Page 5 of The Tyranny of our Longing

Anticipation weaved through her, threading itself with her quickening breath, painting her skin with the glow of excitement. Then something moved at the edge of the mirror and she froze, her eyes darting to the reflected image of the bed behind her. The color in her cheeks drained instantly.

For amid the fading light pulsing through the room, Phaedra had had the distinct impression of two entwined bodies shifting under the white of her nightgown, their movements fluid in their embrace.

The vision had been fleeting, there and gone with her startled gasp, yet she continued to stare at the vacated space, the image seared into her mind. And as sight became memory, so did her understanding clear of what she had seen, and a quiver twisted through her frame just as the dinner bell rang through the house.

CHAPTER 3

Her steps fell muffled on the carpeted stairs as Phaedra descended into the grand foyer, eyes unfocused on her dusk-set surroundings, her mind completely consumed by the witnessed apparition. There was a tightness in her chest, leaving her breath short and shallow, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. But it was the burning in her cheeks that flustered her the most, and the way that heat seemed to radiate like furious lightning rushing beneath her skin. It left her feeling faint, her movements fragmented, as if her body were no longer her own, but moving to the silent music of some elusive enchanter.

But as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes falling on Nathaniel seated at the head of the table, her mind went pleasantly blank, as if a veil had been draped over the tumult within, subduing its erratic swirl.

She let out a slow breath, her gaze moving over the lavish decor of the room, furnished with impeccable taste and undeniable affluence.

The walls were covered with dark wood paneling, reliefs of ornate motifs framing the artwork displayed. Drapes of deep umber hid the tall windows, the light of the crystal gasolier glinting on the gold threading. A long dining table stood in the center of the room—a shining mass of walnut decked in stark white linen. China, glass, and silverware glittered as if made from fine jewels, the darkly upholstered chairs only emphasizing their radiance. A lush carpet ran the length of the table, its design a dizzying pattern of intricately woven silk.

Phaedra had witnessed prosperity before, knew the luxuries money could buy. But all this, in a single room…

It was exquisite.

Then her eyes returned to the form of Nathaniel Hawthorn, the reason behind her unexpected privilege to be here, and she wondered what it must feel like to live like this. Amid all this splendor.

It must have been new to him as well, if what he had said was true. If he had indeed been away most of his life. Yet he did not look out of place as he sat there, his pale complexion, despite the severity of his features and the darkened skin under his eyes, made lively by the warm glow of the gasolier. And with the lines marring his forehead and his sunken posture casting his countenance into gloom, he almost seemed… older. As if the shadow of his father had descended over his form, commandeering it for whatever purpose he could not fulfill in his own time. Then he looked up at her, the mirage dispelled by the vividness of his youthful gaze.

It was not him.

Of course it was not.

Nathaniel stood, his brow smoothing, the darkness falling away from his expression. “Miss Mercer, good evening!” He bowed his head before motioning to his right. “Please, have a seat.”

Phaedra stepped up to the table as Nathaniel pulled out her chair.

“Thank you.”

She sank into the seat, peering down the length of the table while Nathaniel returned to his chair beside her. A servant approached to plate their first course.

“Will it be only the two of us tonight, Mr. Hawthorn?” she asked.

“It does seem extensive, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes shot to his, only now realizing how her words, spoken out of sheer curiosity, could have been misconstrued as politely concealed offense. But the apology, ready on her tongue, did not manifest as she recognized the glint of amusement in his otherwise serious face.

Her lips twitched as she reached for her glass. “It is indeed more than what I normally partake in.”

He raised his head, his narrowed eyes moving over the abundance of dishes before them. “I have tried to tell my staff that such a display is quite unnecessary. But they have assured me in full confidence that it is in fact a demand of my status. Though why my status should be so famished, I have no idea.”

Phaedra spluttered into her drink. She snatched the napkin from her lap, stealing a glance at his pleased expression before dabbing at her face.

It suited him, this almost roguish tilt to his lips, so very contrary to his previous reserved manner. It seemed to brighten his very person, removing him from the darkened context of his life, allowing him to be the essence of what he truly was—a charming young man.

Phaedra cleared her throat, unable to suppress her own smile. “I imagine that quite burdensome.”

“It is indeed,” he nodded severely, then gestured to the soup set before her. “Please.”

Phaedra picked up her silverware and savored the rich flavor, its warmth spreading throughout her body. Famished or not, Nathaniel’s status evidently had a delightful palate.

“Do you seldom have company?” she asked between spoonfuls.

He nodded, his light brows furrowing. “Since my return there has been much to take care of. But if I am honest…” He raised his hand, stifling a cough with his fist. “I do not particularly care to… entertain.”