Last night I had a terrible nightmare. I was surprised when Lord Trevayne came to comfort me. He held me so gently, so tenderly, he hardly seemed the same man who comes to me in the dark of night. I feel my cheeks grow hot as I write this, as I admit, here on this page, that I look forward to his nightly visits, strange as they might be, to those few brief moments he spends in my bed. I wonder, does that make me dreadfully wicked?
I wish I knew what he is hiding behind the mask, why I never see him during the day, why he dines alone in his room, why he refuses to let me touch him. . . .
This morning I saw him riding in the yard. He was surprised to see me, almost as surprised as I was to see him. How magnificent he looked, with his long gray cloak billowing behind him as he put his mount through its paces. A hell-black stallion ridden by a demon from hell, if town gossip is to be believed. But I do not believe my husband is a demon. Though he does seem strangely tormented, I do not give credence to the stories that he is a monster.
I have so many questions, and no one I dare ask for answers. I suppose that means I shall have to uncover the truth for myself. . . .
Chapter Four
Kristine woke early the next morning, determined to discover what her husband was hiding beneath the mask. She was tired of wondering, tired of being afraid. She had married the lord of Hawksbridge Castle for better or worse, and she would not rest until she discerned all there was to know about him.
She had no idea where this sudden surge of courage had come from. She had always been a rather cowardly creature, afraid of the dark, frightened of the unknown.
Perhaps it was merely feminine curiosity, the same insatiable curiosity that had compelled Pandora to open that accursed box. Kristine only hoped that whatever she discovered would not prove to have such disastrous results!
Erik had never come to her during the day. So, if he would not come to her, she would go to him. Remembering that she had seen him riding early yesterday morning, she dressed in the clothing she had worn the day before, plucked her bonnet from the chair, tied the ribbons beneath her chin, and then looked around for her shoes.
Thinking that one of the servants might have put them in the armoire, she opened the doors. And blinked in astonishment at the sight that met her eyes. Dresses. More dresses than she had ever seen. Where had they all come from?
Frowning, she stepped forward for a closer look, her hands moving lightly over the bounty before her. Yesterday there had been only three dresses and a pair of half-boots. Today there were at least twenty gowns in a wide variety of fabrics—fine muslins, delicate silks, lush velvets and satins. And the colors! Rich blues, deep greens, warm reds. Stripes and plaids. There were matching slippers and boots. Petticoats. A dozen exquisite bonnets perched on the top shelf.
Turning away from the armoire, she opened the drawers in the highboy, a soft exclamation of delight rising in her throat at the bounty she found there—fans and gloves and lace-edged handkerchiefs, delicate camisoles and silk stockings.
As she dropped a pair of gloves in her pocket, she wondered again where it had all come from, though there was but one logical answer—Erik. She was the wife of a wealthy man. It was only fitting that she look the part.
After pulling on a pair of boots from the armoire, she ran down the stairs and across the yard toward the barn.
Hearing voices, she ducked into an empty stall, her heart pounding with fear at being discovered. Huddled in a corner, she heard footsteps as the stable boys led Erik’s horse out of its stall.
A few minutes later she heard the harsh rasp of her husband’s voice, the clatter of hooves as he led the stallion from the stable.
Popping up from her hiding place, she saw Erik walking his big black stallion across the yard toward the flatlands beyond.
If she hurried, she might catch him.
“You there!” she called to the stable boys, hoping her voice had the proper ring of authority. “Saddle me a horse immediately.”
The two boys whirled around. “My lady,” they exclaimed, almost in unison.
“My horse, quickly!”
The boys exchanged glances. “We had best do as she says, Brandt,” the taller of the two suggested.
“Yes, indeed,” Kristine said with asperity.
“She should have a sidesaddle,” Brandt said. “It isn’t fitting for a lady to ride astride.”
“Then fetch me a sidesaddle,” she said impatiently. If they didn’t hurry, she would never find Lord Trevayne.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Brandt said. “But we don’t have one. The master’s first wife didn’t ride.”
“Just saddle my horse,” Kristine said. “And be quick about it!”