Chapter 63 Control In His Absence

Chapter 63 Control In His Absence
Beatris

The roses still sat in the porcelain vase beside my window. Their scent greeted me each morning, soft, pleasant, impossible to ignore. I had thought about asking one of the maids to take them away. I never did.

Maybe because throwing them out felt strangely cruel. Maybe because I hated admitting that, despite everything, my eyes always found them the moment I entered the room.

A knock sounded.

"Come in."

The door opened, and a maid stepped inside with her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Lord De Vere asked if you would join him in the gardens."

"The gardens?"

She bowed her head. "Yes, miss."

Since the roses, Alexander had been gentler with me in ways that unsettled me more than cruelty ever could. A softer word. A quieter look. The kind of attention that made it harder to remember the walls were still there, even when I could feel them closing around me.

I did not make him wait long.

By the time I reached the gardens, sunlight had already spread across the paths in broad pale ribbons. The hedges still glistened faintly from the morning rain, and the air smelled of wet earth and roses.

I did not see him at first. Then his voice came from behind me.

"Walk with me."

I turned too quickly. He stood only a few steps away, dark against the brightness of the garden, watching me with that same unreadable calm he seemed to wear as easily as breath.

He was fond of appearing without warning. I had begun to suspect he enjoyed it. I looked at him for a moment before nodding.

We followed one of the stone paths that curved away from the main gardens and toward the farther grounds where the trees began to gather. Wind stirred the hem of my dress. Somewhere in the distance, water moved softly through the fountain basins. Everything looked peaceful enough to belong to another life.

Alexander walked beside me in silence for a while, one hand clasped behind his back, the other resting lightly at his side. He always moved like someone who did not need to hurry for anything.

I had just begun to think he might have brought me out here only to watch me breathe fresh air when he said, "I have to travel for a few days."

The words struck me harder than they should have. I looked up at him too quickly. For one bright, dangerous second, hope flared inside me.

Will he take me with him?

The thought came first, sharp and immediate. If he took me beyond Crimson Hill, if he let me see the road, the town, the world outside these gates, then maybe, maybe, there would be some opening I could use.

But another thought rose right behind it. If he left without me, then Crimson Hill would breathe differently in his absence. And so would I.

I forced my face into something calmer than what I felt.

"Travel?" I asked. "Where?"

He did not answer at once.

"Beyond the estate," he said.

That meant little and too much at the same time.
I kept my voice careful. "Mr. Morrell's?"

"No."

The answer came quickly.

"Farther than that."

My pulse shifted. Farther than Mr. Morrell's estate. Something in me tightened with curiosity. Another part loosened with relief.

A few days. A few days without Alexander in the house. I lowered my gaze before he could see too much on my face.

"When do you leave?"

"This evening."

The wind moved through the trees ahead of us. I watched the path instead of him, measuring my own thoughts. Part of me felt too light already. Another part, to my annoyance, felt something smaller and stranger.

Absence. Not grief. Not even sadness. Just the unwelcome awareness that I had grown used to him being there. I crushed that thought almost at once.

He noticed my silence.

"I won't be gone long."

I glanced at him. "I see."

His eyes lingered on me, searching for something I did not want him to find.

"You don't sound pleased."

That almost made me laugh.
Pleased? If only he knew.

Instead, I let my fingers trail lightly over the tops of the hedges as we walked and said, "I was only surprised."

He said nothing.

We reached the far edge of the path where the open grounds gave way to denser trees and then turned back toward the mansion. Neither of us spoke much after that. The quiet between us no longer felt quite as sharp as it had in the beginning, and that disturbed me more than I cared to admit.


By evening, the car was already waiting at the front steps: black, polished, severe. At least he was going by car.

A servant stood by the rear door while another loaded the last of Alexander's things into the back. The sight of it made something quick and bright move through me again. He's leaving. I made myself stand still.

Alexander turned toward me.

"You'll behave while I'm gone."

His tone was light, but the words were not. I folded my hands in front of me and tilted my face up toward his.

"Do I have another choice?"

The faintest shadow of amusement passed through his expression.

"There is always a choice."

That was easy for him to say. He stepped closer, close enough that I could catch the clean, cold scent of him beneath the wind. His hand rose and brushed a loose strand of hair back from my face with impossible gentleness.

That small touch almost undid the careful stillness I had built around myself.

"Be good, little dove."

Then he bent and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I hated that some small, traitorous part of me wanted to lean into it. Hated even more that I had to force myself not to.

"I'll see you soon," he said.

I looked at him and let something softer into my face than I truly felt. If he thought I would miss him, let him. Maybe part of me would.

That thought came unwanted and ugly. I shoved it away before it could take shape.

The servant opened the car door. Alexander got in without looking back again.

I stood on the steps while the engine started. The black car rolled down the drive, passed between the stone pillars, and disappeared through the gates.

Only then did I let myself breathe. The smile came before I meant it to. Small at first. Then larger.

By the time I turned back toward the house, relief had already begun to fizz under my skin like something wild and reckless. It moved through me so suddenly I almost laughed.

He was gone.

I crossed the entrance hall too quickly for dignity, moved through the corridors with a lightness I had not felt since arriving at Crimson Hill, and did not stop until I reached the west wing. The silence there no longer felt oppressive.

For the first time, it felt useful. I closed my bedroom door behind me and spun once in the middle of the room before I could stop myself.

A laugh escaped me. I pressed both hands over my mouth, half from delight and half from disbelief.

This was absurd. Childish. Dangerous. And yet I could not remember the last time I had felt anything so close to freedom.

I moved to the mirror and caught sight of myself smiling like a fool. That only made me laugh again. I lifted the skirts of my dress and turned once more, slower this time, the hem whispering around my ankles.

He was gone. For a few days, at least, Crimson Hill would belong more to me than it had before. No careful breakfasts. No sudden footsteps behind me. No cool hands brushing my cheek while he lied and called it protection.

The thought thrilled me enough to make my chest ache. I snatched up my shawl and headed back out almost at once. Answers waited in this house. The forbidden room. The western woods. I was halfway down the west wing corridor before the feeling changed.

It happened quietly.

One maid stood near the entrance with a basket of folded linens balanced against her hip. Another busied herself polishing a side table that did not look as though it needed polishing. Farther down, a footman stood too still beside the stairs.

I slowed. No one spoke to me. No one looked directly at me. But I felt it. Watchfulness.

The first maid shifted just enough to block part of the corridor when I came nearer. The footman at the stairs lowered his gaze, but not before I caught the quick flick of his attention toward me.

I stopped walking. The air seemed to thin around me. They were not passing through. They had been placed there.

I turned, as if only reconsidering my direction, and took a few slow steps back the way I had come. Behind me, I heard the faint rustle of movement. Not pursuit. Adjustment.

I glanced once over my shoulder. The maid had resumed her stillness. The footman had not moved. B But now I knew.

A cold understanding settled into me. Alexander had left. He had simply not left me unwatched.

I stood there in the middle of the corridor, the last of my foolish joy draining away, and understood the shape of it at last.

He had kissed me goodbye like a lover. And left me watched like a prisoner.