Chapter Twenty-Three - The North Tower #4
“I’ve got you,” he said comfortingly, his arms around her, “can you stand?”
“I think so,” she said, just as her knees gave way again.
He scooped her up into his arms as she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing.
“That was a bit dramatic,” she said through the laughter.
“Well I still have an air of mystique to uphold,” he said with a grin to her, “where too?”
She bit her lip and looked away from him, “I…I don’t want to go yet.”
“You…could stay?” he said softly and she looked up at him, “with me, that is…here.”
She smiled, “I would love that.”
Love.
His face lit up as he looked at her. He gave one of his sharp nods and headed for the staircase that led further up the tower.
He carried her easily, holding her close as he climbed the stairs.
At the top he kicked at the door to open it and she laughed.
He crossed to the bed and gently laid her down on the sheets.
“Anything else, m’lady?” he asked with an exaggerated bow to her.
She laughed and gestured to her dress, “this isn’t exactly the most comfortable.”
He nodded and crossed to the large wardrobe, flicking through until he found a large black shirt and trousers which he held out to her before turning his back.
She felt another up swell of something as she looked at him.
Slowly she began to change out of the red lace dress and into the black shirt and breeches.
Her limbs felt heavy, everything felt like an effort.
When she was dressed, she slipped in between the sheets.
“You didn’t even peek once,” she said as he turned around.
He smiled and crossed to the other side of the bed, kicking off his boots, “I am a man of honour.”
“You could stand to be a little less honourable,” she said with a yawn.
He grabbed some of the pillows and placed them between them. A barrier, a small, cushioned wall. He lay down beside her, and she turned to face him.
She pulled at the collar of the shirt, “this is mine now.”
He laughed, shaking his head, but said, “as you wish.”
She pulled the fabric close and inhaled. She expected the smell of death, of decay. But instead there was the scent of wood smoke, of rain on granite, of him. She saw him close his eyes, “I’m glad.”
“That we kissed?” she whispered.
He turned to face her, “that you wanted to stay.”
She held her still gloved hand out to him and he took it, closing his eyes and turning away. Not long after that she heard his breath slow as he drifted off to sleep. She wasn’t sure how long she watched him, but one thing was clear to her.
She was falling for him. Perhaps already had.
Was this love? Was that what she was feeling?
When did it start? That day in the veil in the gardens.
The hours spent in the conservatory together, discussing his work.
That night at the ball where he had let her take the lead.
It did not matter, she loved him, she had found the answer she sought here.
And it broke her heart.
Because now, she had to betray him.
Carefully, she removed his hand from hers and slipped from the bed.
He stirred in his sleep, rolling onto his side and she paused for a moment.
He settled and when his chest was slowly rising and falling again, she padded across the room to the door.
She rushed down the stairs, one hand holding the oversized breeches he had given her.
The plans that Lord Darnwell required must be here.
Somewhere on or in the desk that he had sat at earlier.
Ignoring the pain in her chest, the voice in her that screamed at her not to do this, she began opening drawers.
She leafed through stacks of papers, one after the other as she searched for the plans.
A dread began to fill her. What if they were not here?
What if Dorian had already returned them?
She looked up to the many shelves that filled the room and with regret realised that the plans could be anywhere in the room.
With frustration she had closed one of the drawers a little more roughly than she intended and heard a click.
At the front an unseen drawer popped open.
She carefully pulled it back and there before her were the plans.
She pulled them out and spread them across the desk.
The schematics of the Onyx Tower. Would he notice the plans were gone?
Should she try to copy them instead? He might wake up, looking for her, how would she explain that?
It’s not too late. I could still tell him.
What if he tried to stop her? What she was doing was dangerous.
He would want to protect her, the same way he did what he did to protect his people.
If she involved him in this then she put him and everything he had done here at risk.
He may do it, for her, she was mostly certain that if she asked he would help her. But that would put him in danger.
I have to save them.
Rosamund gathered up the papers and headed towards the door. She opened it slowly, even then the small body came tumbling in where they had been resting against the door.
“Ah! Gnash wasn’t sleeping!” complained the goblin, wiping the sleep from his eyes, “Lady took ages. But Gnash waited. Just like Lady said.”
“You did very well,” Gnash beamed up at her as she thrust the papers into his hands and said, “can you take these to my room.”
The little goblin took the papers and saluted, “Gnash will guard them with someone’s life.”
Before she could question him further the goblin was speeding off down the stairs. She quietly closed the door behind him and turned back to face the room.
She was exhausted. The kiss had drained her as much as it had exhilarated her. And what she had done now…
Pushing down the guilt she ascended the stairs, slipping back into bed with the man that she had kissed and betrayed.