“Was it that long, or do you need more?” I asked softly. Her lips trembled, but she remained silent. She touched the cascading strands as if afraid they’d vanish.
“My mother used to say my hair was spun spider silk.” Her voice was a whisper.
I swallowed hard, my hand still lingering right at her neck, stealing the warmth she gave off. “And she was right, Daphne.”
“Ten minutes to Dover! Gather your things!” the passing porter announced. We were nearly there. Why was I so annoyed by his words, then?
I leaned back, watching her trail her fingers through the length of her hair. I should have been smug. Or said something sarcastic. Instead, I smiled, hoping she wouldn’t notice how reluctant I was to leave.
Daphne
The Honeymoon Suite
The train hissed and stopped in a cloud of steam. It was close to midnight, but the train station was crowded with porters, late travelers, beggars and ladies with cheeks painted with too much rouge.
“Where are we going?” I asked while trying to keep up with Emrys’s wide stride. He was splitting the crowd like a ship cutting through waves.
“To spend the night. We’ll get the first ferry to Calais in the morning,” he said over his shoulder and headed to a brightly lit building close by. Electric letters over the golden entrance read: The Grand Hotel. I straightened my skirt and plucked some leaves clinging to the fabric. I frowned at my muddied hem, but the blood droplets all over Emrys’s shirt were far worse. Elegant couples were talking in the luxurious lobby as we entered, and, to my surprise, nobody paid us any attention. Well, at least my jewelry fit the grandeur of the hall. I followed Emrys to the marble reception desk, where a small army of porters and receptionists waited. Emrys strode to a man in a fashionable French suit behind the reception desk.
The man’s eyes flashed behind the golden frame of his monocle. That was it, I thought. He had noticed the blood, ourunusual appearances, my loose hair draping down my waist, and he’d call the police on us. And they’d contact Arthur. Fear, raw and ice-cold, paralyzed me, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
Emrys stood straight, looking down at the receptionist. He waved his hand, and the eyes of the clerk glazed.
“Welcome, Mr. Ravencourt. It’s good to have you back.” The thin lips of the receptionist stretched into an unnatural grin, and I looked around, hoping that nobody had noticed what happened.
Emrys casually threw some banknotes and some papers on the marble bar and said, “Two rooms for the night, please. With bathrooms.”
I swallowed hard. At any moment, the man would snap out of it and start shouting. Instead, a deep, dissatisfied furrow appeared between his gray brows.
“I’m afraid we’re all booked tonight, Mr. Ravencourt. We have only the honeymoon suite vacant.” Emrys stiffened for a moment.
The honeymoon suite? Surely, he wouldn’t—
“Excellent. The honeymoon suite it is!”
My mouth fell open, but before I could protest, he leaned in close—far too close—and murmured in my ear, loud enough for the receptionist to hear,
“You’ll have to endure my dreadful snoring, darling.”
He winked. “I’m sure my lovely wife will enjoy it as much as I will.”
His arm slid smoothly around my waist, pulling me against his side. My pulse raced.
The older man behind the desk smiled knowingly and dipped his pen in the inkwell.
“Very well, Mr. and Mrs. Ravencourt. Billy,” he called. “Show Mr. and Mrs. Ravencourt to the honeymoon suit.”
Wife. The word echoed in my mind a bit too long. He told them we were married. I’d have some serious talk with this arrogant son of a bitch.
My feet refused to obey me when I trudged behind them through the winding corridors drenched in light and gilded plaster vines.
The honeymoon suite was a pompous affair of cherub murals, paintings of naked nymphs, a large porcelain tub standing on lion’s feet in the middle of the room, and the worst of it all—a single king-sized bed with a lush red canopy.
The porter closed the door with a bow; the sound of the coins Emrys dropped into his hand cut off. I stood at the threshold while he walked to the tub, whistling a tune, and let the water run. When steam curled around, he pulled his blood-stained shirt over his head.
Heat crawled up my neck and probably tinted my face raspberry pink when I saw him shirtless. Unknown runes covered most of his muscled chest and chiseled stomach. Our eyes met, and he chuckled. “Do you like what you see, little thief?” he teased, testing the water with a hand. I turned away so fast I nearly knocked over the coat stand. “You could’ve warned me,” I mumbled. My eyes fixed firmly on a painting of some windswept cliffs.
He caught me off-guard. That was it.
