Chapter 16 Shadows at the Table
The afternoon slipped away in a haze of sunlight and restless thoughts. I lingered in my room longer than I intended, flipping through a book I wasn’t truly reading, the words blurring as my mind replayed every moment with Alexander, the heat of his touch in the bridal suite, the low timbre of his voice promising things that made my pulse race even now. The soreness between my thighs had faded to a faint, pleasant ache, a private reminder that kept a secret smile playing on my lips.
Eventually, hunger pulled me from my reverie. I changed into a simple emerald-green dress that hugged my figure without being overt, the silk cool against my skin as it skimmed my hips and fell just above my knees. I left my hair loose, the dark waves tumbling over my shoulders, and applied only a touch of gloss to my lips. Casual, but deliberate. If Alexander was anywhere in this sprawling house, I wanted him to notice.
As I stepped into the corridor, a young maid in crisp black and white appeared at the top of the staircase, her posture straight and polite. “Miss Maddie,” she said softly, dipping her head. “Mr. Alexander has asked if you would join him for dinner in the small dining room. Master Ben has informed the staff he will not be coming down this evening, he is still unwell from his headache.”
A flutter stirred low in my stomach at the mention of Alexander’s name. I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “Thank you. I’ll come down now.”
The maid led me through the familiar halls, past portraits of stern ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow my progress, until we reached a more intimate dining room than the grand one used for larger gatherings. This one was paneled in dark walnut, warmed by a low fire crackling in the hearth. A single chandelier cast soft golden light over a table set for two, crystal glasses gleaming, silver polished to a mirror shine, and a centerpiece of white roses that perfumed the air.
Alexander stood as I entered, his tall frame impeccably dressed in a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. The top buttons were undone, offering a glimpse of tanned skin at his throat. His eyes met mine immediately, dark and intense, holding me in place for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed.
“Maddie,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like aged bourbon.
“Thank you for joining me.”
I smiled, letting a hint of warmth slip through. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
He pulled out my chair himself, his fingers brushing lightly against my back as I sat, a fleeting touch that sent sparks racing across my skin. The maid served the first course silently and then discreetly withdrew, leaving us alone. The door closed with a soft click, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.
For a few moments we ate in companionable quiet: chilled cucumber soup followed by perfectly seared salmon with lemon and herbs. The food was exquisite, but I barely tasted it. Every sense was attuned to him, the way his long fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his shirt when he reached for the bread, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the woodsmoke from the fire.
Finally, he broke the silence. “How was your day? Did you find anything interesting on the estate?”
I glanced up, meeting his gaze. There was curiosity there, but also something deeper, concern, perhaps, or caution. He knew Ben had taken me on that tour. He knew what his stepson was capable of saying.
“It’s beautiful,” I answered carefully, twirling my fork. “The gardens are stunning. The lake, the pavilion… everything feels almost magical.” I paused, letting a small smile curve my lips. “Though I suspect not everything here is quite as peaceful as it looks.”
His eyes darkened fractionally, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he asked, “And school? When do you go back?”
I laughed lightly. “We’re on winter break right now. Classes don’t resume until mid-January. Plenty of time to… adjust to married life.” The last words carried a subtle edge of irony that only he would catch.
He inclined his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest smirk. “Indeed.”
After that, conversation stayed light, safe topics like favorite books, the unusually mild weather, the history of the estate’s wine cellar. But beneath every polite exchange ran a current of electricity. I felt his gaze on me whenever I looked down at my plate, tracing the line of my neck, the curve of my shoulder exposed by the dress. And I returned the favor, stealing glances at the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the subtle flex of his hand as he lifted his glass.
Each stolen look felt like a touch. Each brush of our eyes across the table was a promise of what waited when the pretense fell away.
Dessert was a delicate dark-chocolate tart with raspberries. When the maid cleared the plates and poured coffee, Alexander dismissed her for the evening with quiet authority. The fire popped softly in the grate; outside the tall windows, twilight had deepened into night, the gardens now swallowed by shadow.
I set my cup down and met his eyes fully. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”
He studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Goodnight, Maddie,” he said at last, his voice a low caress.
“Goodnight, Alexander.”
I rose, feeling the weight of his stare on my back as I left the room. My heart hammered against my ribs the entire way upstairs, anticipation coiling tighter with every step. The house was quiet, the corridors dimly lit by sconces that cast long, dancing shadows.
Back in my room, I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, drawing a steadying breath. The space still felt foreign, too grand, too perfect, but tonight it hummed with possibility. I moved through my bedtime routine slowly, deliberately: brushing out my hair until it fell in soft waves, washing my face, slipping out of the green dress and into a thin silk nightgown the color of midnight. The fabric whispered over my skin, clinging lightly to my curves, the neckline low enough to reveal the upper swell of my breasts.
I turned off the main light, leaving only the soft glow of a bedside lamp, and climbed into the massive four-poster bed. The sheets were cool and crisp, scented faintly with lavender. I lay on my back, staring up at the embroidered canopy, every nerve alive and waiting.
Minutes stretched. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed once, then twice. I counted my heartbeats, the quiet so complete I could hear the faint rustle of wind in the trees outside.
Then, soft but unmistakable, the click of my door handle turning.
My breath caught as the door eased open without a knock. Moonlight spilled in from the hallway, silhouetting a tall, broad-shouldered figure. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with deliberate care, the latch engaging with a quiet snick.
Alexander.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. In the dim glow of the lamp, his eyes found mine across the room, burning with the same hunger that had simmered between us all through dinner. He stood there for a moment, simply looking at me, taking in the silk clinging to my body, the way my hair fanned across the pillow, the rise and fall of my chest beneath the thin fabric.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched him approach with that predatory grace I’d come to crave. The air between us crackled, thick with everything we hadn’t said at the table, everything we’d hidden behind polite smiles and careful words.
He reached the side of the bed and stopped, his gaze never leaving mine.