She jumped up, heart thudding wildly, and ran out into the hallway without a second thought. Anger spurred her on, marching her down the hall, her fist rapping on every door she passed, certain that Cyrus was behind one of them.
At the third door on the right, she heard the scuff of footsteps inside.
The breath stuck in her throat as the door opened, revealing a sleepy-eyed Cyrus, his hair mussed, stripped of his gentlemanly uniform. Barefoot, he wore nothing but his trousers and shirt,untucked, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His collar gaped open, exposing the sculpted lines of a muscular chest, looking every bit like he had wandered out of one of Teresa’s daydreams.
She dropped her gaze, blushing furiously, half-forgetting what she had gone there for, no longer able to produce the words to confront him for his abandonment.
“Yes?” he said. “What is the matter?”
Teresa swallowed.Honestly, I do not remember…
Why is she not asleep?
Cyrus rubbed his tired eyes, if only to stop himself from looking too hard at the ethereal vision in front of him. Teresa had turned up to his bedchamber door in naught but her nightgown, and a draft in the hallway toyed with the delicate fabric, making it billow in a way that highlighted her lovely figure.
He concentrated on her beautiful face, noting the flush of color in her cheeks, wondering why her gaze was lowered when she was just about the only person—outside of his friends and staff—who had no trouble looking at him.
“Teresa?” he prompted, when she did not reply to his question. “Why are you here? Is your bedchamber not to your liking? Is the bed too hard? Too soft?”
She made a quiet, coughing sound. “Too… empty.”
“Pardon?”
With a shaky breath, she raised her gaze again, defiance burning in her extraordinary eyes. “It is our wedding night, Your Grace.” Her voice cracked. “I have been… um… waiting for you to join me.”
Cyrus’ eyes widened against his will, the ties between his mind and his mouth untethering for a moment. Of course, he had known what night it was, but he had not expected her to seek him out. Rather, he had assumed she would be glad of his absence, free from expectation.
She does not understand what manner of marriage this is…
He had thought he had made it clear in his letters to Vincent, but the man clearly had not passed on the message. Yes, Cyrus had been in want of a wife, but not for legacy or love; he had needed a wife to improve his position in the realm of business and to aid in the running of the castle. The benefit of a dowry did not hurt, either.
“You should not have done,” he said, finding his voice again. “I have no intention of joining you.”
Teresa flinched, eyes narrowing. In the light that glowed from the hallway lanterns, and the more bronzed hue that came from his chamber, he finally understood how her eyes could seemblue and gold at the same time. The iris was flecked with golden lines, giving them a warmth that blue inherently lacked.
“Tonight or… ever?” she rasped, the chilly draft freeing a lock of hair from behind her ear.
His fingertips itched to tuck the honeyed hair back where it belonged, prompting him to fold his arms behind his back. “Go to bed, Teresa.”
“I will not be sent to my room like a child,” she retorted bitterly, hurt creasing the corners of her eyes, furrowing her brow. “We are married, Your Grace. I do not think it is so outlandish to want to know why my husband has not joined me in my bedchamber, or invited me to his, or… directed me to a chamber we might share. It is… expected, or so I am told, on this particular night at least.”
Cyrus ran a weary hand through his hair. “I married you to spare you. Thereisno expectation.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice wavered, her eyes burning with an unhappiness he could not fathom.
“I needed a wife, you needed this marriage,” he replied evenly. “You are here to be the Duchess of Darnley, nothing more.”
“But what does that mean?” she urged, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.
He puffed out a breath. “Teresa, I do not want a companion in any capacity. I will not be touching you; I will not be joining you in your chambers. You should expect nothing but the comfort and security of being a duchess here.”
“But what does that mean?” she replied more vehemently, throwing her hands up. “What is it that you want from me? Why did you want to marry at all?”
As her arms fell back down to her sides in frustration, her left sleeve slipped off her shoulder, revealing the delicate ledge of her collarbone. She did not seem to realize, but he could not leave her like that, where the drafty hallway might bring on a chill. She was already inappropriately attired for the constant cold of the castle.
He moved toward her, closing the gap between them, his fingertips gently pinching the slipped sleeve. Carefully, trying to ignore the accidental graze of her soft, smooth skin against the back of his thumb, he drew the fabric back to where it should be, talking as he did.
“It means you are free to do whatever you want from now on. It means I have no expectations and want nothing from you. I needed a duchess, a wife, in name only,” he said, letting go of the fabric, his fingertips lightly brushing the curve of her neck. “Never knock on my door at this hour again.”
