Page 19 of Marrying Bluebeard

He drapes his end of the rope over the chair, chuckling softly. “Happy to oblige.”

I take a tentative step closer. “Speaking of appreciation, I don’t think I properly thanked you for your assistance this morning. You saved my life, and I all but bit your head off.”

He picks his top hat off the table and fiddles with the brim. “You had every right after the way I snapped at you. The last thing anyone needs after a brush with death is a lecture.” His eyes darken briefly, and he looks away. “I should go. It wouldn’t be good for you to be found here with me. Think of what your brother would say.”

I inch forward. “Tristan would laugh and say ‘good on you’.”

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, but still he refuses to look at me. “That’s not the brother I was referring to and you know it.”

Another step, and I trace the faint scent of his cologne. It beckons me closer still, until I’m only an arm’s length away from his side. He remains motionless, fingers frozen in place as he grips his top hat with whitened knuckles.

“Bertrand.” I breathe his name like a prayer, a silent plea for him to turn his head and look at me echoing through the relentless thrum of my heart.

He does, and I’m struck by the cacophony of emotions warring in those obsidian eyes: fear, sorrow, regret…longing. Desperate, heart-wrenching longing. “Adelaide⁠—”

Heavy footsteps at the door cut off the rest of his words, and I can’t help but glare at the man standing inside the doorway as I turn. He ignores me completely, a black bowler casting his round face in shadow as he addresses Bertrand.

“Miss Dellum has finished freshening up and awaits your presence in the parlor, Monsieur.”

Bertrand closes his eyes, his posture relaxing as if by sheer will. When he opens them, the emotion I saw before is gone, and he gives me a detached smile as he slaps his top hat back onto his head. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Brindamour, I’m afraid I have another engagement to attend to.”

He starts to leave, but I reach out and catch his hand. His eyes widen as he looks down, and I can feel my cheeks heating at the utter brazenness of my actions. But I have to know. “You and Miss Dellum… you’re not actually engaged… are you?”

His lips part, his gaze still transfixed on our joined hands. “I…” His grip tightens, and for one, brief moment I think he’s going to pull me closer. But then he jerks away, turning his back to me with a gruff, “I have to go.”

I lift my hand to my lips as he leaves, skin tingling where his briefly lingered. “That’s not a yes, Monsieur.” And I don’t plan on sitting around and waiting for it to become one, either.

13

ADELAIDE

Iwake before dawn the following morning and dress in my riding habit. My window provides an excellent view of the stables, and from what I was able to glean from the maid who brought my tea up last night, the mysterious Monsieur de Montragoux has gone riding every morning since his arrival. So I wait, and I watch.

Hours later, it pays off.

I leap to my feet as I spy Bertrand entering the stables by himself. I’ve already located the nearest servant’s staircase, and I slip down it as I sneak out of the house and sprint to the stables, praying no one sees me. I duck inside and take a moment to catch my breath as I watch him chat with a young groom.

His deep voice carries down the stable hall. “And a mount for Miss Brindamour.” He turns, pinning me to the door with his gaze. “It seems she’ll be joining me.”

“Of course, sir,” the groom mumbles, hurrying to fetch another horse.

I swallow, not at all sure this was such a good idea. The severity in his expression is making my legs wobble, and a tiny voice in the back of my head is whispering for me to run. No. I have to do this. I have to know. I adopt an air of confidence as I walk over, but there’s a tremble in my voice as I greet him. “It’s a lovely day for a ride.”

His eyes soften. “That it is.”

I bite my lip, nerves skittering beneath my boldness. “You’re sure you don’t mind my joining you?”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “On the contrary. I’m afraid I’m far too happy for my own good.”

I inch closer. “What’s wrong with being happy? I’d think that a good thing.”

“You’d think,” he whispers, voice husky. “But I’m afraid happiness is an addiction I can’t afford.”

“It’s just one ride.” I take a step back as the groom leads a beautiful brown mare down the hall. Taking the reins, I throw Bertrand a challenging look. “I’m sure you can handle that much.”

“I used to be sure of a lot of things.” He waves the groom away before offering his interlaced fingers for me to step into. “But now…” His breath hitches as I place my hand on his shoulder, and his fingers linger on my ankle a beat longer than necessary as I settle into the saddle. Snatching his hand back, he mounts his own horse and leads us out.

Neither of us utters a word as the countryside flies by.