by Marie Morin
She supposed he thought it meant she didn't trust him—for that matter, she wasn't certain she completely did—but, financially speaking, she would've felt better if there'd been a pre-nup on record stating that she wasn't a gold digger. He was entitled to keep everything he'd acquired before their marriage and should have had it in writing.
He hadn't once said he loved her. He gave his all when it came to physical love, and she certainly had no complaints, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd decided marriage would be more convenient to him, and that, despite his disavowal of it, it was also an ownership deal to his mind.
She hadn't allowed herself to dwell on why she'd caved in without resistance. Partly, she knew it was because she was as much in lust with him as vice versa. Partly it was because of pure unadulterated awe of him. He fascinated her. She knew she had a staggering crush on him, but she didn't know if it was real love. She didn't know how a person was supposed to figure that out.
It scared her, though, to think that the possibility was really good that she was already in love with a man who ‘made it a policy not to get too attached'.
She was more nervous than she should have been, all things considered. By sharp contrast, Thor seemed more at ease than he'd been since she'd met him. It was almost as if he'd feared she might slip through his grasp and, now that he had the legal papers, he could relax and stop worrying about.
She didn't know how to feel about that, but after he'd plied her with wine for a few hours she'd ceased to worry too much about anything either.
She didn't discover that the portrait above the bed was missing until the following morning. As she came out of the bathroom, she'd glanced up casually and discovered that the portrait had been replaced with a landscape that was roughly the same size.
“You changed the picture,” she said in surprise.
He was still sprawled in bed, propped up on pillows. He tilted his head back to look up at the picture on the wall behind him when she spoke, as if he'd had no idea the portrait had been replaced. He studied her for several moments and finally shrugged. “Mrs. Kirk accidentally knocked the other one down and damaged it when she was dusting."
“Oh God! Is it repairable? Did you have it insured?"
“Why would I have it insured?” he said, almost irritably, slipping down in the bed and dropping an arm over his eyes.
“But ... it was a valuable painting, wasn't it?"
“It was a copy of an original. A good one, but still a copy."
She didn't believe him. She didn't know why she didn't. She was certainly no expert when it came to paintings, but she'd been convinced it was an original piece of very valuable art. More than that, she sensed that he was lying.
She didn't know why he would. It wasn't as if it was actually any of her business what he did with his belongings. It was odd, though, that he would move it, and even more odd that he would lie to her about it and the whole thing made her feel inexplicably uneasy.
The first indication she had that her quiet little wedding had created an explosion of speculation and gossip was when she arrived in her first class the following Monday when her teacher called roll.
“Cassandra Wallace?"
“Here,” Cassie called, absently doodling on her note bad.
She looked up when the teacher didn't move on and discovered that the elderly woman was studying her over the rim of her glasses. “Is it Mrs. Severnson now? Or did you keep your name? Or combine it with Professor Severnson's?"
Every student in the room turned around in their desk and stared at her as if they'd just been told their was an alien in the class. She felt her cheeks turn scarlet. “I'm going by Severnson now."
The woman nodded, carefully whiting out Wallace and then blowing on it before she penned the change of name. During the entire time, her classmates either gaped at her openly, or sent surreptitious looks in her direction.
“Congratulations, by the way."
Cassie smiled with an effort. “Thank you."
The woman smiled back as if she'd just sucked on a lemon, then addressed the class. “Ms. Wallace and Professor Severnson, of the history department, were married Friday."
Everybody turned to stare at her again.
By the time she'd finished her third class, people had actually begun to stop and whisper when she passed them. As if they weren't already talking enough, Thor met her before she got halfway across campus and walked her the remainder of the way to the car with his arm around her shoulders, or her waist, or worse, riding her hip. And, when he'd managed to snag the full attention of everybody within sight, he pushed her against the car and kissed her thoroughly before he opened the door for her.
He chuckled at the look on her face. “They'll get used to it. It's a small campus. They don't get much excitement around here, but somebody's bound to overshadow us in a week or so."
Cassie sent him a look. “You knew half the people on campus was watching us!” she said accusingly.
“I'm not blind, deaf or senile,” he said wryly, starting the car. “I don't know what titillates them more, the speculation that we were having an affair before we got married, or the age gap."
“It doesn't bother you?” she asked doubtfully.
“No."
There were no connotations she could put to that, just ‘no', without any heat, without a trace of doubt. It didn't bother him. He didn't care what they thought.
She'd heard people say they didn't care, but everyone, even the person who said it, knew it for a lie. It wasn't that they actually didn't care. It was that they didn't want to let it bother them.
She found he was right, though. The first couple of weeks were pretty uncomfortable, but little by little everyone lost interest.
It was an adjustment period. In the back of her mind, she'd known there would have to be one. In that way, being married was much like any other drastic change in one's life. It required getting used to new people and learning how to rub along without rubbing their fur the wrong way.
Thor didn't seem to have nearly as much trouble adjusting as she did. His home was now their home. She could do what she liked, go anywhere in the house she wanted—he assured her that she was free to throw everything out and completely redecorate the house if that was what she wanted to do—so long as she stayed out of his study. His study was off limits unless he was in it.
Naturally, it was pure human nature to wonder why. Considering the fact that Thor had a very good understanding of the human psyche she wondered for a little while if he'd only said it to test whether or not she would respect his wishes.
He didn't lock it. In general, the door was closed when he was in his office, but he hardly ever closed the door when he left.
It was practically an invitation to snoop.
She managed to avoid the temptation for weeks before she finally gathered enough nerve just to take a quick peek inside the door. As far as she could see, it was just an office. Everything looked pretty much the way she remembered. There was nothing obvious that indicated that he'd moved something into the room since she'd come to live with him that he didn't want her snooping through, no file boxes or cabinets.
The portrait above the desk was gone, however.
That disturbed her.
It was almost as disturbing that she couldn't even ask him about it without telling him that she'd been snooping at the door. She hadn't gone in. She'd just stood at the threshold and leaned in, but she couldn't have seen the portrait was missing just by passing the door, and therein lay the problem.
She hadn't believed his story about the damaged portrait from the master suite. The fact that both had disappeared made it pretty obvious that it had been a lie.
Was there some significance to the portraits then—beyond the fact that both times that she'd fainted in his house, she'd been looking at that woman's portrait?
The truly bizarre thing was that it made her begin to wonder if she actually had fainted. It hadn't happened to her since
. Unfortunately, the fact that she'd never fainted before that first time didn't give her any sort of reference to decide whether there had been anything particularly strange about the spell. She remembered, vaguely, that she'd had some sort of dream both times, similar to the dream she'd had when she'd had too much wine and had fallen asleep in Thor's lap, except that she couldn't really remember anything afterward. That dream she remembered, in fairly vivid detail.
She supposed it was because the dream and the portraits had been much on her mind since she'd peeked into Thor's office. Only a few days afterward, she had another one, this one far more detailed. It wasn't until later, however, that she realized that all four dreams had one thing in common.
The dreams had been in French. How weird was that?
Chapter Sixteen
She knew it was sin even to think such things, but she wished she was dead. No death, no matter how agonizingly slow, could be as bad as having to see such a look on the face of the man she loved more than life.
She had no excuse for what she had done, God help her. Perhaps this was part of God's punishment for her wickedness? To send Francois back to her when she had done the unforgivable?
“I thought you would not return,” she said tearfully, and then bit her lip, realizing that that only made things worse.
“Perhaps it would have been better if I had not,” he said, his voice raw with the agony she'd inflicted upon him.
“I did not mean it that way. Please! I only want you to understand. I did not do it to hurt you. I thought I had lost you forever. My heart was broken when you did not return. I was so lonely for you."
“You were so lonely you sought comfort from another man?” he asked coldly.
She swallowed with an effort, her chest unbearably tight, but she could not deny it when she was swollen with another man's child. “I believed you dead and lost to me or I would never had considered such a thing. I would have been willing to wait forever. But I had no word of you. None! What was I to believe?
“That I might be rotting in some stinking Moorish dungeon? That, perhaps, it was only the thought of you that kept me sane all these years?"
She fell to her knees. “Please! If you can find no forgiveness in your heart for me, Francois, kill me now! End my suffering."
She bowed her head, praying for her soul. She knew he couldn't forgive her. She couldn't forgive herself. She just hoped that he would strike her quickly and end her suffering.
To her surprise, he fell to his knees before her. There was no pity in his eyes when she looked up at him, however, no forgiveness, only the terrible pain that she'd inflicted, and anger. He caught her face in one mailed fist. “Death is a release denied me and I will not give it to you. You will have to learn to live with your mistakes, as I live with mine."
The jolt that went through Cassie woke her wide awake. Disoriented, she looked around and discovered she was kneeling in the middle of the bed. The faint light of dawn had begun to filter through the windows. Thor, she saw, was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his head in his hands.
She sat back on her heels, staring at his back, trying to recapture the images that had seemed so vivid in her mind only moments before. “Did I wake you?” she asked quietly.
He didn't respond at once.
Finally, she crawled across the bed and touched him tentatively on the shoulder. A shudder went through him, but he turned to look at her searchingly.
“I'm sorry. I guess I was sleepwalking."
Shifting, he gathered her close, holding her tightly against him, as if comforting her, or, perhaps, as if seeking comfort? “It's all right,” he said in an oddly strained voice.
Before she could question him about it, he nudged her face up and kissed her deeply, almost savagely, his urgency carrying a sense of desperation. Her body quickened in instant response, desire flooding her senses, flowing through her like hot, intoxicating wine. She was breathless when at last he broke the kiss, her heart pounding almost painfully with need, her desire racing upward toward its crest.
He pushed her down onto the bed wordlessly, sprawling on top of her. Tugging the thin straps of her night gown down her shoulders, he lavished hungry kisses on the flesh he exposed, the tender flesh of her throat, her shoulders, the upper slopes of her breasts.
Impatient, he tugged the gown lower, spilling her breasts through the neck opening, trapping her arms at her sides with the straps. Even as he lavished heated, ravenous, open mouth kisses on the sensitive flesh he'd exposed, his hands roamed her body, dragging her panties from her almost roughly, thrusting her thighs apart so that he could settle himself between.
Her body was ready for his possession, but she was still stunned by his onslaught, by his lack of control as he thrust into her. He hadn't once made love to her that she didn't sense his desire was nearly beyond his control, but, despite his urgency, he had always seemed almost as desperate to draw out his pleasure as long as he could bear it as he was to possess her.
She sensed no such restriction now. It was as it he feared that she would disappear if he didn't take her at once and assuage his need.
Her body responded with a like need, moisture rushing to aid his hard, aggressive thrusts as he drove himself deeply inside of her, pounding against her with a force that inched her up the bed until she dug her heels into the bed to meet his savage thrusts, gripping the sheets.
Within moments, their crises caught them, almost simultaneous, so that they groaned and shuddered and shook with release together, collapsing finally in a tangle of arms and legs and breathing hoarsely as they struggled for breath.
When Thor rolled off of her at last, he dropped an arm across his eyes.
Cassie was so sated many moments passed before she began to sense that something wasn't right. She rolled over, finally, studying him.
As if he sensed her gaze, he spoke. “Did I hurt you?"
“No. Did you mean to?"
He dropped his arm, glancing at her sharply. “NO!"
“But you thought you might have?"
Letting out a harsh breath, he reached for her, tucking her against his side and stroking her back. “I had my mind on my own need,” he said gruffly.
Cassie relaxed fractionally. “Did I say something in my sleep that bothered you?"
He stiffened. “Why would you think that?"
She shrugged. “I don't know. I had such a strange dream, and then, when I woke, you seemed ... angry. I thought, maybe it was because I woke you."
“I'm not angry with you. I wasn't before. I've just got things on my mind."
Cassie was silent for several moments. “If you think it might help to talk about it,” she said tentatively, “I'm willing to listen."
His arm tightened fractionally before he released her. Placing a brief kiss on her lips, he rolled out of bed. “It's nothing you need worry about,” he said, heading for the shower.
Cassie sat up, staring after him, but finally gave up and lay back down, wondering if she could believe his strange behavior was purely coincidental to her waking from such a disturbing dream to find that she'd been acting it out.
She knew that was why she was kneeling. The dream wasn't as clear to her now as it had been the moment she'd awakened, but she remembered, in her dream, she'd been kneeling. She'd begged Thor to kill her for her faithlessness.
Because it had been Thor in the dream. She'd called him Francois, but he'd had Thor's face.
And he had been wearing that same suit of armor displayed in Thor's great room.
Why would she dream something like that, she wondered?
She had no interest in any other man, so it couldn't be anxiety about getting caught being unfaithful. She wasn't afraid of Thor. She hadn't been afraid in the dream. Even though he had looked terrible to behold, and she knew she should have been terrified, she'd been filled with remorse, pain, regret—not fear.
And, even if there was so sort of latent anxiety that had caused it, why dream of them as
a medieval couple?
Maybe it was all the period pieces Thor had around the house?
It plagued her for days like a throbbing tooth. It occurred to her after a while that maybe she did have latent anxieties that were causing the strange dreams. She'd done her best to put it from her mind after it had seemed likely that it would tear them apart to pursue it, but, in the back of her mind, she knew it still bothered her that she reminded Thor of someone else. Deep down, she had a terrible feeling that the reason Thor had never told her he loved her was because he still loved his first wife and always would.
She didn't want to face it now any more than she had before, and she most definitely didn't want to confront Thor about it. In anything, it would hurt more now even than it had then. Every day they spent together, it seemed to her that she loved him more, that her happiness became more deeply entwined with him.
The question finally arose, was not facing it actually working? If it was those anxieties that were causing her to dream, then the answer was probably no.
Finally, she decided to see if she could confront her demon on her own. The way he collected and preserved antiques, she couldn't believe he would've thrown away such an important part of his own life, especially if he was still suffering over the loss of his great love. Surely, even after ten years, Thor still had something he'd kept from his first marriage? Pictures, maybe? A wedding album? Papers?
Naturally, those thoughts hadn't more than popped into her mind than she immediately thought of Thor's rule about his office.
Chapter Seventeen
Once conceived, Cassie found she couldn't put the notion down. The more she thought about it, the more determined she was to see what she could find. The problem with her resolve was that Thor was always at home when she was at home. As often as not, he was at home even before she got home.
Despite the well filled look to Thor's home, there weren't a lot of other places to look. There were shelves in the great room, but they were open, and everything on them displayed in full view. She'd dragged a high stool from the kitchen and climbed it to search the top of the cabinet. Even with the stool, she couldn't actually see what, if anything, was on top, but she managed to feel her way along it and was satisfied when she was done that there was nothing hidden there.