Page 12

Chapter twelve

Alexander

Sunlight began to drift through the curtains and Alexander's eyes opened, squinting as he looked out the window.

Something told him it was going to snow later, but the sky was currently blue, so maybe he was wrong. Even if he usually wasn't.

He began to stir, and something fell off his arm. He glanced over, expecting to see Rose perched next to him, but his eyes widened when he saw his wife sitting in his bed.

Beatrice was propped up against a pillow, sound asleep, her hand resting on the blanket next to his arm.

When had she come into his room, and why was she sitting in his bed touching his arm?

He rolled onto his side and took a moment to study her features without her noticing: the few freckles that dusted her cheeks, her tiny nose, her lips, and the way her hair trailed down across her chest.

He had occasionally imagined being married, but he’d never imagined that his wife would be this beautiful, nor that he would already feel so strongly about protecting her from all harm.

It was merely a marriage of convenience—and yet his feelings couldn’t be less convenient.

He shifted as his arm began protesting the weight upon it, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him for half a second before they widened dramatically. She pulled her arm back and crossed it over her chest, leaning away from him.

“Forgive me, Alexander,” she began, looking away from him.

“Do not worry,” Alexander said, wanting to ease her mind. She looked like a frightened rabbit that had been caught in a trap. But even while anxious, she’d said his name, and warmth flooded his soul at the thought.

“I’m not upset, merely curious as to why you are asleep sitting upright in my bed. But you don’t need to fear. We are married, after all.” He let his voice take on a teasing tone with the last words, something that didn't come naturally to him, but was worth it when she uncrossed her arms and began to fidget with her nightgown instead. “Are you not cold?” he asked. The fire had died down overnight, and she was not covered by any of the blankets.

“It's not too bad,” Beatrice said, still avoiding meeting his gaze.

It would not do for his wife to be cold. Alexander swung his feet over the side of the bed and walked to the armoire. He returned after a moment with a blanket for her, spreading it over her legs before climbing back into his bed and pulling the covers over himself again.

If Beatrice noticed that he was not wearing a shirt, she didn't say anything, but the color of her cheeks confirmed that she had, most likely, noticed.

Either that, or she was more embarrassed than he thought about being caught in his bedchamber.

“Were you having trouble sleeping?” Alexander asked. “You could have woken me.”

Beatrice frowned at him. “You don't remember?” she asked. But then she shook her head. “No, you wouldn't. I couldn't wake you. So why would you remember?”

“You couldn't wake me?” he asked.

“You were having a nightmare,” she explained, reaching up and playing with the ends of her hair. Her fingers twisted and tangled in the reddish-brown waves, and he wanted to reach out and see if her hair felt as silky smooth as it looked.

He folded his hands in his lap instead.

“You said some things in your nightmare,” Beatrice began slowly. “I don't know if it was just a nightmare or if it was a memory.” The words came out in halting half-sentences, as if she was questioning her own memory of the incident.

“What happened?” he asked gently, reaching out his hand in a silent offer.

She stared down at it for a moment before slowly, so slowly, reaching out her own and placing it in his. Her fingers were ice-cold, and Alexander immediately reached over and adjusted the blanket, tucking it more securely around her with his free hand. “You're cold,” he said.

“Yes,” she admitted softly.

The movement of tucking the blanket in had brought him closer to her, their faces mere inches apart. This close, he could see that her eyes were not nearly the color he had imagined. They were a rich brown, the color of freshly poured coffee, deep and bright, promising to make his day better from the very start.

They already had.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and his gaze flickered down to them and back up to her eyes.

He cleared his throat and settled back against his pillow, his shoulder brushing against hers.

This was dangerous.

Something shifted on the end of the bed, and both of them looked up to see Rose in her kitten form, stretching widely across the bed. She looked up and noticed them staring at her before sauntering over and curling up in Beatrice’s lap.

His wife pulled her hand away from his to pet her, and a moment later the purring started.

“I would love to hear more,” he said, looking back at Beatrice, “if you are willing to share.”

His wife glanced over at him.

“Whatever it is,” he encouraged her.

Beatrice took a deep breath. “It sounded in your nightmare as if you were under a silencing curse.”

The words came out in a rush, as if she was afraid of his reaction, and Alexander's heart stopped beating for a moment.

In all his deliberation on how to tell her, he had never considered that she would hear it directly from him in a dream.

Apparently, the curse could be circumvented in specific situations.

“Is it true?” Beatrice asked.

He looked down at her, her eyes full of vulnerability, and said nothing but silently nodded.

Her eyes searched his, as if she could peer into his soul.

How could a woman who had barely known him for longer than three days see through him so clearly? Yes, she’d been his employee, but they’d had more contact in the past three days than the previous two years doubled.

“It's real,” she said.

Alexander nodded. He couldn't say it, but he could confirm it.

Beatrice looked away from him. Her gaze settled on some unseeing point far, far away. “Why?” she asked, her attention snapping back to him.

Alexander said nothing. He couldn't talk about that part either.

“Is that why you had to marry me?” she asked. “Am I part of it?”

Alexander tried. What words could he say that wouldn't be stopped by the curse? He opened his mouth to begin, but his tongue stopped working before he could say something about him marrying someone else.

“It's not you specifically,” he finally managed to get out.

“Is it stopping you from speaking?” she asked.

“You could say that,” he said, surprised that the words came out.

Beatrice frowned. “Is it dangerous?”

Alexander shrugged.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked.

“Guinevere discovered it yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “And she didn't tell me?”

“I asked her to wait until today,” Alexander admitted. “I was hoping to find some way to tell you myself. I didn't expect it to be in the middle of the night, but I was completely unaware of that.”

Beatrice grinned. “Well, I always was too nosy for my own good.”

Alexander let out a laugh. “I think that you and your nosiness is the best thing that could have happened to me.”

His wife froze, staring up at him, suddenly looking as if she might cry. “The best thing?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Yes,” he said, nodding at her. “I think so. At least, the best thing in a very, very long time.”

Beatrice sniffed. “No one's ever told me that before,” she said.

“No one's ever told you what?” he asked, frowning at her. “That you're the best thing that's happened to them?”

She shook her head.

“Not even your father?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He was beginning to hate the man. Why had he been given a daughter like Beatrice? He didn’t deserve her in the least.

She shook her head once more.

“I am sorry you’ve never heard it before,” he said, “because you deserve to hear it every day. I know we haven't known each other long, but I can already tell that you are perfect for me, and I can't wait to watch us grow together.”

The words felt foreign in his mouth, even as they felt so right. He'd never said something like that to anyone before, and yet they felt absolutely true. He knew without a doubt that Beatrice Montgomery—or Beatrice Dunham—was going to be a big part of his life, and he could only hope that they would get to live together for a long time.

He'd never really thought about living a long life with his wife before, probably a side effect of his parents dying well before their time. He couldn't wait to see what that could look like. And he couldn't wait to see it with Beatrice—assuming, of course, the sorcerer didn’t come back and try to kill them both.

“Unless, of course, you're scared and plan to leave me,” he said. He said the words jokingly, but deep down, he wondered if she would take him up on it. It wasn’t every day you discovered that your husband was cursed.

“Of course not,” Beatrice said, looking at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. “I am your wife, and I plan on sticking with you for the rest of our lives. You can't get rid of me that easily. If it was that easy, I would have left my father behind years ago.” The last words were muttered and seemed more for her benefit than his.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn't seem inclined to give more information, and he didn’t want to push the matter, so he didn’t ask.

“I’m your wife,” she said firmly, coming out of her thoughts, “and whatever happens, we will see it through together.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it before letting go quickly, almost as if she was afraid of his reaction.

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Thank you,” he said, the words sticking in his throat for a reason other than a curse. “I never could have imagined that I'd find someone like you.”

“I suspect you never imagined you would be hit with a silencing curse, either,” she pointed out. “I still have to figure out why you were cursed and who cursed you, and how long I have before things could be dangerous.”

He didn't say anything. He knew better than to even try. The fact that he'd managed to say this much was a bit of a miracle.

“I don't suppose you can tell me how long we have,” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Can I guess?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

Beatrice frowned. “A year?”

“No.”

“More or less?” she asked.

“Less,” Alexander said.

Having just been through this with Guinevere yesterday, he wasn't surprised when it took several guesses to get even remotely close.

“Less than a week,” she finally said, and he nodded.

She thought for a moment, looking down at Rose and stroking her back before she looked up at him with her mouth wide open. “It’s your birthday.”

It shouldn’t surprise him that she’d figured it out so quickly. One of the reasons he had chosen her to be his bride was because she was smart—she’d proved it over and over again. But still, the fact that someone had figured out that he was cursed and so quickly narrowed it down to the day of reckoning was shocking.

Beatrice took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose there's only one thing to do. I wish you had told me yesterday so I didn't waste time on something as frivolous as reading a romance novel when I might need to save your life,” she teased. “But now that I know, I shall get to work straightaway.”

“Doing what?” he asked.

His wife raised an eyebrow at him. “Doing what you paid me to do,” she said. “I'm a librarian. We read.”