Unbidden feelings struck him with a suddenness that was like a fist in the gut. She looked so small and pale in that ribbon of bright moonlight, fragile as a snowflake that would melt at a single harsh word. She roused confusing, conflicting instincts in him, urges to ravish and protect, to—
He strangled every single emotion he felt.
Every bit of weakness.
He flung the tunic at her feet. “Garb yourself, woman.”
She flinched and raised her head. Their gazes locked and burned across the brief distance between them. A second later she snatched up the garment and held it against her, as if realizing only then how indecently clothed she was. How naked to his eyes. How much intimacy they had shared a moment ago.
How close they had almost come to sharing the deepest intimacy a man and a woman could know.
“Do you believe me?” she asked hopefully. “Will you help me?”
It took a moment before Gaston could tear his eyes from her parted lips long enough to answer. “What I believe, demoiselle,” he said harshly, “is that you would say or do anything to save yourself, now that you have been discovered. But it is too late for your pleas. You are the evidence I needed that Tourelle is a lying viper who intends not peace but treachery by this marriage.”
He crossed the chamber until he stood towering over her. “And as soon as I present you to the King, he will end this farce of a betrothal. Let us go and awaken him.”
***
Celine’s heart pounded so hard she couldn’t hear anything over the roar of her own pulse. Gaston barely gave her two seconds to put on his heavy, scratchy shirt before he pulled her out into the hallway. He grabbed a torch from an iron sconce on the wall and took a firm grip on her upper arm as he headed into the darkness.
She had no choice but to go with him, limping, barefoot, the stone corridor cold beneath her feet, her hair a wild tangle that clung to her tear-dampened cheeks. He walked quickly, making her keep up with him.
Her mind and body had gone almost numb with confusion and fear. But beneath the terror, some part of her brain was still working. She was vividly aware of her surroundings: the biting cold of the air, the heat of the torch in Gaston’s hand, the rough cloth of the shirt she wore, the tangy, masculine scent of him that clung to the fabric.
All her senses told her in no uncertain terms that this wasn’t a dream.
But if it wasn’t a dream, then what in the name of God was it?
She was still in Manoir La Fontaine—but she wasn’t. There were too many things missing from the hallway. Things that had been there only hours before—moments before?—when she had walked to her room. Things that couldn’t have just disappeared. The brilliantly colored tapestries. Paintings and statues and gilt-framed mirrors. Carpets. Lights. The letters G and R carved over the doorways. Antique tables. A phone. All vanished.
At the end of the corridor, Gaston thrust open a door and led her down a spiral stair. One that hadn’t been there before. It made her feel disoriented and dizzy all over again. She stumbled on the smooth stone steps, but Gaston held her upright and kept moving downward. Then her memory supplied the reason she had never seen these stairs before: the chateau had been bombed in World War II and this section had been destroyed.
The steps beneath her feet, connecting the upper floors to the ground level of the chateau, hadn’t been there since 1942.
The thought sent her mind and senses reeling. Anxiety knotted in the back of her throat and choked off her breath. If Gaston hadn’t been firmly in control, she would have tripped and fallen. Her lungs burned for air, but she couldn’t even manage to inhale.
When they reached the main level, Gaston turned abruptly, opened another door, pulled her into a shadowed room lit by torches. He finally stopped. Celine’s eyes widened.
She gasped a shuddery throatful of air—then started to hyperventilate.
It was a cavernous chamber. A ... a huge ... great hall. Like something out of a movie. Camelot. Robin Hood. As they stepped inside, there was a sudden din of dogs barking and men rousing themselves from sleep.
A fire burned in an enormous hearth at one end. Huge axes and swords hung on the walls. There was straw all over the floor. Long wooden tables and benches were strewn about. And people were strewn about, sleeping on pallets along the walls. On the floor. On the benches and tables. All of them wearing clothes like Gaston’s. And there were metal mugs and wooden plates and food scraps and discarded bones scattered over the floor. And dogs sleeping next to and half on top of people. It was cold and damp and drafty and it smelled like smoke and beer and roasted meat and it was all unmistakably ...
Real.
Celine felt her legs give way and a dark gray fog closed in from the edges of her vision. She almost fainted, but Gaston kept her on her feet, shifting his grip to hold her up with an arm around her waist.