When he finally shut the door of the music room behind him, he found his lungs were capable of pulling in air once more.
***
Amelia held the candle aloft, peering around the corner to the stairs. She had not paid close enough attention earlier during her very discomfiting tour with Lord Norwich, and now she hadn’t a clue which stairs, if any, would make noise. And she really did not want to be found wandering about just now. She would have to remain on this level of the home. If her memory was to be trusted, there was a sitting room around the corner. Pulling her dressing gown tighter—though it covered even more than her dresses—she crept down the hall.
After easing two doors open that only led to guest chambers, she found the room she was in search of. It was dark—the curtains drawn. And it suited her needs perfectly.
A particularly comfortable-looking armchair beckoned her, and she gave in to its pull, dragging it a bit out of the line of sight from the door and angling it toward the back wall, before she tucked herself in. It was as soft as she’d anticipated. But still, nerves bit at her, making her shift from one way to another.
How pathetic she was. A locked door between her and her new husband was not enough—she had needed to find a room to hide away her wedding night in. But she would not allow Lord Norwich into her chamber, and she could not be sure he wouldn’t force his way inside.
The door creaked behind her, and she stiffened. A maid? Come to... dust? In the middle of the night? Wholly plausible. Entirely. Still, she sunk into the upholstery—or tried to.
A chair to her left groaned as someone sat.
A maid would not be sitting. And there was only one other person in this home who was not a servant. Amelia swallowed.
Oh, good gracious. Was Lord Norwich sitting beside her even now? Did he know she was there? She didn’t dare look.
Another groan came from the chair, the man was shifting about, much as she had been moments before her sanctuary had been invaded and she’d been forced to turn into a statue for fear of being found. Had he come in search of her? Had he been to her room? She tried to dredge up some of the anger she had felt during their wedding to protect her. But it was hard when she was feeling so very overwhelmed by fear. Could she sneak out? How close exactly was he? With precise, slow movements, she began to turn her head in his direction.
“Gads!” The sudden shout nearly sent her toppling from her chair. Lord Norwich shot to his feet at the same time as Amelia, and they each took several tottering steps backward, coming to a stop on either side of a pair of chairs. She stared at him, aghast. He stared back in much the same manner. His gaze flicked to her unbound hair, her hand clutching her dressing gown at her throat, then her wide eyes.
“I apologize. I did not—I thought—I assumed you would be in your—” He cut himself off several times, stopping and starting sentences before he gave up entirely and simply took to running a hand through his hair. His cravat was discarded, as was his jacket. And peering across at him, the fear of just what sort of relationship she had entered into blanketed her as successfully as the darkness of the room.
Several long, tense moments passed. “Did you... become lost?”
She blinked at him. “No.” The word wavered. Why did the word have to waver?
“Oh. Do you, ah, generally inhabit sitting rooms in the middle of the night?”
“Do you?”
He chuckled, appearing more comfortable now. She did not have that luxury. In that moment, she felt fully at his mercy. Being at the mercy of a renowned rake was not a position she would wish upon her very worst enemy.
“I do not, in fact,” he said.
“Then why are you here?”
“Now there is a good explanation for that. But it is rather embarrassing, so I do not particularly wish to divulge it.”
“Very well.”
“But since we are married, I suppose I ought to divulge it.”
“You do not—we do not have to do anything simply for the sake of our marriage.”
He watched her closely. Had he caught her meaning? Her way of trying to tell him that this was not a normal marriage at all, and could they please continue onward as if it were not? Namely, without intimate relations.
Then he shook his head. “You are right. We do not.”
She nodded.
He watched her a moment longer, then with a dip of his head, he turned. Was he leaving? A sigh of relief escaped her. But then, at the door, he turned back, a ghost of that lopsided smile on his face. “You need not hide in sitting rooms, Amelia. I will not accost you in your room.”
And then he was gone. She stared at the spot he had vacated. Breathing came a bit easier but still not readily. Did that mean he would make no advances on her? And why had he been in the sitting room at all? Those questions and more spun about her mind, nearly making her dizzy.
It was a full quarter of an hour before she felt safe to return to her own room. But it was much longer before she was capable of sleep.
