Chapter 15
Phaedra did not know how she had managed to arrive back to her bedroom, the timid flame of her candle blown out early by her rushing pace, her feet jittering with every step.
And even as she finally climbed into bed, the shaking in her limbs would not subside, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.
She did not understand what exactly she had witnessed, her panicked thoughts aimed only on moving her body far away from the perceived danger.
But now, as she pulled in breath after calming breath, her eyes fixed on the gentleness of the moonlight creeping up the verdant walls, she could finally think.
And as her mind raced through the possibilities of why Nathaniel had been among the ruins in the dead of night, of what it could have been that had brought him into such a state, one thing became dreadfully clear.
That whatever she had seen, whatever he had been going through—it had not been meant for her eyes.
That despite him frightening her, it had been she who should not have been there.
And as her now subdued alarm moved through guilt and landed into shame, the scorching heat of her cheeks finally doused the tremors of the rest of her body.
Nathaniel had told her the very first night that the west wing was off limits. And while her intention had never been to trespass—indeed she had found herself there by accident—she had had no business to look inside. No business to spy on the evident distress of a still mourning man.
She hid her face in her hands, stifling her mortified groan. And then she decided then and there that the first words out of her mouth come morning would be none other than those of an apology. She only hoped her foolishness would not cost her this contract.