Page 28 of Marrying Bluebeard

I can see the muscles ripple along Bertrand’s back as he tenses. Holding my breath, I lean forward, straining to hear.

“I have enough,” Bertrand hisses.

“For now, perhaps,” Ricard argues. “But how much longer?” There’s a pause before he adds, “You’re putting us all at risk. I hope she’s worth it.”

Bertrand doesn’t respond, and retreating footfalls are the only indication of Ricard’s departure as he continues to stand there, staring out into the hallway. I bite my lip, worry eating at my gut as I watch him. “Is… everything all right?”

A beat and then he sighs, the tension shedding as he turns. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he prowls toward me. “Never better, now that he’s gone and I can get back to ravishing my beautiful wife.”

My center throbs in response, and I squeeze my legs together. “Are you sure? Your valet sounded worried.”

“Ricard”—he scoops me off the lounge and carries me to the bed—“can go fuck himself.” He drops me onto the mattress and shucks his pants off before crawling over me. There’s a dark, desperate heat in his eyes that makes me shiver, even as my body instinctively responds, thighs splaying open as he moves between them. He pins my arms over my head as he lowers his head, teeth grazing my neck as he growls, “Just like I’m going to fuck you."

Any further concerns shatter with pleasure as he slams inside me.

I wake to the sound of birds chirping outside the window; the storm has finally passed. But when I roll onto my side, the space beside me is empty.

“Bertrand?”

I push myself up, craning to see around the partially open door to the toilettes, but it appears to be empty as well. I suppose it is past time to leave the room. Although, I’ll admit to being a bit miffed that he left without waking me. Stretching my arms overhead with a yawn, a tray laid out at the table catches my eye. Has Louise already been here? I blush, crossing my arms over my bare chest. Had I been under the blankets when I woke? I can’t recall for sure, but I suspect not. I determine then and there to sleep with my nightgown on, regardless of Bertrand’s preferences. Or insist that he locks the door when he leaves.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and pause, fingers brushing my neck. A purple bruise marks the porcelain flesh, accented by the faint scratch of teeth, and a tendril of delicious pleasure spirals through my core when I press it. Or perhaps I should persuade him to wake me before he goes, I muse, a smile curving my swollen lips as I trace circles around the broken skin. My body hums as I picture all the different ways he could do so, my favorite involving me lying face down as he⁠—

I snatch my dressing gown off the bed as someone raps at the door.

“Madame?”

Louise. I shove my arms through the sleeves of the silk wrapper, cinching it at the waist as I saunter over to the breakfast tray. “Come in,” I call, plucking a strawberry off the tray and sinking my teeth into its juicy ripeness. A folded note leaning against the tea pot catches my eye, and I pick it up as Louise bustles in. Bertrand’s valet, Ricard, and a man I’m fairly certain was the driver who retrieved Bertrand and I from the dock follow behind with my trunk, and I hastily brush my hair over my shoulder, hiding the scandalous mark on my neck.

“The passing finally cleared, so Griffon was able to bring your things over,” Louise explains, gesturing for the men to place the trunk beside the armoire.

“Wonderful, thank you.” I smile as the men nod gruffly. They turn to go as soon as their load is settled, but Ricard pauses briefly in the doorway, giving Louise a pointed look before he leaves. A flicker of nerves passes over her delicate face, but it’s soon gone, replaced by her usual cheery efficiency.

“I imagine it’ll be nice to wear your own things again,” she says, getting straight to work as she opens the trunk and begins taking out my newly purchased wardrobe. She smooths each item before hanging them in the armoire.

“Oh, I don’t know. This dressing gown has served me well enough the past few days.” I smile as I unfold the note, spying Bertrand’s looping signature at the bottom.

“It does look comfortable,” Louise admits. “Though a bit impractical for anywhere outside of the bedroom.” She pauses. “You are planning to leave the bedroom today, are you not?”

“Hmm?” I glance up from the note, which begins with a rather scintillating description of what Bertrand has planned for me upon his return. I blush. “Oh, um, yes. Yes, of course. I should like to tour the castle and take in the grounds now that the weather has cleared.” I return to my note, scanning it for some indication of where exactly my husband will be returning from, but that part seems rather vague. “Louise? Do you know where Monsieur de Montragoux has gone off to this morning? I can’t decide if I should wait for him or go ahead and explore on my own.”

“I believe he went into town,” Louise replies. “It could be quite a while before he returns. I wouldn’t wait, if I were you.”

“No, I suppose not.” I trace his signature, gaze dropping to the postscript at the bottom of the paper. My home is your home, so feel free to enter wherever you wish with one exception—by no means are you to go into the North Tower. Trust me when I tell you it isn’t safe.

Isn’t safe? I frown. Perhaps it’s in need of maintenance. No matter. The castle is vast enough as it is. In fact, the more I think of it, the more eager I am to begin my explorations. “Louise, would you mind setting one of those out? I’d like to get dressed straight away.”

“Of course, Madame. Would you like me to put your hair up as well?”

I glance in the mirror, noting the way my long, dark curls spill about my shoulders. Julien would have a fit if he saw me walking about with my hair loose like this. I wonder how he took the news of my disappearance. Not well, I’m sure. I feel a trickle of guilt that I left without leaving a note. Hopefully Marguerite will have guessed what I’ve done. I should send them a letter, regardless, to let them know I’m happy and well. I should have sent one days ago, but reason seems to evade me whenever Bertrand is near. I vow to send them a message before he returns and sweeps me under his spell once more.

19

ADELAIDE

The sun is so inviting that I have Louise swap out her initial dress choice—a deep red gown with a plunging neckline, complete with black lace accents—for a simple cotton one. Her nose wrinkles as she lays the plain purple dress on the bed, but I couldn’t care less. From what I can see from the window, the surrounding terrain is anything but smooth, and I have no desire to pick my way over rocks and sand in a fussy silk number.

It’ll be boots and cotton for me, thank you.