Juliana pulled away from him. Before she did, though, she saw his eyes flash with hurt. There was something there he did not want to tell her. Still, his words felt like a slap in the face, or worse.
And there it was. Even after a moment of passion, the gap between them became even wider.
“Go to your room, Juliana.”
Chapter 18
“Iwonder how long he will be gone,” Juliana said, trying to keep her voice neutral. There was no need to reveal what she felt about the situation. It was complex enough as it was.
She stood at the window and listened to the carriage wheels on the gravel until the sound faded entirely into the morning, and then stood there a little longer, though she recognized it as foolish and did so anyway.
“His Grace said that he would be gone for ten days, Your Grace,” Dorothea answered.
Just like hers, the maid’s tone was neutral. She was also trying not to express her fear of the Duke and his knowing that she was assisting the Duchess in whatever she might be planning. Cassian had already given the maid a cold stare upon discovering how his wife had left that other night.
“That should be enough,” Juliana said, stifling a grin.
She had wanted this. She had spent the better part of her weeks at Stonevale chafing under his watchful gaze, resenting the rules, and cataloging each restriction as further evidence of hisdetermination to keep her contained. His absence ought to have felt like liberation. The house was hers to move through as she pleased, without his green eyes tracking her across rooms or his low voice issuing instructions.
Instead, the house felt as though it were holding its breath, and she had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was holding hers along with it.
She turned from the window and tried to put her thoughts in some kind of order, which had proved considerably difficult since the night in his room. She was not naive enough to pretend that nothing had shifted between them. She had lain awake in her own bed until well past three in the morning, turning the event over and examining it from every possible angle, and she still had not arrived at any conclusion she was entirely comfortable with.
The problem, she had concluded around two in the morning, was not simply that she desired him. She had reluctantly accepted that truth some weeks earlier and had been managing it with moderate success. The problem was considerably more alarming than desire.
She was beginning totrusthim.
Marta’s situation still loomed, along with the secrets he guarded fiercely and the unresolved discussion about Kit that lingered between them like an immovable stone. Their marriage had started as a transaction, but was quietly transforming into something different without either of them explicitly agreeing. A fragile, inconvenient, and unwelcome trust existed between them, and she could not pretend otherwise.
She exhaled audibly, clasping her chest with one hand.
Juliana hated that she missed hearing the rhythmic thud of Cassian’s cane. She also hated how she felt abandoned, as if he had pulled the warmth of the house with him. It seemed pathetic that she would want the presence of the man who bought her independence merely to prove a point.
Pull yourself together, Juliana. There is work to be done.
As soon as Dorothea tended to other duties, such as ensuring Juliana’s dresses were all clean and ready for the next ball, the Duchess headed for the West Tower.
Juliana climbed the spiral stairs, breathless from the effort and the excitement of finally discovering what she sought. The wood groaned with her every step until she reached the top.
Just what is this place?
There was a door from which an amber light seemed to emanate. It was closed. She pushed it open, bracing herself for her worst nightmares to come to life. Perhaps she wondered whether she would find a woman dressed in tattered rags, tied to stone walls. She dreaded and anticipated proof that her husband might be a charming monster. Instead, she opened a world that smelled of beeswax, lavender, and even freshly brewed tea.
The room was filled with books and sketches. Plants at various stages were lined up expertly, in different shades of pencil. A fire crackled heartily, keeping the space warm. It was not the cold prison Juliana had expected. Not at all. Instead, it conveyed a life of quiet contemplation by a scholar who chose isolation.
What surprised her most was the two women sipping tea. The scene destroyed the remnants of her wild imagination. There, the Dowager Duchess sat ramrod straight, looking regal in what should have been a prison of an attic. Her silver hair wasperfectly coiffed, with nary a strand out of place. However, it was the fragile beauty across from her that caught Juliana’s attention.
The woman was about her age, perhaps slightly older. She had the same green eyes as Cassian, piercing yet gentle and curious. She did not have the storm clouds beyond the Duke’s eyes, but there was something hauntingly and achingly sad hidden beneath her otherwise genuine smile.
“There you are, Juliana,” the dowager said, as if the young duchess normally climbed the West Tower to visit and have tea with them. “I told Marta you were a very inquisitive young woman, and that only time would tell whether you would be able to resist. I was right.”
“Your Grace! I am so sorry if I am interrupting. Perhaps I am disturbing—” Juliana faltered.
She had thought about uncovering her husband’s secrets, but she was not prepared when she finally found out. Now, she found herself paralyzed, standing at the boundary between the time she was still in the dark corridor and the brightly lit tower room. The candlestick was merely a source of light, though the generous rays streaming into this space made it feel ridiculous that she had brought it as a weapon at all.
“Come inside,” the dowager interrupted, gesturing for her to come closer. “Juliana, this is my granddaughter, Marta. Marta, this is your brother’s wife.”
The ethereal beauty rose from her chair, her brown hair loose and nearly reaching her waist. Her dress was pale muslin, simple yet not drab. She was neither a ghost nor a prisoner, but a vibrant lady with an eager smile. Her demeanor was morebefitting a fae than a lady of the manor. Marta immediately reached for Juliana’s hands.
