Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Your Grace, is something wrong?” Mr. Mayweather, the Head of Staff, asked him. “Your Grace?”
“What is that?” Caspian pointed at the article of clothing draped across his chair.
“Ah… Your Grace?”
“That?” Caspian crossed his study and snatched at the piece of colorful cloth. Then he held it up and away from his body as if it were a cat that had wandered into his house. “What is this?”
“I believe it a shawl of some kind, Your Grace.”
“And what is it doing in my office?”
“Ah…” The Head of Staff considered the question with a sense that his life depended on it. “I am not sure. An error, perhaps? Maybe one of the maids –”
“They know better than to come in here.”
The Head of Staff winced. “I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.”
Caspian bawled the shawl in his hand and looked past Mr. Mayweather, toward the door, and then beyond as if he could see through the walls.
She is doing it on purpose. I know that she is.
“Take it.” He held the shawl out for Mr. Mayweather to take, which he did do. “And please, return it to my dear wife at once. No doubt, she is worried sick over its whereabouts.”
“At once.” Mr. Mayweather bowed deeply and scurried from the room.
To the ordinary observer, a misplaced shawl might not have seemed like such a big thing. In normal times, it would not have been. But times were not normal, and the ordinary observer could not have possibly realized the significance of what this meant.
More than that, of what it was doing to Caspian.
He found that his pulse was steadily rising and he took a calming breath, determined not to let this get to him.
It should not do! Such a small transgression as this should not have fazed him in the least. After all, Caspian made a point of staying cool under duress, and he never let his emotions get the better of him.
Then again, he had never been married before either.
It had been this way now for three days.
Every couple of hours, it was, Caspian would walk into a room of his to find something there that should not have been.
His wife’s gloves on his bed. A book she owned, on his desk.
Yesterday, when he retired to the drawing room for a drink, he had forced down a snarl when he saw that the liquor cabinet had been moved across the room.
Worse, when he opened it, the liquor was gone.
“She was insistent,” a young maid had explained when he’d demanded to know where his liquor had gone. “Her Grace… she… she… she wished for me to clean the cabinet, and she asked that the bottles be stored in the kitchen.”
“Did you not think to return them once you were done?” he had asked calmly, even though his body trembled.
“She told me not to. Oh, I am so sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to upset you.”
“Upset me? Do I look upset?” He did look upset, and the fear in the maid’s eyes told him as much.
Caspian knew that it was a long shot, but he hoped that after his performance at breakfast three days ago, that his wife might have given up on this absurd notion of getting to know him better.
I suppose I thought she might succumb to the reality of the situation and admit that getting to know one another is a fool’s errand that serves no purpose. It looks now like I am the fool.
She was playing a new game, it seemed to him. One that he understood well enough, and one that he would not lose to.
Caspian had been avoiding her these past three days also, explained why she was doing this; her vein efforts to try and force a confrontation of some kind from him. Oh, she was something else.
What frustrated Caspian more than anything else was that he had been forced to avoid her in the first place. This was his home. This was his sanctuary. He should not have to hide like some scared child. He should not have to avoid his own wife, as if being in the same room would ruin him.
Which it just might do. And that, as much as anything, is the problem.
He stalked the office as his breathing began to grow heavy, a commonality that he was growing all to use to lately.
Caspian still struggled to comprehend what had happened to him on their wedding night.
He had not meant for it to happen. He had tried to fight it the best he could.
But the moment he walked into Thalia’s bedroom and saw her sitting on her bed in that light shift…
he lost control like he never had before.
Thalia was always going to be a danger. And even before he entered her room, Caspian had been aware of his need to control his urges. But she had a way of undoing him that he could not explain, and whenever he was around her…
Which is the exact reason I have been happy to avoid her all week.
When she suggested that they take a month before going to bed, Caspian had been relieved. An embarrassment to admit, but it was the truth. He needed to get away. He needed to compose himself. He needed… he needed… he needed to sleep with his wife, was what.
He could not say how this month was going to unfold. He could not say what he meant to do. All he could say was that when the time came for himself and Thalia to go to bed, the chances that he would be able to control himself appeared to be very slim.
“Your Grace!” a voice cried suddenly from downstairs, pulling Caspian from his thoughts. “Your Grace!”
“What is it now?” Caspian snarled, which itself was strange, as he never lost his temper. What was his wife doing to him?
He strode through the house and down the hall until he came upon the cause of the chaos. And as was typical lately, his wife was to blame.
She was standing in the middle of the hallway, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth hanging open, and with a broken vase shattered at her feet. When Caspian came upon the scene, she slowly looked up, saw him standing there, and offered an apologetic smile.
“I swear it was an accident.”
Oh, how Caspian wanted to shout. How he wanted to scream. How he wanted to reprimand her for an act that he was almost certain to be purposeful.
She is trying her best to upset me. To make me angry. Why she is doing such a thing, I cannot say. Only that I can’t let her get to me.
“What happened?” he asked as he approached her.
“I was just looking at it, I promise,” she said. “But I wanted to see how heavy it was and – I am so sorry.” She dropped to her knees to pick it up.
“Don’t!” he exclaimed.
She froze and looked at him… and he saw the excitement in her eyes, brought about by the raising of his voice.
“The shards are sharp,” he said carefully. “You might cut yourself.” Standing nearby were several members of staff, and Caspian indicated at them to help clean up.
“I am so sorry,” she said again. “I did not mean it.”
“It is fine.”
“Was it expensive?” she asked. “It looked expensive.”
The vase was expensive. No… expensive was not the right word. It was priceless, passed down through at least three generations, and Caspian could not even guess what it might have been worth. That she had broken it…
He took a deep breath, making sure to keep his expression passive the entire time.
“Thalia, you and I need to have a talk.”
“Oh?”
He hesitated when he looked at her properly and was just as quickly reminded of why he was so determined to avoid her as much as he could.
Her beauty was more classic than startling. The dark brown of her hair, thick and luscious and wavy. The sharp green of her eyes, intelligent and just a little mischievous. When she smiled, she had a dimple on the right side of her cheek, and when she scowled her eyebrows touched at the center.
She was dressed in a simple muslin gown of light blue, pulled together with a ribbon under her bust. The snug ribbon emphasized her bosom and her curves, showing off the full shape of her body while revealing just enough skin to suggest at what lay underneath.
Caspian was not usually the type to gawk or care about such things, but to see her right now…
once again, he felt himself coming undone.
“Yes, a talk.” He pulled his gaze from her. “If you will.” He turned and walked away quickly, delighted to hear her footsteps following him.
The vase was not what he wished to speak about.
Nor were her recent actions. Those, he knew, he could ignore, and that Thalia would eventually move on from this ridiculous attempt to bring out the worst in him.
Rather, he had heard a rumor just yesterday, one that was concerning, and one that he wished to confirm and then work toward fixing.
He led Thalia into the drawing room.
“This will do.” He reached the middle of the room and turned quickly.
She came to an abrupt halt, standing some five feet back from here. “I did not mean to break the vase,” she said again. “Honestly, it was an accident.”
“I do not care about the vase,” he said.
“You don’t?” She almost sounded disappointed by the fact.
“No. What I care about is a rumor that I heard just yesterday. One I would have thought my wife would come to me with. One that I am still trying to decide what to do about.”
“A rumor? What… what did you hear?”
For the first time, his wife looked worried. Clearly, she did not expect this confrontation, and clearly, she was caught on the back foot.
It might have brought a smile to Caspian’s face, if he allowed it. She might enjoy upsetting him, but two could play that game.
This is not a game. Is it?
His eyes roamed her body, pausing on the curves of her hips and bust in the gown, straying to her neckline and the smoothness of her skin. Caspian’s mind cast back to their kiss, not nearly as passionate as it could have been, but that did not matter.
Why does she do this to me? Why do I struggle so much around her?
He gave his head a shake and forced himself to focus.
“You visited the Guildhall Library three days ago, yes?” he asked.
“I did,” she said carefully. “I would have told you, but I did not think you would care.”
“I do not care,” he said, which had her frowning. “My concern is for who you spoke with while at the library.”