and deep, then his thumb settled over the hollow of her throat. “What’s wrong, love? Does the thought of being dressed in white when I bed you for the first time make you uncomfortable?”
The thought of him bedding her at all made her beyond uncomfortable, though she didn’t say so.
“My only problem with your outfit is that you’re not wearing your sapphire necklace.” His voice grew lower. “Whyever not?”
She swallowed, but it did nothing to alleviate the growing pressure of his thumb against her throat. Did he realize how hard he was pressing? That his thumb was positioned right over her windpipe? It wasn’t that she couldn’t breathe at all, but she certainly couldn’t breathe as easily as usual.
“I asked you a question.” His eyes hardened. “Why aren’t you wearing your sapphire necklace?”
