Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
It was a swift, cool breeze that woke Ariadne, and eyes fluttering, she took a moment to reorient herself, then at the sight of the luxurious—but staid—room.
The sky was darker than she had remembered when going to be, and she winced inside at knowing she had slept all day.
She slipped from the bed, her hands dragging over the clean, crisp linens dressing the bed, and after examining her room, she found her washing room.
She plunged her hands into the icy water and splashed her face, and the temperature jolted her awake. Staring at the mirror, her face pale, she tried to find the best in the situation.
At least my sisters will have the leeway to find the one they will love.
She eyed the third door, wondering if, like her mother and father’s chambers, it led to the duke’s. Tentatively, she tried the door and pushed in, lingering in the doorway, only to look.
His room was bleak, with exposed dark stone walls, leather furniture, one portrait above his fireplace, and aside from his bed, a mirror image of hers, only spread with dark sheets, and a rectangular rug under its side.
There was nothing in his room to speak of his personality; no portrait of his late wife that would tell of grief or warm memories of her, nor were there any ornaments, whimsical or not, to tell her what he liked.
She slowly backed away and closed the door.
As she headed to the door that led to the hallway, she knew that the smart thing to do was to find the Beast and speak with him about how their marriage would be— but she wanted a moment to herself before she faced him again.
I do not know what to do around him.
She tried every door she passed, hoping to come upon a library sooner than later, and at the last door in this wing—or maybe it was the next one? She had wandered so many halls that she had lost track. Pushing that door in, it opened to a cavernous room with two stories of books.
The lower level was square with bookshelves aligned with the walls, while there was a large seating area of couches, coffee tables and curule chairs across from a large fireplace.
End tables held candlesticks with tall beeswax candles ready to be lit while the top level only held shelves. A staircase led to those but what intrigued her was the ladder that led to the row of tomes in a recessed shelf above the seating area.
“At least I will not be entirely bored with my time here…” She investigated the shelves across from the fireplace and found they were ranged from history to philosophy to art and even epic poems, like the Odyssey and the Iliad.
“Nothing on plants…” she stepped away
As she moved from the seating area, her eyes flickered up to the books above the seating area and her eyes caught on the spine of a thick tome, De Materia Medica or The Vienna Dioscorides
Her head felt light; how on earth had he gotten his hand on such a prized book?
Her head swiveled to the ladder, and she moved it to where the book was. She began to climb. Halfway, she felt the boldness of her decision begin to waver—and the moment she looked down, it plummeted out of the bottom of her stomach.
Grabbing at the ladder, she swallowed and lifted one foot over the other until she got to the ledge. Reaching out, she trapped her air in her lungs as she pulled a large tome from the shelf and balanced it on the edge of the ledge.
Flipping the cover, she gently paged through the highly detailed, hand-drawn illustrations and descriptions of both healing and toxic plants.
“Wolfsbane… Hemlock…Mandrake…”
Carefully turning pages, exultation bloomed within her as she came up the leaf diagram of Henbane; whoever had drawn this had studied the leaf to the minutia to recreate it on paper.
“Are you my new mother?”
Severely startled at the child’s voice floating up from the foot of the ladder, Ariadne lost her grip on the heavy book and watched in horror as it tipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
Panic flew into her head and heart that she might have damaged a book worth more than anything she had ever owned. “Oh god.”
She tried to scramble down the ladder and, in her haste, missed a rung and slipped. Fright had her pulling back too far, where the ladder tipped over, and Ariadne braced herself for the hard fall—only to land in a cradle of powerful arms.
The second she realized she had not met the floor, and that she was being carried off, Ariadne was too weak with relief to protest at being carried like a sack of grain.
With her face pressed in his chest, the spicy-sweet notes of sandalwood and citrus mingled as heat washed over her. Embarrassment and mortification; of course, it had to be utter, complete humiliation.
What else would it be?
The beast set her on her feet, his face a slab of nothingness. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Her eyes landed on the little girl who looked as innocent as pure, driven snow. Her dark hair mirrored her father’s, but her eyes were light and golden. She rocked on her heels, the tails of the cotton dress and organza petticoat moved with her.
“I— I suppose so, Lady Emily—” she paused, “—but I suppose that rests on you.”
This time, Ariadne deferred to the man standing near them. She wanted to ask him how he had arrived just in time to save her from a folly of her own making, but that could be done later. How did her father want to handle this?
Emily cocked her head to the side, “What do you know about cats?”
“I had a few growing up,” Ariadne replied with a smile. “You do know that you cannot choose a cat? The cat chooses you.”
Pouting, Emily said, “My friend Amelia has a cat, and she does not like me. I want her to like; she has five toes.”
“Does she, now?” Ariadne warmed. “She is an extra special cat, and we’ll have to think really hard about how to get her to like you.”
Her eyes brightened, “You’ll do that?”
“Of course,” Ariadne replied.
Promptly, Emily turned to her father, “I like her.”
From the corner of her eye, Ariadne saw as he swept the book off the floor, and once again, her heart lodged in her throat, “Did I damage it?” She’d feel just awful if she had.
“No more than the other wear and tear it has gone through in the last fifty years.” He flipped open the cover. He looked over at her. “
“You mentioned liking medicinal plants. This is a book on poison,” Duke Holloway said flatly.
“Many poisons can be used for good,” she replied.
“Like removing vexing husbands?” his tone did not shift.
“To some, yes. But to me, it's more of using the numbing properties to good use,” her smile dimpled.
To his child, he said, “Now that you have scared Lady Ariadne, make acquaintances properly and go take your luncheon.”
Emily dipped out a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Aria. And I am sorry I frightened you.”
“Ariadne,” she corrected the girl kindly. “And I would stand, but my knees are weak from that fright.”
She smiled, then turned to her father and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Will I see you at supper, Papa?”
“Of course,” he said.
The sweet girl looked up to her father as if he’d hung the moon, and Ariadne remembered how she used to look at her own departed father once upon a time.
“And you will finish the story at bedtime too?” Emily pleaded.
For the first time, Ariadne witnessed a break in the duke’s stoic demeanor as his face softened and he gazed at his child with gentle tenderness. “Yes, pumpkin. We’re almost finished, and I know you want to know the ending. Now, go off to your governess.”
As she went off, Ariadne said, “Thank you for saving me… again.”
He waved her off, “That’s nothing different from what I do every day. When you regain your faculties, we need to go to my study, and you will sign the marriage agreement I have made.”
Instead of acknowledging that, she asked. “How did you find me?”
“I checked your bedroom, and you were not there,” he said. “No maid or footman has seen you wondering the halls so I suspected you would be here. Never do that again, of you might break your neck.”
And there goes the tender moment we had.
Something rippled across his face, and Cedric winced, grabbing at his face. Instantly, her irritation vanished, and worry swamped her heart; she reached for him, but he flinched away, using his free arm to bat hers away.
“How bad is it?” Ariadne fretted, “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” he said, “It happens sometimes when I overwork my muscles. The fire damaged my nerves and sometimes caused spasms. It hurts like the devil sometimes.”
“Surely, there is a crème or a solvent or something that can help?” Ariadne asked.
“I just take laudanum.” He cut her off.
“Should I get it for you?” Ariadne asked.
He paused for a moment, his shoulders fell in defeat, clearly choosing to get help, rather than battle through the pain, “Please. Get Hunt. He will help you.”
Rushing from the room, she held in her fear and descended the stairs with no clue where to find Mr. Hunt. A maid directed to the silver closet when she found him polishing the dinnerware.
“Mr. Hunt, His Grace needs laudanum,” she said calmly. “If you would show me where it is, I will take care of it.”
He bowed, “I will show you where it is, Your Grace. His Garce usually takes it with a finger of sherry to mask the taste,” Hunt said as he took her to another closet. Plucking a key out, he quickly opened the lock and took the bottle down.
She followed him up to the floor above and took her into a well-appointed room, which, with the massive desk, leather furniture, and towering shelves, had to be the duke’s study.
Hunt quickly made a glass of sherry and added a few drops of laudanum. They headed to the library, where Cedric was slowly massaging his temple.
“Your Grace,” Hunt said, as he handed him the glass. “Please.”
She watched as he took the glass and drank; the muscle under his eyes twitched. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but clenched her hand at her side; she doubted he would want her to touch him.
Finally, he sat back, strain still tight on his face. “Thank you, Hunt.”
“I’ll send up a heated cloth,” the butler nodded. “Please, excuse me.”
“Is it still paining you?” she asked.
“Somewhat,” he said.
“How often do they happen?”
He threw back the rest of his drink. “Once upon a time, almost every day. Now, not so much.”
They were briefly interrupted by a maid with a hot towel on a silver platter that Ariadne took. “May I?”
He pulled the cold crystal from his temple, looked at her for a long while before nodding once. Gently, she laid the heated towel on his face, and his eyes closed in visible relief.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you?” Ariadne asked while mentally telling herself to store laudanum in her chambers in case this happened again.
To her surprise, Cedric stood and held the rag with one hand before turning, lifting a hand, and briefly touching her cheek. It traced down to her jawline and tipped her chin upward.
“You are a curious one,” he said. “I do not know what to make of you.”
“Or I you,” she breathed. “I suppose we shall have years to make sense of each other. That is, if you spend any time with me at all, but I don’t think you intend to.”
His eyes dropped to her lips, and she wondered if he meant to kiss her, certainly not with his confusing, dismissing, and at times abrasive attitude from earlier. She was astounded by his statement, and she took him in anew then, trying to understand him.
Now that he stood but a few inches before her, she could feel him. The power of his body, the delicious scent of citrus, spice, and something she could not quite identify.
He angled his head towards her, and given the vast difference in their height, she tilted her head back, determined to meet his gaze without hesitation.
But then, much to her amazement, he coasted his thumb across her bottom lip and pulled it out from where she had trapped it with her teeth. “Don’t do that.”
With those words, he walked away, and the world damn near spun around her. This was madness! Silently, she pressed the back of her hand to her lips and watched as his broad back vanished around the corner.
“Good god,” she whispered. “What have I gotten myself into?”