Page 53 of Marrying Bluebeard

ADELAIDE

Never in my life have I felt so excruciatingly torn. On the one hand, Bertrand hid his past and married me despite the danger he must have known he’d be putting me in. He’s aided Celeste in a myriad of horrible things, even murdering at her command. On the other hand, a part of me still loves him in spite of it all.

A strange feeling indeed.

He’s grown silent, a pensive look on his face as he stares over my shoulder. I suppose that means his story is over, but there’s a detail that still itches at my brain—a missing piece to the puzzle that is Bertrand and Celeste.

Lord, I hate the sound of their names together. It should be Bertrand and Adelaide, Adelaide and Bertrand. I sit back on my heels, a frown tugging at my mouth. “Don’t you think there’s something you’re leaving out? Husband?”

Bertrand blinks, breaking his trance on the rug. “What do you mean? I’ve told you everything.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Is that so?”

He hesitates, his gaze darting back over my shoulder. “Have I left something out?”

“Only that you married me when you already have a wife. Care to tell me what that’s all about?” Anger, yes. Indignation. These are the feelings I need to cling to if I’m to keep from throwing myself in his arms and kissing his pain away.

“Ah, that.”

“Yes, that.”

Bertrand scrubs a hand over his face, grimacing as his fingers skim the short hairs of his beard. “The binding curse, it had some strange effects on Celeste’s mind. Possibly from being cast so far from the location itself. Returning to the castle from Strasbourg was intense. Every moment Celeste wasn’t in the tower the curse twisted her sanity, the memories and emotion infused within that simple key somehow spilling into her head. At first she was confused, maddeningly so. Then, once she’d reached the tower and the pain the curse was inflicting eased, she grew attached. She clung to me, holding me under her thrall for weeks at a time. At one point she began referring to me as her dear brother, but even under the weight of compulsion, I rebelled at her use of it. Eventually she started calling me husband instead, but it was never a real marriage. Not like ours.”

So our marriage isn’t a complete sham after all. I shouldn’t feel relieved, but a small, stubborn part of me refuses to relinquish my claim as Bertrand’s wife. As foolish a decision as it may have been, it was mine, and in a life ruled by an overbearing brother and well-intentioned sister, how often have I been able to truly say that?

“She’s not your wife then.” I bite my lip. “But have the two of you ever…?”

Bertrand’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head in adamant revulsion. “No. God, no. Not that I would have had much choice should she have wished it, but fortunately she hates me as I much as I loathe her, despite her unnatural attachment.”

I hadn’t even considered the fact that she could have forced herself on Bertrand or any of his past wives. The thought of it makes me shiver, and Bertrand quickly stands and adds wood to the dying fire.

“I’m sorry about the limited attire,” he says, stirring the embers with an iron poker. “It was all I had on hand, and I’m afraid your nightgown was beyond saving. I’ve asked Jacob to acquire the necessary items for your trip home, however, so hopefully he’ll have those ready soon and you can change into something warmer.”

I run my hand over the white, button-down shirt, fingers toying with the hem. “That seems to be becoming a trend—hasty departures requiring new clothes. I swear I’ve worn more new dresses this past month than old. When I bothered to dress at all, that is,” I add, recalling those first few days at the castle, ensconced in our chambers. Traitorous heat flutters between my legs just thinking about it, and I squeeze my thighs together.

Bertrand’s gaze flickers in my direction, his posture stiffening, and his fists clench at his sides as he turns and strides toward the door. “I should see to arranging your passage,” he says gruffly, not meeting my eyes. “I won’t lock the door, but please, stay here today. Celeste has connections throughout the town, and I have no doubt Edgar and Griffon have already been in touch with them regarding your disappearance.”

I nod my consent, chest tightening as he opens the door and steps onto the landing. My hand reaches out as if to stop him, but I snatch it back before he sees. Attempting to sound unconcerned, I ask, “When will you be back?”

He hesitates. “Before dark, but I can ask Jacob to let me sleep downstairs if you wish.”

“No.” The word flies out of my mouth, and my cheeks heat as he looks over his shoulder in surprise. “That is, I wouldn’t mind the company. Unfamiliar place and all.”

He stares into my eyes for a long moment before speaking. “I’ll see you later then,” he murmurs at last, voice gravelly soft.

I swallow, unable to respond for fear of saying something I’ll regret.

When the door clicks shut behind him, I collapse onto the settee with a sigh to rival all other sighs. What am I even doing?

The pocket watch I find in one of the desk drawers reads half past three when footsteps sound outside the door. My heart trips over itself as I call out a breathless “come in,” but it isn’t the lithe figure of my husband that fills the door as it opens, but one far larger. One that would easily pass for a bear if it weren’t for the work clothes and leather cap he was wearing.

I stumble back with a startled shriek, grasping the iron poker beside the fireplace and wielding it in front of me. The man, whose hands I realize are holding a steaming plate of food, pauses in the threshold.

“It’s all right,” he says carefully. “I’m only here to bring you some food and the clothing Monsieur Bertrand asked me to acquire. Name’s Jacob.”

“Jacob Bastin,” I manage. “This is your house?”

“That’s right.” He eyes the poker warily, and I slowly drop it to my side. Taking that as an invitation to come in, he crosses the room and sets the plate on the desk before pulling a bundle of fabric out from under his arm. “I wasn’t able to find anything fancy at the last-minute, but they’re respectable enough for travel.”