“Yes.”
“Good.” Before Sidonie came to terms with Mrs. Bevan expressing approval, however laconically, the woman continued. “Maister’s cranky as a bear with a sore head this last week. I’d watch my step if I be ’ee.”
“I will.” Strangely the news of Jonas’s grumpiness was encouraging. Sidonie straightened her shoulders. “He’s upstairs?”
“Aye. Will ’ee be wanting supper?”
“Not immediately, thank you.”
The woman lumbered toward the kitchens. The hall was, as ever, ice cold. A lit candelabra stood on one of the oak chests, its light feeble against the darkness. Again, Sidonie felt the breath of old, hostile ghosts.
Compared to what she faced, mere ghosts couldn’t daunt her.
It was late. She’d intended a less melodramatic entrance in daylight. Storms had made that impossible. Fielding, her coachman, had begged her to stay in Sidmouth and continue her journey on the morrow when, even if they had rain, at least they’d have light. She’d forced him on through the filthy weather. He must think his new employer mad. How could he know she mustered her last reserves of courage to beard Jonas in his den? Any delay might send her scuttling back to London with her tail between her legs.
No, she wasn’t running away. She’d come too far to give up. Whatever Jonas did to her, it couldn’t be worse than her last five days wandering Merrick House, knowing that she could remain a bride but not a wife forever.
With sudden purpose, she grabbed the candelabra. She’d wasted enough time feeling sorry fo
r herself. She needed to reach for what she wanted.
But as she mounted the shadowy stone staircase, she was bleakly aware she might be too late for new beginnings.
Sidonie made for the bedroom. Where else would a man be at this hour? Surely if her husband was awake, he’d come down to see who called so late.
The door was ajar and the room was dark. Although she’d spent all week longing to see Jonas, her pace slowed. Carefully she pushed the door wider and stepped inside. No mirrors reflected her candles. She took another step and something crunched under her half-boots.
Puzzled, she glanced down. The floor was littered with a carpet of jagged and sparkling debris. Slowly she raised the candelabra.
“Dear God…”
The room was a complete shambles. The ornate mirrors that had once lined the walls lay smashed against the floor. The bed linen and curtains were ripped and tattered. Something about the willful, wild destruction struck her as unbearably sad. As though the man who wreaked this devastation wrenched free of human control until all that remained was animal violence.
Oh, Jonas…
She illuminated the bed. The mattress sagged, half off its base. She’d known when she came in that Jonas wasn’t here. The empty bed confirmed it.
Turning, she found herself under her husband’s assessing scrutiny. He leaned against the doorframe, a half-filled glass of wine dangling from his right hand. In spite of the gulf between them, her heart danced with joy at his presence. He wore the familiar breeches and loose white shirt. The last time they’d met, he’d been attired as Viscount Hillbrook. Sidonie didn’t know Viscount Hillbrook, but she knew this man in his untidy clothing, with his hair tumbling over his forehead. This man had greeted her upon her arrival at Castle Craven over three months ago. She knew his cool eyes and lethal tongue and preternatural attention to everything she did.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Jonas drawled, lifting the glass to his lips.
“If you wanted to redecorate, you could have had the mirrors carried down to the cellars.”
His beautiful mouth curved, although his eyes remained watchful. “Seemed quicker to take care of matters on the spot.”
With theatrical thoroughness, her gaze swept the destruction. “You definitely took care of matters.”
He straightened without shifting toward her. On the other hand, he didn’t shift away. She took what encouragement she could find. Nor, she was relieved to note, did she sense the distance he’d maintained between them in London. He didn’t seem angry or hostile. He just seemed… wary.
She stared directly at him. “You’re not surprised I’m here.”
He shrugged. “I heard the carriage arrive.”
“It could have been someone else.”
He cast her an unimpressed glance under thick black eyelashes. “No, it couldn’t.”
She supposed not. Although the possibility existed that since he was no longer considered a disreputable bastard plutocrat, the neighbors had taken him under their wing. Except it was the middle of the night. Except a gale blew. Except Castle Craven was just as eccentric in décor and staffing, and its welcome was as frosty as ever.