But the footsteps continued past her door without any change in their pace, moving on down the hall.
She sat, looking at the door.
He…he wasn’t coming.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Dominic.” Her voice came at a quarter past midnight.
Dominic set down the pen, his head snapping in the direction of the door in almost panic.
Then came the knocks, three measured raps.
It was almost hilarious how well he knew her voice now, well enough to know that it was certainly not a maid, because all his servants knew to announce themselves with two sharp raps.
He crossed the room and opened the door.
Annabelle stood in the corridor in her robe and nightgown, her dark hair loose over one shoulder, a candle in her hand. The corridor behind her was empty.
He stood in the doorway without speaking.
“I’d like to speak with you,” she said. “I thought if you won’t come to me, I’d go to you instead.”
Ah. That did not bode well for him.
He could not turn her away, what with her standing right in front of him now, so he stepped back, and she swept in with a confidence that threw him for a moment, as though she owned the room.
Blinking once, twice, three times, Dominic finally closed the door and moved to the fireplace, which gave him somewhere to be that was not in her immediate vicinity.
With her in that slip of a gown, it was imperative that he maintained as much distance as he could manage, otherwise…
“Well, what is this about?” He asked, clearing his throat once.
Don’t look, don’t look, reverberated like a litany in his skull, growing more and more desperate as the seconds passed.
She set the candle on the writing table and turned, her expression accusing. “Why haven’t you come to my room?”
Because he did not trust himself to maintain his control for long. Because she did not deserve him ruining her any more than he already had.
Instead, he said, “Our marriage doesn’t need to be… “ He kept his voice level, clearing his throat again. “I don’t think it serves either of us to pretend we’ll be an ordinary couple.”
“And what does that mean?” Annabelle’s expression was turning dangerously dark.
“It means we didn’t arrive at this marriage by conventional means.” He looked at the mantelpiece, unable to hold her gaze while he said the words. “We needn’t act as though we did.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “At least look at me when you say that.”
He looked at her, reflexively, not fully intending to. And it was among the worst decisions in a life that had not lacked for them. She was standing six feet from him in her nightgown with her hair down and her eyes very blue and very direct, and he wanted to cross the room, and he was not going to cross the room.
“We don’t have to consummate the marriage,” he said. “We married to prevent a duel… and contain the damage our recklessness caused. There is no requirement beyond that.”
The arm holding the candle dropped. The flame shivered and recovered. She looked at him steadily, and said nothing, and the nothing went on long enough that he had to resist the urge to fill it.
“This is better,” he said. “For both of us.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
Dominic refused to flinch at the unimpressed sound. “In time, you’ll see that it is.” He said and wondered, truly, if he were speaking those words to himself.
