“I hear you enjoy reading,” he said.
“I do,” she replied, moving past him toward the shelves.
“Then Mr. Harker knows you well.”
She turned to find him directly behind her, sending her heart racing. She hadn’t heard him approach.
“Yes,” she said, steadying herself. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
“So he is like family.”
“I would say so.” She turned back to the books, fixing her gaze on the spines, though the words blurred together.
“Then he must know all your secrets.”
“I don’t believe I have any.”
“Ah.” The Count leaned against the shelf beside her, his gaze fixed on her face. “That cannot be true. Every woman has her secrets. It is the nature of your sex.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him about the other wing of the castle, about the book and the shadowedfigure—but fear held her tongue. The thought of being abandoned again, left alone in this place, was too much to bear.
“And you?” she asked instead, glancing at him. “You have no secrets?”
He tilted his head, that familiar, almost feline gesture, as though he were sizing up his prey. “I have a history, certainly,” he said. “I have lived many lives. But my desires are simple.”
She swallowed and turned back to the shelves.
“And women?” she asked, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Are we truly so complex? So difficult to understand?”
He stepped closer, his hands settling at her waist and drawing her back against him. She tensed at the unfamiliar intimacy, even as a spark of desire flared low in her belly.
“Complex?” he murmured, bending toward the hollow of her neck. “Certainly.” His breath warmed her skin, and she shivered. “Difficult to understand? I would not say so. One need only be willing to observe.”
His lips brushed her neck, and her mouth went dry, some part of her wanting to give in to the warmth of his affections. But then she remembered that night on the walkway, the passion he had coaxed from her, only to disregard her with so little care.
She slipped gently from his grasp and walked over to the couch, putting distance between them.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” he said softly.
She stared into the flames of the hearth, aware of his gaze lingering in the corner of her vision.
She couldn’t meet his eyes, too overwhelmed by the treacherous sensations stirring in her body. She wanted him, wanted to be with him. That was not a sin, seeing as he was her husband. It was all a woman could hope for in an arrangement such as this—not to cower from her husband’s touch. And yet the thought of letting him near, of releasing the passion deep within her, only for him to leave her again . . . it was too much.
The Count followed her to the couch and sat on its arm. He reached out, brushing strands of hair from her face. “Tell me what troubles you, wife.”
“You left me,” she said. The words were sharper—and far more honest—than she had intended. After a night without sleep, after the terrible dreams, the fear, the isolation, her defenses were crumbling. “You were gone for days. You didn’t even tell me you were leaving.”
She swallowed hard, unwilling to let a tear fall before him.
“I apologize,” he said softly. “But I assure you, it was never my intention to leave you feeling . . . such a sense of abandonment.”
“I didn’t feel abandoned,” she said. But as the silence stretched between them, she knew it was untrue. She had felt abandoned. He had left without explanation, without warning, leaving her to wait and wonder.
Mina glanced toward the doorway, not seeing Sofia, though she assumed the woman lingered somewhere beyond. She lowered her voice as she said, “You are my only real company here. Without you, my days are empty.” She flicked a glance up at him, catching something like sympathy in his eyes. “I’m not asking for pity. I only—” Her voice faltered. “I would appreciate knowing when you will be gone. Or when you will be busy.”
For a moment, he said nothing. He seemed to weigh her words carefully.
“I see,” he said at last. “It appears I am still growing accustomed to being a husband.” He rose and moved to the mantle, leaning against it. “I have always believed that being a husband meant providing—for one’s wife, for one’s household.” His voice carried a note of fervor. “I am ambitious, Wilhelmina. I have a need to build, to acquire, to conquer.”
