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Releasing her fingers, he stepped back into the hallway, turned on his heel, and walked away. His boots struck the floorboards in a steady, fading rhythm as he retreated into the shadows of the long hallway.

Adelaide stood alone in the doorway of her bedchamber, her hand lingering where his lips had touched. She watched his tall figure recede into the dim hallway until he vanished around the far turn, leaving her alone in an unfamiliar wing of the grand house.

Before she could step inside to unfasten her dress, a faint, metallic rasp echoed from the far end of the passage—the distinct sound of a key turning in a lock, followed by the heavy thud of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Adelaide stilled, her breath catching as she realized the sound had come directly from Julian's adjoining door. Her husband had just locked himself inside his quarters, sealing the passage between them on their wedding night.

CHAPTER 12

The scream stilled in his throat before reaching his lips.

Julian kneeled upon ground that lacked substance, at the precipice of a crag that bore no resemblance to Ravensmere. The cold rock bit through his nightshirt while a gale tore at his dark hair. Below him, the abyss swallowed the roar of the tempest, returning only silence.

"Thomas!" The name tore from his throat. "Return!"

Pressing his forehead against the jagged stone, cold seeped into his skull. His fingers scraped for purchase along the ledge, finding only emptiness where his brother had stood moments before.

"I shall find you," his voice cracked against the wind. "I shall find you and bring you home!"

The rock face collapsed beneath him.

Julian jolted upright in bed, his arm striking the carved mahogany bedpost. The sharp impact scattered the nightmare into fragments.

He sat gasping in the dark, his chest heaving against damp linen as perspiration trickled down his temples and dark hair clung to his forehead. The bedcovers lay tangled around his knees. The bedchamber was entirely black, far from the comforting darkness of foreign skies where stars offered navigation.

Throwing aside the heavy covers, his legs felt unsteady as he stood. He crossed the floor with the uneven stride of a man returning to his senses, found the brass latch of the terrace doors, and pushed them open. The cool night air struck his face like a physical blow. Leaning forward with his palms flat against the cold stone balustrade, he drew deep breaths until his hammering pulse began to steady.

The formal gardens below rested in pale moonlight. The ancient oak stood near the rear boundary wall, its dark bark cast in deep shadow. Julian avoided looking at the trunk, well aware of the initials carved into the wood years ago: three sets of letters belonging to two brothers and the gentlewoman they had both cherished.

I ought to be asleep beside my wife.

The thought arrived unbidden, and he pushed it aside immediately. This marked the third consecutive night the nightmare had claimed him. The dream had never haunted his brief stays in Bloomsbury lodgings, nor had it followed him across Egypt, India, or the Himalayan foothills. It waited for him here, where Thomas's memory lingered in every hallway.

Turning from the balcony, his bare feet carried him back across the cold floorboards, past the empty bed he had no desire to re-enter. His gaze stilled upon the heavy adjoining door.

Locked. He had turned the brass key in the iron deadbolt himself on their wedding night.

Now he stood before the wood paneling, his hand hovering near the brass latch.

Adelaide lay asleep on the opposite side of that wall, her chestnut hair resting against the pillows he had ordered prepared, her breath even and steady. He imagined the door opening to reveal her face soft with sleep, her hazel eyes meeting his with quiet understanding, her voice offering a gentle welcome.

Come in.

A profound longing took hold of him, bowing his shoulders and pressing his palm flat against the cold wood panel, searching for a warmth that remained out of reach.

Yet he could not bring himself to turn the key. He could not face her damp with sweat and trembling—a duke who awoke calling out for his late brother, a husband who had avoided his marriage bed every night since their wedding.

Julian drew his hand back sharply, his shoulder catching the doorframe as he turned away. The sharp ache grounded him. He required movement to outpace the memories haunting the grand house.

Dressing quickly in the dark without summoning a valet, he pulled on his breeches, riding boots, and heavy coat. The grand staircase creaked softly beneath his weight as he made his way to the rear entrance. Unlocking the stable door, the warm scents of dry hay and leather offered immediate quiet.

His stallion, Boreas, shifted in his stall at his master's approach. Julian saddled the animal in the dark, his hands securing straps and iron buckles by long-established habit, before mounting and guiding the horse into the yard.

The Mayfair street lay deserted, bathed in pale moonlight. Julian gave the stallion free rein, and the horse broke into a steady gallop, its hooves striking the cobblestones in a rhythmic cadence that quieted his churning thoughts.

They rode north toward the park before turning east along quiet avenues. The cold night wind dried the dampness at his collar, allowing his grip on the reins to relax as the nightmare receded into a distant shadow.

He passed shuttered shopfronts and a solitary watchman who stepped into an alleyway rather than challenge a nobleman riding at three in the morning. He passed the parish church where he had wed Adelaide four days prior, its stone spire standing pale against the night sky.