“Nonsense,” Kitty said. “Do not make assumptions without proof. You believe Marcus has an arrangement with his valet. I am here to tell you that is not true.”
Winifred shifted on her feet. She wanted to believe it, but if Marcus was not involved with Smith, then what had they been doing embracing?
Bloody fangs and impossibly bright-blue eyes.
She shook her head, dismissing the image. The occult books Marcus had left for her were polluting her memories. The only thing she’d witnessed in the hallway had been a liaison, nothing more.
“Do you want my advice?” Kitty asked.
Winifred ran her palms over the soft fabric of her bodice. “Yes, please.”
“Don’t trust your memory. Ask him directly.”
That logic was hard to dismiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
Winifred hated him.That was the only reason Marcus could come up with to explain why his brother had not yet returned. Winifred should have read his letter by now. She must have recoiled such that Cordon had spirited her out of the castle, far away from the monster she’d married.
He stopped pacing and collapsed into his favorite chair by the fireplace. Damn his brother for taking so long. The waiting was worse than torture. However, getting himself worked up wouldn’t help. If Winifred agreed to speak with him, he would have to be extremely careful to keep his distance and do whatever it took to avoid frightening her. That was his only chance of convincing her not to flee.
Oh, God, he didn’t want her to go. The thought of returning to the lonely routine he’d established before she had entered his life, first with her charming, sprightly letters, and then with her glorious presence, was tremendously depressing. It was as if he’d existed two centuries with part of his soul missing and hadn’t realized it until Winifred had appeared. She was the beating heart at the center of his world. Losing her was more than he could bear.
He had to hope she felt even a fraction of the overwhelming affection he held for her.
His pacing was interrupted by an envelope slipping beneath his door. When he picked it up, he felt his eyebrows rise. It was the one he’d left for Winifred. His fingertips began to tingle. Was this her way of rejecting him? Was she soterrified that she could not bear to look at him?
He turned the envelope over and laughed. The words “good luck” were scrawled on the back in Cordon’s distinctive, messy handwriting.
Good luck with what? Convincing Winifred not to leave? Had she given the letter to Cordon to return because she could not bear to face him? He opened the door, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. It was typical of Cordon, expressing his disapproval that Marcus had not summoned Seraphina to erase Winifred’s memories in such a strange way. He shoved the envelope into his pocket and returned to pacing.
“Marcus?”
He started. Apparently, he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Winifred enter. She stood in the doorway, with Cordon’s wife behind her. Kitty was grinning, but Winifred looked cautious. That was far better than the fear he’d expected. Either she’d decided to give him a chance to explain, or Cordon had taken the letter before she’d read it for unknown reasons. Perhaps it was foolishly optimistic, but he chose to assume the former.
He clasped his hands in his lap and launched into his practiced speech. “If you wish to leave the castle, a carriage is already prepared and waiting. I will understand if you can’t live…with…”
Kitty was shaking her head furiously and mouthing the word “no.”
Winifred glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you for accompanying me, Kitty, but I would like to speak to my husband privately.”
Kitty inclined her head. “Of course. I have no doubt Marcus will explain hisrelationshipwith hisvaletto your satisfaction.”
He gulped. If he understood Kitty’s message correctly, Winifred had somehow convinced herself he’d had taken Smith as his lover. That explained her lack of fear. She must not have read his letter, after all.
“Please, sit,” he said.
She straightened her shoulders. “Are you in love with Smith?”
The question was so absurd that he laughed. It was the entirelywrong thing to do, judging from the flush that crept up her neck.
“No,” he said before she could misinterpret his response. “Smith is a loyal servant. Nothing more.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Then what were you…”
He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. Please.”
She walked over to the chair and then sank into it like a deflating balloon. “I feel so foolish.”
