She stepped into the silent corridor. The manor had settled into the peaceful hush that came long after the wedding guests had retired. She searched his bed chamber first, but it was empty; then she tried the study, and that too was empty. The ledger upon his desk abandoned beside a half-finished glass of brandy. She frowned.
"Where have you disappeared to?" she whispered to herself.
The corridor beyond was lit only by moonlight spilling through tall windows. She rounded the corner quickly. Straight into someone. Strong hands caught her before she stumbled.
"What," came Damien's deep voice, edged with astonishment, "do you imagine you are doing?"
Seraphine looked up.
There he stood, still dressed in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his dark hair slightly untidy as though he had been running frustrated hands through it. His green eyes traveled over her appearance, widening ever so slightly before hardening into something unreadable.
His jaw tightened.
"Seraphine," he said quietly, "why are you wandering the house dressed like this?"
She folded her arms despite the warmth rising into her cheeks.
"I was searching for my husband."
His expression remained unreadable.
"My husband…" she repeated, lifting her chin. "...the gentleman who appears to have vanished entirely on our wedding night."
Damien released a slow breath and glanced down the length of the corridor.
"If one of the servants sees you…"
"They already have," she said.
His eyes closed briefly. "Good Lord."
She frowned. "I fail to see why you are more concerned with the servants than with the wife you left waiting."
Before she realized what he intended, Damien bent, slipped one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
A startled gasp escaped her. "Damien!"
"You are impossible," he muttered, beginning to stride back towards her chamber.
"I am impossible?" she protested, one hand instinctively catching his shoulder to steady herself. "You abandoned your bride!"
"I did no such thing," he said, his brows drawing together as he looked down at her.
"You most certainly did," she shot back, folding her arms and lifting her chin.
"I removed myself," he corrected calmly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him, "because I was attempting to behave like a gentleman."
She stared at him, utterly unconvinced, her mouth parting in disbelief.
"A gentleman?" she echoed.
"Yes," he said, as though the answer ought to have been obvious.
"I married you," she reminded him, her voice sharpening with indignation.
"I am aware," he replied, his gaze fixed on hers with maddening composure.
"Then kindly explain how abandoning one's wife qualifies as gentlemanly behavior."
