When he reached his chamber, he locked the door, and then locked the connecting door between his room and Kristine’s.
He heard her footsteps in the corridor a few moments later, heard the sound of her chamber door open and close.
Fighting the urge to go to her, Erik shoved a few items of clothing into a bag, grabbed a mask to replace the one he had lost in the woods.
He heard the soft rap of her knuckles on the door between their rooms. “My lord husband, are you in there?”
Heart pounding, he stared at the door, everything within him urging him to go to her, to seek the warm shelter of her arms. She had such a soft heart, surely she would be able to find some small shred of pity for the beast he was becoming. And then he looked down at the left side of his body, the thick dark hair, the deformed hand and foot, and knew she would run screaming from the sight of him.
“Erik, please answer me. Are you hurt?”
“No,” he replied, his voice sounding harsher than ever in his ears. “I am not injured. Go to bed.”
“I thought, that is, you said you would come to me tonight.”
“I cannot.”
“Very well, my lord husband. I understand.”
He heard the coldness in her voice, the hurt, the disappointment. She thought he no longer wished to bed her now that he had gotten her with child. Nothing was further from the truth, but he could not tell her that. There was no point in trying to explain. Let her think him callous and cruel. In the long run, it would be a kindness.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the paw that had once been his left hand, at the thick black nails, fascinated and horrified by the sight. A rutting beast you were, a beast you will become.
“Are you happy, Charmion?” he wondered aloud. “Does it give you pleasure to know what I’ve become? Does the horror that I’m living ease the pain of your loss? Do you think Dominique rests more peacefully because of what you’ve done to me?”
With a weary sigh, he pulled on a black shirt and a pair of trousers, donned his mask and gloves and boots. Unlocking the door that connected his room to Kristine’s, he stepped into her chamber. She was lying on her side, asleep.
He padded quietly toward her, his heart breaking when he saw that she had been crying.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
She shook her head, too proud to admit she had missed him beside her.
He looked at her and knew he could not leave without making love to her one last time.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wrapped his right arm around her and crushed her close, his mouth hungry for the taste of her, his hands desperate in their need to touch her.
She came alive in his arms, his desperation conveying itself to her. As always, when she would have caressed him, he caught both of her hands in his right one, denying her that which she sought.
He lifted her sleeping gown over her hips, unfastened his breeches, and settled himself between her thighs.
Their coupling was violent, passionate, burning as hot and bright as a comet streaking across the sky. It left her breathless and aching and satisfied as never before.
She was smiling when she fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
He was gone in the morning. Kristine stared at Mrs. Grainger, unable to believe her ears. “Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where? When is he coming back?”
“He has gone on an extended holiday, my lady.”
“A holiday? But . . . where has he gone?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lady.” The housekeeper’s gaze slid away from Kristine’s; nervous fingers plucked at the spotless white apron.
Kristine frowned, certain the housekeeper knew more than she was telling. “Did he say when he would be back?”
Mrs. Grainger hesitated a moment, and then sighed. “No. I am sorry. Truly I am.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, my lady. Would you be caring for some breakfast?”
Kristine shook her head. Gone on holiday? With Christmas coming? She didn’t believe it, refused to believe he would go off and leave her without a word after the night they had spent together. Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank. And even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it had to do with the anguish she had frequently seen in his eyes, not pain of the body, but of the soul.
Her appetite gone, she left the dining room. He couldn’t be gone.
Never had the time passed so slowly. She walked through the castle a dozen times, hoping to find him, but to no avail. She found rooms she had not seen before—a bedroom on the third floor that she guessed had been his mother’s, several rooms that held cast-off furniture, trunks filled with old-fashioned dresses and baby clothes, bonnets and blankets. At any other time, she would have been intrigued, but not now.