Page 57 of Marrying Bluebeard

His gaze stays fixed on the wall, refusing to meet mine.

Extremely suspicious.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I give him my sweetest smile. I consider batting my lashes but decide that might be over the top. “I left it on the bed. Would you be a dear and fetch it for me?”

Jacob scratches the back of his head as he looks between me and the stairs. Chivalry wins out, and he bobs a quick nod. “Wait here, and I’ll show you to the kitchen for a bite to eat after I grab it. Wouldn’t want you starting off on an empty stomach.”

This time, my smile is sincere. “Thank you. That’s very considerate.”

His cheeks take on a ruddy hue, and he waves my gratitude away as he lumbers up the steps. “No trouble at all.” I wait until he reaches the top, holding my breath as he opens the door and steps inside the attic room. His heavy footsteps vibrate through the ceiling. When they stop, I run.

I fly down the staircase to the bottom floor on tiptoes, moving as soundlessly as I can, but it isn’t long before I hear Jacob’s tread pounding down after me. I’m out the front door and streaking across the lawn toward the dirt road by the time I hear him calling my name. The sound of his deep voice has my feet picking up speed, but my efforts are in vain—I’m surrounded by open fields lined with thick, bramble-filled hedges. Not to mention I have no idea which direction I should even be running in. By the time Jacob hitches a horse to his wagon and rolls up behind me, I’ve already slowed to a walk, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Jacob’s expression is sympathetic as he hops down and offers me a hand. “Castle’s over three miles down that way, and Monsieur Bertrand left hours ago. Chasing after him now won’t do you any good. Besides, he was insistent you head straight for Calais. Said it wasn’t safe for you here, and I have to agree.” His rough hand envelopes mine with a surprising gentleness. “He’s made up his mind, Madame. The least we can do is respect his decision.”

“I suppose you’re right.” My gaze flicks to the ball of translucent white fur perched atop the wagon wheel. Summoning a resigned sigh, I allow Jacob to help me up. “Thank you, Jacob, and my apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he replies, adjusting his leather cap.

“On the contrary”—my booted foot slams into his chest as Whisper leaps onto his shoulder with a flash of claws—“there is.” He stumbles back with a shout, and I waste no time grabbing the reins and giving them a sharp crack. The horse takes off immediately, and I silently thank my brother Tristan for succumbing to my incessant pleas to teach me how to drive his phaeton. The wagon isn’t as fast, but the mechanics appear to be much the same. With a little urging, it isn’t long before Jacob fades into the distance, and I’m headed to the one place I never wished to see again.

What’s the plan, Adelaide? I grip the reins tightly as the wagon rolls ever closer to its destination. You want to save Bertrand—how are you going to manage it? If I arrive without a course of action, I’m more likely to be a hindrance than a help. And I desperately wish to help him.

I love him.

I shake my head. What does that say about me? That I could love someone who never ages and consumes blood to stay alive. It’s unnatural.

Then again, I talk to ghosts.

Ghosts.

My eyes widen.

The ghosts of Bertrand’s past wives—what had that freckled one said before Louise interrupted us in the library? That they needed my assistance with something to stop Celeste?

I slap the reins, letting out a deep “ya” as I urge the horse into a gallop.

It’s time to put this ability of mine to use.

38

BERTRAND

The castle grounds are eerily quiet, with a thick layer of fog hovering over the mossy lawn as I row in a wide arc around the peninsula and climb the west bank. The narrow strip that connects the castle to the mainland is clear, the tide low enough to approach the castle on foot, but I suspect that path is being watched.

Celeste cannot be allowed any advantage.

I slip in through a side door, the closest one to the dungeons. The dank cells stretch beneath the North Tower, making it the ideal location for my grand finale. There’s no sign of Edgar or Griffon as I trespass through the halls and down the winding staircase, and I find Louise’s blood-drained corpse lying on the stone floor where I left her, a swarm of flies busily laying their eggs in the decaying flesh. Remorse pierces my gut as I witness the evidence of my enraged frenzy. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Now she’ll be buried alongside me with the rest of my wicked deeds.

The barrel strapped to my back weighs heavier at the thought.

A late-night visit to a man of questionable means and even more questionable connections has supplied me with a sizable amount of gunpowder. Originally intended for a nearby coal mine, the explosive substance will now serve a greater purpose—the destruction of this wretched castle and the monsters that dwell inside it. I lace the dungeons with it, ensuring the foundation beneath the tower will be thoroughly shaken when it goes off. I need Celeste to be trapped beneath the rubble as well. Bound to our shared grave for eternity. I have one loose end to attend to, however, before I strike the match and bring this castle to ruin—the freeing of Miss Emily Garnier from Celeste’s tower.

I’ll have to go up there. Celeste will no doubt be keeping the girl close in the wake of my and Adelaide’s departure. The others were often allowed to wander the castle, entrenched enough in Celeste’s control not to have any thought of leaving. But that won’t be the case now. Miss Garnier will be at Celeste’s side, and I’ll have no choice but to face my progenitor firsthand.

You’re stronger than her, physically. If you can avoid her eyes and resist the lure of her thrall, there’s no reason you can’t march up there and take the girl.

If I can resist.