Chapter Eight
As Dev prepared for bed that night, he could think about only one thing. There was a lush, curvaceous woman—a woman who was his by the laws of both God and man—sleeping in the next room. She lay mere yards away, separated from him by only a door and a promise.
He had promised his new wife that they’d take time to get know each other before consummating their marriage. But when he agreed to that condition, he had no idea how frustrating it would be.
Before eloping, Dev had never considered what it would be like to sit by his wife’s side in a chaise, hour after hour, with his thigh casually bumping into hers.
At least, they’d slept in separate bedchambers after the wedding.
That ought to be enough distance between them, right?
But Dev could not stop thinking about Lady Colfax.
His wife. Lucy! So close, but so far out of reach.
Dev lay awake for what felt like hours, spinning fantasies about being invited into his wife’s bed. Imagining how good it would feel to have that deliciously rounded body beneath him.
He must have fallen asleep eventually, because something woke him in the middle of the night. He blinked his eyes and tried to remember what had roused him. A voice, he thought, or a cry.
A cry for help?
Cold fear kicked him into motion. He shoved his bedclothes aside and rolled out of bed. He landed with a thump that could probably wake the dead. After that, he tiptoed cautiously towards the door separating the bedchambers.
That door stood ajar, though Dev knew it had been shut when he crawled into bed. That gave him pause. Had Lucy entered his chamber? Why on earth would she do that?
He could only think that she must have needed help. Or wanted his company, though that seemed unlikely.
“Lucy?” he called softly. “Did you need help?”
A sleepy voice emerged from the darkness. “What?”
“I said, did you need help? I thought I heard your voice.”
Lucy pushed back one of her bedcurtains, allowing moonlight to illuminate her sleep-bewrinkled face as she sat up in bed. Her hair was tied in a loose braid and she wore a flannel nightgown that regretfully covered her arms and most of her neck. She looked like a blanket-covered lump.
Dev still wanted to jump into bed with her. Was there something wrong with him?
“Oh. No. I didn’t say anything. I only woke up when you opened the door.” She yawned mightily. “I don’t know what you heard. Could it have been a dream?”
He frowned. “I didn’t open the door. It was already open. I assumed you opened it.”
“Me?” she asked, as indignant as if he’d accused her of murder. “I most certainly did not. Why would I do that?”
Her question landed like a stone tossed into a pond, creating ripples of awkwardness that slowly spread to fill the entire room.
“Why, indeed?” Dev asked softly.
“That is not to say that I wish to avoid your company,” she quickly clarified. “But I was merely trying to sleep. There was nothing I needed. A draft must have moved the door?” The rising inflection of her voice turned it into a question.
“At Hethersleigh, when things like that happen, we blame the Veiled Lady,” Dev told her. “She likes opening doors and hiding objects.”
“Oh, yes,” she said doubtfully. “I remember that legend.”
Dev snorted. “I advise you not to refer to the ghost as a mere legend. The servants here are convinced that the ghost is real. In fact, I suspect—” He caught himself in the nick of time. “In any case, if there is nothing amiss, I’d better return to my chamber.”
But Lucy pounced on the hint. “What do you suspect?”
Dev wavered, torn between his desire to be honest and his concern for Lucy’s peace of mind. He wanted her to feel comfortable sleeping in the Oak Room. Though he hated admitting that Mabel was right, it was convenient to have his wife in the next room.
On the other hand, one need not be superstitious to think a door opening by itself was alarming. He’d better explain.
“May I sit down?” he asked.
“Of course. You may—” She fell silent when he sat at the foot of the bed.
Belatedly, Dev realized she might have expected him to take a chair. Sitting on her bed felt far more intimate. But it was too late now—changing his seat would merely call attention to his blunder.
He cleared his throat and launched into what he hoped would be a short explanation. “The first thing you should know is that my mother loved this room. I am told my grandmother did too. Neither of them ever complained about any. . . disturbances.” At least, not any malicious disturbances.
“But?” she prompted.
Now came the hard part. “My stepmother, however, did not care for this bedchamber. She eventually had her things moved to an empty room down the hall. No one has slept here for years.”
“She disliked it that much?”
Dev shrugged. “She felt there was something unsettling about the Oak Room. Said she had trouble sleeping here.”
“Really?” Lucy had gone from surprise to incredulity. “It seems like such a comfortable room. The colors are a bit dark, I suppose, but the room feels snug rather than oppressive.”
“That is what I have always thought,” Dev agreed.
In fact, he’d sometimes wondered if Mabel had changed bedrooms merely to put more distance between herself and her husband. It was not a particularly charitable speculation, but perhaps a young woman could be forgiven for trying to avoid the older man she’d married for pragmatic reasons.
“Naturally, you are welcome to make changes if you wish,” he told Lucy. “It is your room now. Assuming you wish to keep it, rather than moving down the hall.” Assuming the Veiled Lady did not harass Lucy the way she was said to have harassed Mabel.
“I am quite content with this room.” Lucy punctuated the statement with another yawn. “I believe I will sleep soundly here.”
Dev took the hint. “I will bid you good night, then. But if you should need anything, I am only a door away.” He stood up to go, but her next words stopped him in his tracks.
“Do you believe in the Veiled Lady?”