Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Theo was pacing the length of the sitting room in an effort to calm the churning storm within him.
April had not been the same since the incident at the pond. He had never seen her so afraid nor so quiet. And then the nightmare. She had clung to him like a lost soul, and the memory of her trembling against him haunted every breath.
I should have been more careful. Should have kept her closer. Protected her better.
The door to the bedchamber opened, and he turned at once. April stepped out, dressed in ivory, the soft fabric clinging gently to her frame, her dark hair pinned with delicate care. There was still fear behind her eyes, faint but lingering.
He stepped toward her and offered his hand. “Tonight will be lovely, I promise you.”
“You still haven’t told me where we are going,” she said, slipping her hand into his.
“Impatient, are we?” he replied, lifting one brow.
She gave him a look, half smile, half pout. He chuckled and led her out. He helped her into the carriage, joining her within, and gave the driver a nod.
The carriage rolled forward into the dusk.
April shifted in her seat, leaning toward him. “You shall tell me now,” she said, narrowing her eyes with mischief as her fingers toyed with the edge of her glove.
Theo crossed his ankle over his knee, expression unreadable. “Only if you guess correctly.”
“Oh, a game,” she replied brightly, tucking one leg beneath her and resting her chin in her hand. “Is it a ball?”
“No.”
“A dinner at one of your friends’ houses?”
“Wrong again.”
“A stroll through some famous gardens?”
“Still no.”
“A private box at the opera?”
“That would have been far too easy.”
“A moonlit picnic in the forest?”
“Tempting, but no.”
She gave a mock sigh and fell back against the seat. “Oh, this is cruel,” she said, laughing. “Are we eloping? Shall I expect a vicar waiting at the edge of the woods?”
“As lovely as that sounds, April,” he said as he leaned in slightly, “I fear we are already wed.”
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused, tapping the toe of her slipper against his boot.
“Immensely,” he replied, still utterly composed.
The carriage slowed, and when it halted, Theo stepped out.
He straightened his coat and turned to offer her his hand.
She accepted it, letting him guide her down, and looked up at the imposing structure before them; a tall building with a Grecian facade lit by torches that flickered like golden tongues against the dusk.
Her brow furrowed, curiosity overtaking her usual poise. “Where are we?”
“You shall see,” he said, placing her hand on his arm.
He led her inside to a marble vestibule where a liveried majordomo greeted them and offered flutes of champagne. April looked around, curious.
“Is this a theater?” she asked.
“Correct.”
“At last!” She took a sip of her drink and looked around once more. “Now will you tell me what performance we are to see?”
“Patience,” he said, clinking his glass lightly against hers. “Though if you continue pestering me, I might be forced to teach you the virtue properly.”
“Oh? And how do you intend to do that?” She raised her brows, the corners of her lips twitching.
He took a leisurely sip. “Perhaps with repetition. And incentive.”
“I do enjoy an incentive,” she replied, drawing out the words as she tilted her head. “But I warn you, I am not easily trained.”
“All the better,” he murmured. “The challenge will make the reward all the sweeter, my dear.”
Moments later, the majordomo bowed. “It is time.”
Theo led her through twin golden doors, and April gasped. They were no longer in a vestibule. Before them stretched a woodland, bathed in green light and filled with glittering fairies and elves moving between trees.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“The theatre,” Theo replied. “Though not the sort one sits for.”
They followed a path where scenes played out around them.
A fairy queen cried for her daughter, the princess who had disappeared.
Then the scene shifted. They were in another room, another world.
The princess, now clad in a tattered dress, wandered the shadows of an enchanted forest, searching for her lost love.
April’s eyes were wide, enchanted. She watched with parted lips, leaning closer to Theo each time the story shifted rooms. When the princess was caught by a sinister witch and caged in crystal, April’s hand clutched Theo’s arm.
Let me see everything you feel, April.
They moved again. The prince, armed with a crystal sword, ventured into a volcano to battle a fire serpent.
Flames erupted in bursts, and the music swelled.
April squealed with delight as the prince dealt the final blow, and the monster crumbled into ash.
The princess was freed, and the lovers embraced.
April turned to Theo with bright eyes. “That was extraordinary. How did you find this place?”
“It is one of those hidden gems, but I knew you would love it.”
“I do,” she whispered.
He watched her face, memorizing the joy written upon it. I will do whatever I must to keep that light in your eyes.
The majordomo returned just as Theo and April stepped out of the final chamber, their fingers still laced together. “Did the performance please Your Graces?” he asked with a bow.
April turned to him with glowing eyes. “I have never seen anything like it. It was utterly magical.”
“I am pleased,” the majordomo replied. “If Your Graces are ready, dinner awaits.”
April turned to Theo. “There is dinner as well?”
He only smiled and offered her his arm. Without a word, he led her through a velvet-curtained passage.
They emerged onto a private terrace draped in candlelight.
A small, intimate table sat beneath a trellis wound with jasmine.
Beyond the balustrade, a garden stretched down the hill, soft with lantern light, and from somewhere hidden among the hedges, music floated up to them, a gentle swell of strings and harp.
Theo pulled out her chair and waited as she sat. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, warm and grounding. He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear.
“How do you feel?”
April closed her eyes for a moment. “As if I am dreaming.”
He kissed her cheek then moved to take his seat opposite her, content with the radiance on her face.
The first course was served: creamy lobster soup in delicate porcelain bowls. Theo watched her as she tasted it.
“Would you like to return here?” he asked.
“Only if you bring me every night,” she replied, her eyes teasing.
“I fear you would grow tired of it.”
“I very much doubt that.”
He smiled. “I first came here with Eugenia. She brought me when I turned eighteen.”
April blinked, clearly surprised. “Then I shall have to thank Lady Darnell most fervently.”
“You might have to thank her for more than this. She insisted I should one day bring my wife.”
“Then she has fine taste indeed,” April replied, smirking.
Their second course arrived—lamb roast with wild mushrooms and fig compote. April looked over the plate appreciatively before glancing at him again.
“Have you traveled much, Theo?”
He reached for his wineglass. “To Rome and Athens. I’ve seen the ruins and the cathedrals, the ancient roads and marbled gods, but I should like to see more.”
She leaned forward, curiosity dancing in her expression. “Where would you go next?”
He tilted his head. “Somewhere warm, perhaps. Spain. Or Egypt. Ideally before we have children.”
Her spoon paused midair, and she blushed so deeply he could see it even in the candlelight. She mumbled something and lowered her gaze.
“The blush looks lovely on you,” he said.
She lifted her fan and swatted his shoulder. “You are insufferable.”
“Undeniably. But amusing, I hope.”
“Too much so. It is dangerous.”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “Then you are in considerable peril, Madam.”
“You bring me to enchanted theaters, feed me heavenly food, flatter me with ancient cities and wicked promises—”
“And yet you remain seated, unharmed.”
“Only because I am determined not to faint.”
Theo laughed softly. Let me keep her untroubled.
She sipped her wine then tilted her head. “You mentioned children.”
“I did. Shall I rescind the comment?”
“Only if you rescind the notion that you would travel without me.”
“Never. You would be the only reason I would travel at all.”
“A charming lie.”
“A devout truth.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps I should be the one to teach you patience.”
“You may try,” he said, lifting his glass. “Though I must warn you, I am a very slow learner.”
“Then I shall take great delight in repeating my lessons.”
“You tempt me, wife.”
“That is, in fact, my intention.”
The next course came. The night was not merely beautiful, it was healing, and Theo, watching her cheeks flush and her smile bloom, knew he would remember this evening for the rest of his life.
After a dessert of syllabub and raspberries, April gazed out over the terrace, as if reluctant to leave the moment behind. He waited a breath longer then stood and extended his hand.
“Will you dance with me?”
She looked up at him, and the candlelight emphasized the glimmer of surprise in the deep blue pools, but she placed her hand in his without hesitation.
Theo led her out beneath the trellis where the air was fragrant with jasmines.
The strings below had softened to a languid rhythm, one suited not for spectacle but for something quieter. Closer.
Theo drew her into the curve of his arms, and she fit too well for him to ignore. Her gloved hand settled against his shoulder, her other folded into his palm, and when he drew her nearer, she came willingly.
They moved together slowly, and in a rhythm as old as breath. He held her with a tenderness he did not name, one he could not show her fully—not yet. But the truth clung to him all the same, pushing against the barriers of control.
“Was it too much?” he asked when he felt the silence between them too profound. Again, April was not one to remain quiet for this long, and he suspected the fear of what had occurred in Stone Hall still lingered in her bones.
She tilted her head up, and her brows furrowed. “Too much?”
“This evening.”
There was a moment’s pause then her mouth curved, and her eyes softened such that it made his pulse trip. “It was… unexpected. But no. Not too much. Should I expect this often?”
His answer came without thinking. “As often as you want, darling.”
The words sat between them with more intensity than he meant. April’s lips parted, but whatever rose to mind never found air. She only looked at him, her hand warm in his, her eyes unguarded.
He should have stopped there.
But the memory returned; the way she had shaken in his arms as though her soul were trying to escape her body. His jaw tensed. “When I watched you after pulling you out of the pond, terrified and soaked through, I knew I had failed you. I don’t ever want you to feel that way again, April.”
“You didn’t fail me, Theo,” she said at once.
He exhaled though his relief still warred with guilt. “I did, and I knew I couldn’t mend that. But I could give you tonight.”
Her expression softened, the teasing giving way to a gentler, deeper smile. “And tomorrow?”
“I haven’t planned that far,” he said, forcing a chuckle to disguise the way her question unsettled him. Then, with deliberate calm, he added, “But I will.”
That was all she needed, it seemed, for she rested her head against his shoulder, her body relaxing into his without ceremony. He wrapped his arms around her as if she might vanish if he held her too tightly.
If she knew what that gesture cost him, she gave no sign. They danced until the last of the candles stuttered and the music below faded to memory, until the night itself seemed to exhale and go still.
By the time they returned to the inn, April was half asleep on his shoulder in the carriage. Theo stepped down from the carriage and helped her down. She was still smiling and sleepy though there was contentment behind her eyes, and it struck him in the chest with subdued force.
He wanted to keep that look more than he’d wanted anything in years.
As they stepped into the inn, a footman approached them and bowed. “This arrived earlier for you, Your Grace.”
Theo accepted the folded missive and looked down. It bore no seal on the wax, and he frowned.
April noticed, too, because she asked. “Is all well?”
He tucked the letter into his coat, schooling his features. “It is, my darling.”
Taking her hand, he led her up to their suite. She hummed something tuneless as she slipped into the dressing chamber with a promise to return shortly. He waited until the door latched before unfolding the note.
You need to keep your wife closer, Stone.
Theo stared at the words as a stillness crept over him, colder than fury and sharper than fear. Every muscle in his body grew tense until it ached, and he curled his fingers into fists, crushing the letter.
What is the meaning of this?
Someone had sent this knowing precisely where they were, and tonight of all nights.
The fire roared in his chest now, and it licked at his restraint.
If they thought to reach her… if they believed, even for a moment, that they could touch her…
They would learn just how close he could keep her.