Celine huddled deeper into her cloak, shivering in the clammy, musty air. She had to remain here. Not just to save him, but for her own reasons as well. She had to stay near that window upstairs. Had to find some way to get home when the next eclipse took place in three months.
And if she didn’t have that long ...
Either way, it made no sense for them to stay together, to risk the desire that ignited so easily between them.
To risk making a mistake that might cost Gaston his life.
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
Oh, no. She tried to take a deep mouthful of air, but ended up choking on dust. Her breath started coming in short, shallow gasps. Oh, God. Panic seized her with an iron grip. She jerked to her feet, sending the pile of sacks she had hidden behind tumbling. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm down, too late. Her heart was already racing. The familiar, uncomfortable chills chased down the back of her neck and over her shoulders.
No, no, no. Reaching out in the darkness, she grasped the top of the nearest wine barrel, something solid to hold on to. All she had to do was breathe deeply. All she had to do was ...
Telling herself that did no good. Terror had already taken hold. She knew this was stupid. Knew there was no reason to panic. Knew this was the worst possible time for another anxiety attack. And knowing that did no good.
She was shaking badly. Gripped by mindless, all-consuming fear. Run. That was all she could think of. She had to run. Run, run, run.
She stumbled forward, shoving past the wine barrel she had huddled next to, but it was impossible to find her way in the dark. She had purposely chosen the least-used corner of the bouteillerie—and now she couldn’t remember the way out. Right or left? She whirled, blind. She couldn’t see the stairs. Right? There was no way out. Left? She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pumping. Her muscles tensed painfully. She had to run. But it was impossible to see. Panic and indecision held her paralyzed.
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. Boots. She tried to cry out. Not even a sob would pass her constricted throat. She could only stand frozen in the middle of the room in the darkness, light-headed with stark, unreasoning fear, wishing for ... wanting ...
“God’s blood, woman! Where are you?”
Yes!
No! She didn’t want him to find her. Yet that deep, furious, familiar voice sounded as sweet as anything she had ever heard in her life.
A moment later she saw the glow from his torch, flickering along the stairwell as he descended from the kitchen. Then his boots came into view. Then all of him, clad in black. With an equally dark expression on his face.
He stopped on the bottom step. Glowering at her. “God’s breath, but you defy all belief, wife. What new ruse is this?”
All she could utter from her dry throat was a wordless croak. Then, to her utter mortification, she started to cry. It seemed to be all she did in his presence anymore. Cry like a helpless little fool. And this was a particularly humiliating sort of sobbing—tiny, panicky gasps of air and tears.
He shoved his torch into an iron wall sconce and came to her. “What has happened? Are you hurt?” He almost looked like he was going to touch her, but checked the motion even as it began.
Celine could only shake her head. “I ... I ... c-c ...”
She began hyperventilating.
“You cannot breathe?” He looked down at her in puzzlement. “Is this some strange seizure that comes over you—or another trick?”
Her heart was beating too hard, filling her throat, making it impossible for her to speak, or to do anything but stand there in tears, shaking. She looked at the floor. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want him to see her like this. And she couldn’t bear the cold mistrust in his eyes.
And then he took her in his arms.
Oh, God.
“Have you forgotten what I taught you before?” he asked a bit more gently. “Breathe.” Slowly, almost reluctantly, he started to rub her back. “You know that you can do it. Calm yourself.”
Celine stiffened at the first touch, trembling with more than panic now. She shouldn’t let him do this. Not here. Not now, when they were alone in the torchlit darkness. This wasn’t what she had intended at all! He was supposed to be leaving without her—not comforting her, helping her.
But he held her tighter, and after a moment’s resistance she let herself be wrapped in his embrace, in his warmth and strength and confidence.
“Shhh. You are safe, ma dame. Breathe in. With me.” He started counting for her, as he had before. This time the exercise began to work almost from the start. In to four and out to eight ... in to eight and out to sixteen ...
The rhythm was familiar now, and comforting, and bit by bit she began to feel in control of herself again.