It had been this way now for three days. Every couple of hours, it was, Caspian would walk into a room of his to find something there that should not have been. His wife’s gloves on his bed. A book she owned, on his desk. Yesterday, when he retired to the drawing room for a drink, he had forced down a snarl when he saw that the liquor cabinet had been moved across the room. Worse, when he opened it, the liquor was gone.
“She was insistent,” a young maid had explained when he’d demanded to know where his liquor had gone. “Her Grace… she… she… she wished for me to clean the cabinet, and she asked that the bottles be stored in the kitchen.”
“Did you not think to return them once you were done?” he had asked calmly, even though his body trembled.
“She told me not to. Oh, I am so sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to upset you.”
“Upset me? Do I look upset?” He did look upset, and the fear in the maid’s eyes told him as much.
Caspian knew that it was a long shot, but he hoped that after his performance at breakfast three days ago, that his wife might have given up on this absurd notion of getting to know him better.
I suppose I thought she might succumb to the reality of the situation and admit that getting to know one another is a fool’s errand that serves no purpose. It looks now like I am the fool.
She was playing a new game, it seemed to him. One that he understood well enough, and one that he would not lose to.
Caspian had been avoiding her these past three days also, explained why she was doing this; her vein efforts to try and force a confrontation of some kind from him. Oh, she was something else.
What frustrated Caspian more than anything else was that he had been forced to avoid her in the first place. This was his home. This was his sanctuary. He should not have to hide like some scared child. He should not have to avoid his own wife, as if being in the same room would ruin him.
Which it just might do. And that, as much as anything, is the problem.
He stalked the office as his breathing began to grow heavy, a commonality that he was growing all to use to lately.
Caspian still struggled to comprehend what had happened to him on their wedding night. He had not meant for it to happen. He had tried to fight it the best he could. But the moment he walked into Thalia’s bedroom and saw her sitting on her bed in that light shift… he lost control like he never had before.
Thalia was always going to be a danger. And even before he entered her room, Caspian had been aware of his need to control his urges. But she had a way of undoing him that he could not explain, and whenever he was around her…
Which is the exact reason I have been happy to avoid her all week.
When she suggested that they take a month before going to bed, Caspian had been relieved. An embarrassment to admit, but it was the truth. He needed to get away. He needed to compose himself. He needed… he needed… he needed to sleep with his wife, was what.
He could not say how this month was going to unfold. He could not say what he meant to do. All he could say was that when the time came for himself and Thalia to go to bed, the chances that he would be able to control himself appeared to be very slim.
“Your Grace!” a voice cried suddenly from downstairs, pulling Caspian from his thoughts. “Your Grace!”
“What is it now?” Caspian snarled, which itself was strange, as he never lost his temper. What was his wife doing to him?
He strode through the house and down the hall until he came upon the cause of the chaos. And as was typical lately, his wife was to blame.
She was standing in the middle of the hallway, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth hanging open, and with a broken vase shattered at her feet. When Caspian came upon the scene, she slowly looked up, saw him standing there, and offered an apologetic smile.
“I swear it was an accident.”
Oh, how Caspian wanted to shout. How he wanted to scream. How he wanted to reprimand her for an act that he was almost certain to be purposeful.
She is trying her best to upset me. To make me angry. Why she is doing such a thing, I cannot say. Only that I can’t let her get to me.
“What happened?” he asked as he approached her.
“I was just looking at it, I promise,” she said. “But I wanted to see how heavy it was and – I am so sorry.” She dropped to her knees to pick it up.
“Don’t!” he exclaimed.
She froze and looked at him… and he saw the excitement in her eyes, brought about by the raising of his voice.
“The shards are sharp,” he said carefully. “You might cut yourself.” Standing nearby were several members of staff, and Caspian indicated at them to help clean up.
“I am so sorry,” she said again. “I did not mean it.”
