Alban seemed to ignore Gray’s pointed glare. His friend continued blithely, “As a native of this region, I’m quite familiar with these lands. I’d be happy to assist you both in mapping out a route that provides the most thorough overview of the area, if you wish to look for willows with Lord Camville.”
“Perhaps you should simply escort my wife yourself,” Gray offered dryly.
“Nay, I couldn’t.” Alban feigned courtly surprise. “That pleasure is not mine to enjoy.”
If Elise noticed the undercurrents of his exchange with Alban, she hid it well. Glancing at her to gauge her response, Gray felt a flash of concern; her face had gone ashen again, and those graceful hands were clenched still, as before, in her lap.
“My lady, are you ill?” he asked quietly. “Shall I—”
“Ah, my dear new brother by marriage. A thousand pardons to you and my sister for my absence.”
Gray snapped his gaze to Eduard, who talked as he approached, his face sharp with an expression that for some reason made Gray’s hand itch to slip down and grip the hilt of his broadsword. That Eduard would throw down a challenge here and now at the wedding feast seemed unlikely, but Gray knew from experience that anything was possible with the man. Hatred for him rose full in his throat again, along with a battle-honed instinct to gut him where he stood. Gray stood to face his rival, noticing that Elise pushed herself slowly to her feet as well.
Yet instead of issuing a challenge, Eduard thrust his hand forward with a brocade-wrapped bundle clutched in his fist. “’Tis here, finally. The wedding gift that I wanted to give to my dear sister.” As he swung the parcel toward Elise, its wrapping fell away, revealing a beautiful oil portrait of two blond children, clutching hands and smiling in their matching silken garments.
Elise sucked in her breath, reacting, Gray decided, as if her brother dangled a snake in her face. Eduard’s lip edged up at one corner. “Come, sister, and accept your gift. ’Tis a fine copy of the twins, is it not? I had this portrait of Ian and Isabel commissioned earlier, as a memento of home, and it has only just arrived by messenger.”
“Twins?” Gray asked, feeling the bottom drop from his stomach. Alban caught his gaze, concern written in his expression. Gray clenched his jaw, willing the painful memories of Gillian back; he concentrated instead on the portrait and his certainty that the children painted there must be related to his new wife and her brother. “Who are they?”
“They—they’re—” Elise tried to answer, but she sounded breathless and shaky.
“’Tis a portrait of our niece and nephew, Ian and Isabel. They are the children of our elder departed brother, Geoffrey, and Elise became quite attached to them. I thought ’twould bring her pleasure to be able to gaze upon their faces whenever she wished.”
Grayson instinctively gripped his wife’s elbow when she swayed and clutched the edge of the table. “Are you unwell, lady?” he murmured again, this time with more insistence.
After a strained pause, she shook her head. “Nay, I’m fine.”
Looking to Eduard, she leveled her gaze at him. “’Tis just that this gift was unexpected. And I—I am overcome by the stunning likeness that the artist achieved.” Gently shaking Gray’s hand from her arm, she stood erect under her own power. “Would it be possible to grant me a few moments with my brother? I wish to…to thank him in private for his gift.”
Gray nodded in silence, watching the purposeful rhythm to Elise’s steps as she walked with Eduard to a more secluded area of the hall. Though he caught only glimpses of her profile, he couldn’t miss the tight line of her lips or her sudden pallor.
Alban moved in close behind Gray. “’Tis a strange reaction from your wife.” He glanced to the portrait that had been left partially wrapped on the table. “The gift is beautiful, yet she seemed none too pleased with it.”
Gray’s eyes narrowed as he studied the hushed conversation taking place between brother and sister across the hall. “Aye, ’tis odd indeed.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s more to all of this than either of them are letting on.”
He settled his wife into his sight like a hunter marks his prey. Sitting down, he leaned his elbow on the table and absently rubbed his finger across his lip as he let his gaze bore into her, relentless. Penetrating.
Finally he saw a delicate shudder ripple up her back. Like a cat alerted to danger, she looked at him sideways, her glance barely connecting with his before shifting away again. After a few more murmured words to Eduard, she turned to inquire something from one of the lady maids who stood ready to accompany her to the bridal chamber. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, she skittered from the hall, casting one more anxious glance at Gray before she began to climb the steps that led to his chamber.
As he watched her go, realization stamped a burning brand across his chest and deep into his groin. Heat flooded him, for the time being masking the suspicion that had begun to cloud his mind. He understood with sudden clarity that his wife was going upstairs for a particular reason tonight, and it threatened to make him cease taking the deep, regular breaths that usually filled his lungs…
Because he realized that at this very moment, Elise was leaving the hall to ready herself for their marriage bed.
Chapter 2
Darkness blanketed the chamber in velvet folds, mirroring the bone-deep weariness Catherine felt seeping through her limbs. Confronting Eduard had sapped the last of her strength, and seeing her children’s portrait had ground her soul to nothingness.
She sank onto a bench by the fire, aware that for the first time since this morning she was alone. Thankfully, Grayson had squashed the revelers’ plans for the customary, rollicking escort of men to their bridal rooms. She needed fear nothing now but her husband’s entrance to their chamber.
Her arms hung limp by her sides, her hands resting on the cushion. Her body felt depleted, yet her mind burned feverishly with images of the day. It was finished, God help her, the advance and retreat, the posturing and pretense. For better or worse, she was Baron Grayson de Camville’s new wife. His counterfeit bride.
Mustering the strength to look around, Catherine took in the comfortable arrangements of her husband’s bedchamber—her bedchamber now, as well. The thought filled her with dread. All that saved her from collapsing under the atrocity of what Eduard wanted her to do was the knowledge that she wasn’t expected to act against her husband for several months.
Eduard had instructed her on the long journey to Ravenslock; first, she must establish trust. Become the dutiful, loving wife. Then, when sufficient time had passed, Eduard would send word to her, and his hireling would strike; when it was over, none would dare suspect the loyal wife of complicity in her husband’s death.
Quivers rippled through her stomach again, making her shudder. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up to unfasten the circlet from her brow. ’Twas time to prepare herself for the farce of her wedding night. She slipped her amethyst kirtle over her head. But she paused before removing her smock. Somehow the thought of exposing her skin to the night air made her cringe. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. It would seem too final.
And yet she knew the time was fast coming when she must submit to Grayson de Camville, to her husband’s most intimate caresses. To his touch and his possession. And it was going to be all she could do not to weep and beg him to leave her alone.
