Chapter 34
Phaedra pushed into her bedroom before realizing her mistake.
She had not been thinking, her feet moving as if of their own accord to bring her where she knew her belongings to be.
Only they were no longer here. Her dress, her shoes, even her undergarments were still in Nathaniel’s room, where Matilda had changed her after her bout of illness.
In any other circumstance, the notion would have sent a wave of heat rushing through her skin. But as her eyes fell on her bed, on the pile of neatly folded clothes that should not have been there, there was nothing but silent apprehension creeping through her veins.
It seemed her choice to come here—if the choice had even been hers—had not been a mistake after all.
She dressed quickly, her gaze catching on the image of her reflection, on the woman with wild eyes and even wilder movements. The woman who thought she had glimpsed the truth. The woman who was far more than afraid.
She smoothed her hands over the ruffled tangle of her hair, the image of Nathaniel raking his fingers through those very locks shooting like lightning across her mind. The way his hot breath mingled with hers, his lips a fiery trail of—
“No!” she exclaimed. She took a deep breath, then, as if her words were aimed at someone—or something—she said in a low, forbidding voice, “No.”
She pulled her hair into a braid, then pinned it into a chignon at the back of her head, out of sight.
As if she would erase all reminders of what had happened.
Because what had happened had not been real.
Even if he had truly stood there, caged between her thighs, his body straining against her with obvious want, it had not been real.
And there was no time to explore the hurt or heartbreak or whatever cruel feelings this twisted rejection would inevitably stir in her, because they needed to end this now.
She needed the certainty, despite knowing what would come next.
Needed to hear the dreaded truth she knew the last entries would reveal so she could finally leave. And yet…
An uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty invaded her, dampening her resolve. Because what if everything she imagined to be true was merely that? Her imagination. The figment of her overtired mind.
What if all of this was simply her body’s final attempt to make her stop—to make her flee—before she could work it into a state of absolute exhaustion?
She could not deny the toll this contract had taken on her.
The madness it was pushing her toward. Losing sleep.
Losing time. Forgetting to eat, to rest. And all of this on top of everything else gnawing at the back of her mind.
The danger of her creditors looming just beyond the horizon, the loss of her only chance at true freedom should she not stay to finish this assignment.
The darkness she had escaped, first from her home, then the man who had claimed to save her, their joint shadow forever a stain on her past. The struggle of the life she had to build from nothing, the wars she’d had to wage day in and out to finally get to where she was today.
After the days—the years—she’d had, no one could remain sane.
Yes, the thought forced its way into her mind. That is exactly it.
She swept her gaze across the walls. It felt strange, the things she saw now that she knew where to look, and she finally understood why she’d been led here instead of Nathaniel’s bedroom.
The green shimmer of the wallpaper seemed to pulse even in the descending darkness, as if it would mimic her heartbeat, to slow it into a calm she should not be feeling.
Her eyes unfocused, the color seeping in behind her lids hanging heavy with the sudden need to rest. But before they could close and damn her to a will other than her own, Phaedra pulled her gaze away, and walked out of the room.
She hurried through the hallway, chillingly aware of the presence around her. Yet, despite her expectation of another offense—some desperate attempt to change her mind or halt her steps—it somehow felt silent. Withdrawn. As if it had no intention of stopping her.
Because she would already be doing what it wanted.
Prickles brushed across her skin, and she turned into the stairwell, her steps faltering at the sight.
She had a distinct memory of it being darker here, the walls draped in a rich umber instead of the deep emerald that dropped like a maze over the steps winding below, and she grasped for the railing, the swell of vertigo turning the floor beneath her.
She clamped her eyes shut, aware of her pulse beating through her skin, and she pulled in a breath that seemingly had nowhere to go.
Then she opened her eyes and gathered her dress, her jaw clenching as she took quick, cautious steps, careful not to stumble.
And when she finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, she ran.
Her chest heaved as she finally burst through the study door, slamming it behind her.
Nathaniel shot up from his seat. “What happened?”
She shook her head, bracing her back against the door, the drumming in her veins slowly fading, the iron grip on her lungs lessening. And when she felt like she could finally breathe again, she turned her head to look about the room.
The study was as she had remembered, most of the walls lined with packed bookcases. Her gaze darted from place to place, searching out every nook and crevice for any sign of the dreaded color. She found nothing.
Her chest ached as she let out a sigh of relief, and with heavy limbs, she dragged herself to the chair closest to the fireplace. Warmth rushed her as she sank into the cushions, the chill in her bones easing a fraction.
“I’m sorry for startling you,” she said. She leaned back in the chair, her eyes heavy as she blinked them closed. “I promise, I will tell you everything. But first, please read.”
When he made no move to do as she had asked, she looked up at him, the words to urge or plead or do whatever it would take to convince him dying on her tongue.
His features were dark, the blaze of the fireplace catching his face at sharp angles, his emerald eyes glinting like jet beads under the shadow of his brow.
For a moment, he almost did not look like himself. For a moment, Phaedra thought that if she had not known him, she would be afraid of the near-predatory nature of his stance. That he would seem to loom over her, silent and menacing.
But she did know him. And all this was nothing but the play of the light. Yet only when he had lowered himself back into his chair, the glow of the fire dismissing the shadows from his face, did she release the breath she had been holding.
With curt movements, Nathaniel snatched the journal from the desk, and flipped it open. His voice was cold as he began to read.