by Yasmine Nash
He still felt furious at the revelation she had made to him earlier about feeling unattractive. He wanted to go out and box whoever had put those ideas into her head.
It was true that his wife didn’t have a conventional beauty, but the longer he got to know her, the more he was mesmerized by the softness of her eyes and those tempting lips of hers. And her body was a pleasure in itself. The other women Descamps had lain with had had larger bosoms, but he delighted in the way Amanda’s pert, rounded breasts fit right into his large palms. It was like they were perfectly sized for him.
And her skin…he hadn’t been prepared for the pale, smooth expanse of her stomach. The sight made him want to mark her all over—an impulse he had happily indulged, leaving a trail of gentle bites along her body that would probably blossom into pale purple bruises by the following day. The thought filled him with a primal pride.
Amanda turned over in her sleep and sighed sweetly, brushing against him as she did so.
He knew he should leave and return to his own bed before morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not quite yet. He would just watch her sleep for a little while longer.
* * *
“Don’t you have neighbors?” Amanda ventured shyly over breakfast the following day. It still felt strange to be so formal with her husband in the light of day when they engaged in such intimate acts together at night. “Or perhaps other acquaintances nearby? It gets lonely to not have other female companions,” she admitted
The baron glanced at her impassively. “Of course. But I don’t care for them and they all despise me equally, so I believe you’ll have difficulty attracting a friend here. I’m sure you’ve noticed I am not the sociable type.” He took a bit of his sausage and swallowed before continuing. “Besides, you have your maid. Surely that’s enough companionship.”
Amanda liked her maid very much, but it was not the same as having female friends. Amanda had grown up in a household full of girls, and this was the first time she had been away from her sisters for such an extended period. And the baron was not much company, with his gloomy silences and brooding looks.
But she thought she could find a way to make peace with the solitude and isolation of the castle. It was not as though Amanda and her family had been social butterflies anyway. The family’s reduced station in life because of her father’s debts had led to much gossip and whispering among the ton.
Amanda felt a kindred spirit with her husband. They had both of them faced the scorn and dismissal of society. Unlike her, Descamps had been all alone, without a family to support him. Was it any wonder that he had withdrawn inside himself and shunned the rest of the world?
She thought she was beginning to understand him, and the idea filled her with a rush of pleasure. After he had opened up to her the other night, even her husband’s occasional dour silences weren’t bothering her anymore.
Amanda’s time at Highmount Castle soon fell into a comfortable rhythm. Her days were spent wandering the gardens when the weather allowed it and directing the renovation of the castle’s many rooms the rest of the time. Her nights passed in a hot, sweaty blur of lovemaking as her husband drove her toward oblivion time and time again. Before she realized it, three months had sped by since her wedding.
It was amazing how quickly one could fall into a routine. On reflection, the past months had not been bad ones. They had been challenging, as she and her husband had grown used to each other and she had adapted to this new home. But that didn’t make them unhappy.
And by day, Amanda felt like she was getting a peek behind the curtain into her husband’s personality. To her surprise, she liked what she saw. Yes, he was a bit gloomy at times, but the more she learned about his background, the more sense that made to her. Besides, he was also passionate and noble and absolutely unconcerned by what others thought of him. It was honorable, in a way.
Amanda found herself craving her husband’s company in the daytime. She would make excuses to find matters to discuss with him about the running of the household so she could keep him from hurrying off during the day. And at night, he had taken to remaining in the bed with her after their lovemaking ended, instead of returning to his own chambers, as he had done at the start of their relationship.
It was progress, she told herself. Perhaps he would never grow to love her, but she flattered herself to think that he might have started to like her.
That was enough. It would have to be enough. Even if Amanda’s heart craved more, she had no right to ask anything else of him.
After three months, Amanda had managed to explore nearly every room of the castle. Due to its size, this was not as simple a task as it sounded. Her husband had given her permission to remake the contents of the rooms as she saw fit, and she intended to take him up on that offer. Highmount would be cheerful someday; Amanda was determined upon it.
She sometimes wondered if the castle’s gloomy interior was responsible for her husband’s usually grim temper. The servants too, she had noticed, tended to be a quiet, dour lot, although their tempers had improved remarkably since Mrs. Hughes had left them. The only one who seemed consistently cheerful was Sara, and even she would lose that glimmer of brightness if the baron was ever anywhere nearby.
It was all so strange. At least the servants were all respectful toward Amanda now. After what had happened with the housekeeper, it seemed no one else wanted to test her authority. Amanda knew she had no real cause to complain, but even so, she would have liked to see a little more cheer around here.
So she had taken it upon herself to discuss the castle improvements with the footman James—the one Descamps had pointed out to her the first night of her arrival at Highmount. She had plans to invite her family to stay next Christmas, and Amanda was determined to have finished her projects by then.
She was in one of the many extra bedrooms one morning, trying to decide what to do with it. She had an idea that this could be where her sisters would reside during their future visit, so Amanda wanted to be sure extra care was taken to make this room as comfortable as possible.
Like most of the other unused rooms in the castle, the furniture in here was covered with sheets to protect against dust. Amanda lifted the sheets off gingerly, careful not to stir up clouds of dust, so she could glimpse the current state of the furniture.
Amanda removed yet another sheet, then paused in shock. Underneath it was a large painting of a beautiful woman. The inscribed plate at the bottom of the frame read Caroline Descamps.
So this, then, was Caroline. Her husband kept this portrait of his late wife hidden away up here. Why? Because he didn’t want Amanda to know he had it?
Amanda crept closer to examine the picture. The woman therein was utterly beautiful. Blond ringlets were gathered up, framing a heart-shaped face featuring sea-blue eyes, cupid’s bow lips, and pink cheeks.
Perhaps the painter had embellished, because no one could possibly look that lovely in real life; her beauty was almost otherworldly. The woman Sara had recalled to Amanda had been someone who liked to laugh, but the woman in this portrait looked bored, staring back with disdain evident in her eyes, as though she were daring the viewer to be insulted.
Amanda had never felt so drab and unappealing in her life as she did now, staring at this portrait of her husband’s dead wife.
He was probably still in love with her too, Amanda thought with a cold stab of jealousy. That was why he kept her portrait hidden away up here; that was why he continued to keep Amanda at arms’ length. She had been a fool to ever dream, even for a moment, that he could actually ever care for her.
The sound of footsteps behind her alerted Amanda to the arrival of another person and she shifted guiltily. That would be James, come to help her.
But when she turned around, Descamps was standing in the doorway. He was staring at the portrait with a blank look on his face.
“Oh, hello,” Amanda said wildly. She was not in the right frame of mind to see her husband at the moment. �
�I was just admiring this portrait of the late baroness. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she was,” the baron said quietly.
Amanda urged herself to keep silent, but her insecurities got the better of her. She couldn’t stop from asking vulnerably, “Why me?”
Descamps’ gaze flickered over to Amanda. “What?”
She gulped. This was what she had been wondering for months now. “Why did you choose to marry me? After you had grown used to being with someone like her, how can you bear it to be married to me?”
The baron’s lip curled. “We did not have a happy marriage. In a way, it was a relief when she died.”
Amanda gaped at her husband. “What a terrible thing to say,” she whispered.
“So first you’re jealous of my dead wife, and now you want me to be more loving toward her?” Descamps said impatiently.
“Are you going to grow tired of me too?” Amanda shot back. Would what little affection he held for her disappear just as easily?
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the baron said, and it sounded as though his temper was wearing thin.
Amanda had been walking on eggshells around him for months now, and she was suddenly sick of it. She had put her all into this marriage and her husband could hardly muster up enough energy to care.
“If I’m so wrong, then tell me why!” she blurted out. “I have put everything I have into this marriage and you have pushed me away at every turn.” To her horror, Amanda found she was crying.
“You knew what this marriage was when you entered it,” Descamps said, his gray eyes as unfeeling as steel.
“Well, I hoped otherwise,” she said bitterly.
“Hope is for fools,” he said in such a cold whisper that the chill of it caused Amanda to shiver.
She knew her husband would not hurt her, and yet at that moment, he resembled his father’s portrait more than he had at any time she’d known him. And after all, the same blood was in his veins. What if she were to say something that would trigger a fuse in him that he didn’t even know existed? On reflex, Amanda glanced around the room to see if there were any other doors she could exit from.
Descamps caught the movement. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“N-no,” Amanda said, but the stammer in her voice revealed the lie.
“Do you think I’ll hurt you?” he asked. “The way I hurt the others?”
Amanda gasped and she shrunk back against the wall. Was he actually admitting to it?
Descamps’ face shuttered. “So you do believe that I’m capable of the cold-blooded murder of those closest to me? That I have betrayed every law of man and God?”
Amanda resolutely kept her mouth shut and shook her head. She had not thought it, not really. And yet, her husband was such a strange man….
The scornful look he cast her burned straight to her soul. Beneath that scorn, she thought she recognized in him the hint of pain she was carrying herself. But Amanda had no time to be sure because Descamps had already turned and strode away.
8
Chapter 8
It was clear now to Descamps that he had severely misjudged his wife. He had thought she was different; that she had actually seen through the external fog of lies and gossip to who he truly was as a person. But that had all been a figment of his imagination.
That was not the only thing he had been proven wrong about on this day.
Descamps had thought he was a different creature than his father, but the memory of Amanda looking nervously at him gave proof to that lie he had been telling himself. Shame curdled, thick and sour, in his stomach at the memory.
He had been taken so aback by the sight of Caroline’s portrait, that all the old feelings of betrayal had returned. Descamps hadn’t even realized that the portrait was still around. He thought he’d burnt them all after her death, but apparently, he had missed one.
And now Amanda thought he was a monster. Well, that much was true. She had been wrong about one thing today though, but she didn’t know it. Descamps hadn’t known it until now either.
He thought he had no heart left to give. It was only at this moment, when he felt his heart crushed inside his chest, that he realized both he and Amanda had been mistaken about that assumption.
Descamps had been falling in love with Amanda this entire time, without even realizing it—despite trying his best to fight it, as a matter of fact. If only he had listened to his instincts to blockade himself from feelings, then he would not have found himself in this position today, feeling the pain he had tried for so long to avoid.
* * *
Whatever had Amanda been thinking, to even contemplate for a moment that Descamps could be capable of such horrendous acts? Her husband was certainly something of an enigma, but he wasn’t a murderer. She felt humiliated that the thought had crossed her mind for even a moment.
And now her husband disdained her for it. She had seen the hatred in his face.
How could she have been so foolish?
“For heaven’s sake, Amanda!” she scolded herself miserably. “Life is not some horrid gothic novel.”
But it was too late for such rationalities. The damage was done. And the question of whether her husband could ever trust her again was a very open one.
Lately, she had hoped that she had managed to break through some of his defenses, but all of that was for naught. Descamps would never let her into his heart now, she was sure of It.
Not that he would have ever loved Amanda.
Now that she had seen Caroline’s portrait, Amanda felt embarrassment rush through her that she had ever thought the baron could long for her the same way.
The rest of her life played out before her eyes. She was doomed to live in a lonely marriage with a man she loved; a man who now hated her and could never love her back. What sheer torture.
Amanda lay awake in her bed until late that night, hoping against hope that her husband would rap on her door and ask to come in. Then they could make love and forget this foolish argument had ever happened.
It was all in vain though. Descamps did not come.
* * *
Rather than see her husband and be reminded all over again of her foolishness, Amanda asked Sara to bring her meals to her room over the next few days. Each night, Amanda wished she could draw up the courage to knock on her husband’s door and apologize, but the fear that he would turn her away stopped her cold every time.
It was on the third day after the argument when Sara brought in a light tray for supper. Amanda had eaten poorly at breakfast and was looking forward to the food.
Sara hesitated at the doorway before leaving Amanda to her meal. “I know it’s not my place, my lady, but are you certain you’re quite well? Perhaps I could fetch a physician?”
“I’m fine,” Amanda said with a weak smile.
“I worry about you,” Sara said in a rush. “It’s just, my lord’s first wife would lock herself away in her room for days on end right before she grew ill and passed away. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
“How did she die?” Amanda asked, curiosity piqued despite herself. Somehow, she had never gotten around to asking this question.
“She wasted away,” Sara said sadly. “She was happy to be married at first, but I think she hated this castle by the end. She and my lord had different ideas of comfort. Hers was to be out and about in society, the center of attention. She had just returned from an extended visit to London when she grew ill.”
It had never occurred to Amanda that, by staying shut up in her chamber, she could be forcing the baron to relive what must have been a very difficult time for him by reenacting the days before Caroline’s death.
“Well, I’m not going to waste away, Sara,” she assured the maid. “In fact, I’m feeling much better, if you could just help me dress.”
Sara had just finished arranging Amanda’s hair in a simple updo when a knock sounded on her outer door. James the footman s
tood awkwardly outside. “My lady,” he said with a bow, “his lordship requests your presence in the ballroom.”
Amanda’s pulse sounded very loud in her ears, but she nodded her acquiescence. What could Descamps possibly want with her there?
Several minutes later, Amanda walked into the ballroom cautiously. She had not a clue what this was about. The magnificent chandelier hanging from the center of the ballroom was lit, as were the sconces all around the walls of the room, giving a warm, glittering glow to the space, although the corners were still dappled in shadow.
Even in the uneven light, she could see that the room was now spotless—not a speck of dust anywhere.
Alone in this beautiful hall, Amanda felt even more ordinary than usual. It didn’t help that she was wearing a simple muslin gown, far underdressed for the occasion. As usual lately, it served as a stark reminder that she was not good enough to be a baroness.
She jumped when she saw someone move out from one of the shadows.
The baron.
He was dressed simply as well. That was one of the things that had drawn her to him—his disdain for the frivolous vanities and fopperies of the rest of society. He knew who he was, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought about him. It was an admirable quality, but now, staring at him in front of her, all Amanda could feel was the pain. The pain of what she had lost, even though it was something she had never fully had to begin with.
He looked handsome, as always. Perhaps even more so for the mysterious glimmer the shadows cast upon him.
Descamps stepped closer to the chandelier, and the extra light allowed Amanda to make out his face for the first time. To her shock, he looked haggard. She had never seen him like this, and she had to stop herself from rushing forward to find out what was the matter with him. Her hands longed to grip his face and check him for a fever; to coat his skin with kisses.
Foolish impulses. She stayed where she was.
If she hadn’t already gotten that gothic nonsense out of her head earlier, Amanda would have thought this a strange setting, an unsettling one, even, to meet your estranged spouse. But now she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was emotionally drained, with not even room left in her to feel surprised.