Dressed differently.
The words triggered a thought in Trenton’s dazed mind and, automatically, his gaze dropped to the woman’s morning dress: the same dress Ariana was wearing when she’d left Broddington hours before.
A harsh groan escaped his lips. “Your gown …”
She glanced down at herself and sighed. “Do you really dislike it? Or is it only because Baxter gave it to me? He means well, Trenton, truly he does.” She inclined her head. “Still, if it troubles you so, I’ll return it.”
“Dear God, what’s happening to me?” Trenton flung her from him, grabbing his head and stumbling backward in a haze of disorientation.
The apparition opened her mouth to speak, but her words were lost amid the deafening buzz inside Trenton’s head.
“What’s happening to me?” he repeated in a horrified whisper, cold sweat drenching his entire body.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Propelled by the fires of hell, he staggered back toward the manor.
CHAPTER
22
“TRENTON? I’M HOME!” ARIANA scanned the deserted hallway, then looked questioningly at Theresa. “I wonder where he is.”
“He wonders the same.”
“Pardon me?”
“Your husband needs you, pet. Find him.” Theresa’s probing black eyes conveyed a definitive message to her mistress. “Quickly, Your Grace.” She patted the volume in her apron pocket. “And bear in mind that ‘the virtue of adversity is fortitude.’”
A knot of apprehension formed in Ariana’s stomach. Theresa’s quotes of Sir Francis, her sage advice, were never without purpose. Hardship evidently loomed ahead: hardship that would take its toll, require all of Ariana’s inner strength.
Suddenly, locating her husband seemed imperative.
“Trenton!” She raced through the house, first upstairs, then down, colliding with Jennings outside the music room. “Jennings … where is the duke?”
“Why, I’m not sure, Your Grace. I haven’t seen him all afternoon. Perhaps he …”
But Ariana wasn’t listening. She’d already sprinted past the butler, her anxiety increasing by the second. Where could he be?
“Trenton …” The word lodged in her throat as she stood in the open chapel doorway. The back of Trenton’s dark head and broad shoulders were visible from where he sat, slumped in the first-row bench. “Trenton?” Ariana hastened up the aisle, touching him gently on the arm.
Slowly, Trenton turned his head, gazing up at her with dark, tormented eyes.
Her heart hammering, Ariana dropped to her knees beside him. “What is it?”
His expression never changed. “Why are you still torturing me? Haven’t you taken enough from me already?”
Ariana turned white. “Torturing you? What are you talking about?”
“About you. Whoever you are. Why have you followed me here?”
“Trenton … it’s me … Ariana.” She swallowed, battling the sheer panic threatening to envelop her. “I’ve just arrived home from Winsham. Baxter gave me the check. I’m fine. Everything is all right.”
Trenton drank in her earnest features, reaching out to caress her throat and shoulders, stroking down to her arms. “I hurt you,” he muttered, staring at her smooth skin. “Forgive me, misty angel. I vowed that night in the maze never to harm you. And I never intended to. Forgive me.”
“You haven’t harmed me … you’ve never harmed me. Trenton!” She seized the lapels of his coat. “What’s happened since I left Broddington? Why are you acting this way?”
“Did I bruise you?” he asked, massaging the gentle curve of her neck, frowning as he inspected the unblemished area. “No, thank heavens I didn’t. I can barely live with myself as it is. I don’t know how I could have withstood it if I’d marred that flawless skin.” Soberly, he kissed the curve of her shoulder. “I never should have forced you to marry me, misty angel. Never should have touched you. You’re far too fine and untainted for a destructive madman like me.”