Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
His arms traced the contours of my body, his hands running down my spine.
He lowered, bringing his mouth to my skin, and a soft moan escaped my lips.
I felt a rush of heat as Draven’s mouth trailed kisses along the delicate curve of my chin, making his way down my neck before gently sinking his teeth into my flesh.
I woke with a start, my heart hammering in my chest. My hand instinctively pressed to my throat as if to silence the phantom touch of his lips, the remnants of a dream too vivid, too real.
I was alone. The soft, golden light of morning stretched across the room, painting the walls in gentle hues.
But the warmth of the sun couldn’t chase away the shame that flooded through me.
I felt it flush my cheeks, hot and overwhelming.
How could I let my thoughts drift to Draven in such an intimate way?
I barely knew him. He was still a stranger.
My thoughts felt muddled, my skin too warm, too tight.
I needed air. I pushed myself out of bed and moved to the balcony doors.
As I opened them, a cool morning breeze swept in, clearing the fog that clung to my mind.
The fresh air felt like a balm on my overheated skin, and I stepped out onto the small balcony, grateful for the change of scenery.
Thornwood Manor sprawled below me, cradled by the dense forest surrounding it.
The trees stood like silent sentinels, protecting the mansion from the world beyond.
From this height, I could see the town below, the distant plumes of smoke rising from chimneys, winding through the crisp morning air.
I hadn’t realized how close I was to Elmcross.
To my old life. The thought was like a pinprick to my chest. I looked down at the garden below, now overgrown and neglected, and showing the clear passage of time.
Shaking these melancholic thoughts from my mind, I turned back to my room, closing the balcony doors behind me.
I opened the wardrobe, revealing a range of soft, gemstone-coloured dresses.
My fingers traced the intricate, ornate details of the fabric, marvelling at the luxurious textures beneath my touch.
I settled on a deep green dress, one that emphasized my collarbone and cinched tightly at the waist. The row of buttons running down the front and the velvet trim made it feel like a garment from a world I didn’t fully belong to.
I considered leaving my hair down—remembering Draven’s comment about it—but ultimately decided against it.
My hair would only get in the way. I pinned it up, my fingers working automatically, my thoughts still lingering on him.
After I was dressed, I descended the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the mansion. I made my way into the dining room, hoping, foolishly, to find Draven there. But I knew it was too late. He had left for work.
Imalda was already at the table, arranging my breakfast. I forced a smile as I took my usual seat, the long, polished table stretching before me.
“Good morning,” I greeted her.
“Morning, miss,” Imalda replied, her gaze lingering on me. Her eyes were sharp, studying me in a way that felt critical.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, acutely aware of how odd it was to be the only one seated at such a vast table. The emptiness around me felt suffocating. “I was hoping Draven would still be here to show me the garden,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Mister Blackwell departs early,” Imalda replied without looking up. “Although you are more than welcome to explore it on your own.”
“Who tends to it?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, my eyes wandering toward the window, though the garden was hidden from view.
“No one has cared for it in quite some time. Mister Blackwell rarely entertains long-term guests,” Imalda explained matter-of-factly, though there was a subtle emphasis on the words long-term guests that sent a shiver of unease through me.
I fumbled with the edge of my dress, feeling the crinkle of paper in my pocket. I pulled out the letter I had written to Vail, handing it to Imalda. “Would you mind taking this to Elmcross for me?”
“Of course,” Imalda replied, tucking the letter neatly into the front pocket of her skirt. “I will make sure it gets there safely.”
“It is for a dear friend of mine,” I explained, my voice catching. “I want her to know that I am well.”
Imalda met my eyes for a moment, her gaze softening, and then she gave a small, reassuring smile. “Rest assured, it is in good hands.” Then she added, “How long will you be staying at Thornwood?”
I hesitated, unsure of the answer myself. “I am not certain,” I replied quietly, unable to meet her gaze as the unease tightened in my chest.
Imalda nodded, her expression unreadable. “I will go to the shops today to stock up on more food. Enjoy your meal.”
I watched her leave, the soft click of her footsteps fading as she disappeared from view. The silence of the dining room pressed in on me, the vastness of the mansion a reminder of how out of place I was here.
After breakfast, I ventured outside, stepping into the courtyard. It lay in disarray with overrun plants, dead flowers, and tangled leaves. I wandered through the abandoned space, my fingers brushing against thorns and dead leaves, lost in my thoughts.
Hours slipped away as I worked tirelessly to clear away the overgrowth, unveiling forgotten pathways and hidden cobblestones. I pruned and weeded, each action fueled by a sense of purpose that grew with every passing moment.
As the sun climbed high in the sky and then began its descent, I finally paused for a break. Stepping back, I surveyed the garden. What was once a labyrinth of neglect was now revealed, stripped back to show its endless potential.
Supper was already on the table after I had freshened up and arrived in the dining room. Though no second plate was set for Draven, I sat and waited for what felt like forever, growing ever more agitated and hungrier.
Is Draven avoiding me?
He told me yesterday that he would join me for supper.
I feared that I had done something wrong or said something to upset him.
My food started to get cold. I ate it as slowly as I could.
Every movement or sound in Thornwood had me turning in the direction of the entrance, my heart skipping a beat each time in the hope that it would be Draven.
When I finally finished eating, Imalda came and cleared my plates.
“Do you know where Draven is?”
“His work keeps him out late some nights.” Providing no further details, she cleared the dishes and left before I could ask her more.
I returned to my room and began writing another letter to Vail.
The house was quiet, and a cool breeze drifted in through the open window.
I stood up to close it, and as I did, I noticed a dark blur moving swiftly through the trees below.
My heart raced as I strained to see into the encroaching darkness.
It could have been a trick of the light, a fleeting illusion, or perhaps my imagination conjuring something from the shadows.
I resumed my writing at the desk, finishing the letter, folding it, and placing it into an envelope when I heard the front door of the mansion close.
Soft footsteps ascended the stairs, and I froze, my gaze fixed on the bedroom door.
I approached it, turned the knob, pushed the door open a crack, and peered down the long hallway.
Draven appeared at the top of the stairs, his path illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the foyer windows.
He moved without a candle, his figure seemingly floating down the hallways as he walked.
He paused by his door, his stance straightening, and for a moment, I held my breath, willing him to turn around and see me.
However, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he slipped into his room.
The next morning, I woke up eager to tend to the garden once again.
I selected a delicate cotton dress from the wardrobe, its hem grazing above my feet, hoping its lighter fabric would stay cleaner.
I discovered a leather belt that I fastened around my waist, thinking it might help me secure the garden tools I unearthed from the dead leaves and dirt yesterday.
I made my way to the garden, retrieving the rusty shears I had found the previous day.
Their cold metal handles felt rough against my fingers as I worked on cutting back the rose bushes and other plants in the yard.
It was difficult to identify the plants since most had lost their leaves.
I did my best to leave hardy portions and trim back where I could.
Once I was done, I gathered the branches into a pile at the edge of the garden.
I’d need to ask Imalda where to dispose of them.
I rested on a weathered bench, wiping sweat from my brow, and watched the sun dip below the horizon and the sky deepen into hues of violet and indigo.
A branch cracked, and I caught a slight movement in my peripheral vision.
Turning, I saw Draven standing there, observing the garden.
His expression shifted between surprise and admiration as he took in the garden’s transformation.
When his gaze finally settled on me, it was intense and lingering.
“You have been busy,” he remarked, the corner of his lips curled into a faint smile.
His sudden appearance made my heart race, and a wave of embarrassment washed over me.
I couldn’t help but wonder how he perceived my disheveled hair, braided into a single plait down my back, pieces clinging to my face from sweat.
Despite this, a sense of satisfaction surged through me, and I could feel heat flooding my cheeks.
“Yes, I thought the garden could use some attention,” I managed to say.
Draven approached the plants, running his fingers along a stem. “Maybe we will get roses again this year.”
Our eyes locked, and I felt an inexplicable, magnetic pull toward him.
A thrilling yet unsettling sensation that made my heart race and my breath catch.
The intensity of his gaze stirred something deep within me, a fire that I couldn’t ignore.
I was reluctant to admit it, but I was undeniably attracted to him.
“That would be nice,” I said softly, breaking the momentary silence.
Draven’s gaze remained fixed on mine.
“You came back late last night,” I added.
“Yes, my apologies for my absence at supper. An unforeseen matter demanded my attention.”
“Your work?”
“More or less.”
I heard Imalda’s voice yell from outside the dining room window. “Rosalia, supper!”
“Shall we?” Draven said, holding out an arm for me. I placed my hand on his sleeve, then pulled it back, looking at how dirty my hands were. He chuckled, then took my hand and placed it back on the sleeve of his suit jacket. I found comfort in the luxe texture.
Draven escorted me into the house, pausing at the threshold of the dining room. He peered inside, his gaze assessing the sparse table setting with a hint of amusement.
“Imalda must not have thought I would be home this early.” I looked and saw only one meal at the table. “No matter,” he added with a reassuring smile. “I will eat later.”
“You can share mine,” I offered, almost too eagerly.
“Rosalia, as much as I long to converse with you, I must go and freshen up. Perhaps you might consider doing the same before eating.”
I blinked up at him. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, why would you say that?”
“It feels as though you have been avoiding me. If my presence is no longer welcome, I can leave by sunrise.”
“It is unwise to leave Thornwood before sunrise,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You know well what dangers the night holds beyond these walls.”
“I am aware,” I said sternly.
“Good,” he said. “And for your part, I would prefer it if you stayed.”
“If you are certain.”
“I am. I will see you later,” he said, and before I could answer him, Draven walked toward the stairs and gracefully ran up them.
I was left alone in the foyer.