Page 38 of Marrying Bluebeard

She’s not here.

The panic returns, and I struggle to think clearly, to hear that rational voice again. If she’s not in the garden, where else would she have gone so early? Looking for new books in the library? I suppose it’s possible, though my gut says otherwise. Fear sends my hand flying to my jacket pocket, feeling for the brass key tucked inside.

Still there.

I sigh with relief. I don’t think Adelaide would defy my warning and go into the tower herself, but then again, she did go swimming in that damnable lake. I can’t completely trust her judgment. The servants have strict instructions not to take her into the tower without me, so I doubt any of them would lure her up there without a direct order from Celeste. I’m the one who pays their wages, after all. And Celeste wouldn’t have summoned her. She has Miss Garnier.

Yes, that’s right. The sacrificial lamb. I wonder briefly how Adelaide would feel if she knew I’d sent an innocent young woman off to her slow, albeit blissful, death. Would she understand? Or would she run screaming the other way?

I trudge back inside and make my way up to the library, my steps growing heavy under the weight of my thoughts. I need to see her, to draw her into my arms and lose myself in her kisses. Then and only then will I be able to regain my previous euphoria.

Only she isn’t in the library.

My stomach is a lead ball. Not the tower. Anywhere but the tower. I sprint down the hall, gaining speed with each corner I round. Up another flight of stairs, down another corridor. Denial gives me wings. But then, as I race down the final stretch, a flash of white catches my eye through the window. A closer look, and my breath puffs out in a relieved laugh. Adelaide isn’t in the tower. She’s merely enjoying the ocean view from the westward-facing bluff.

My paranoia has gotten the better of me.

I take my time winding back down through the castle, determined not to arrive looking like a madman and smelling like a sweaty pig. I fix my collar, smooth my hair. I save my smile for the moment she’s finally within reach, standing on the rocky bluff as her skirts whip about her ankles.

“There you are.” My smile grows wider as her sparkling eyes meet mine. “I’ve been looking all over for you, only to find you standing in plain view. Do you see what a lovestruck fool you’ve made of me?”

“We’re all fools in one way or another,” she teases. She lifts a hand to brush her windblown hair free of her face, but I capture it before she can, raining a trail of kisses from her wrist all the way up to her elbow. Only the stiff, white fabric of her sleeve stops me, and even that provides nothing more than a pause as I pull her against my chest and claim her lips.

She sighs into my embrace, and I am renewed.

When at last we reluctantly part, I take my time tracing her cheekbone with my thumb. “I thought we could go into town today,” I murmur. “Pick out whatever supplies you think you’ll need for the garden.”

“Mm.” She turns her head, looking out over the water. White-tipped waves break on the rocky cliffside, casting misty sprays into the air. “I’m not particularly interested in gardening anymore.”

I raise a brow in surprise. I wouldn’t have pegged her as the fickle type. Then again, last night should have been proof enough that there’s more to this woman than can be gleaned in a few scant weeks. “What does interest you, then?” I ask, skimming my fingers through her hair.

She catches my hand before I can cup the back of her head and turn her lips toward mine. Her face takes on a dreamy expression. “Flying.”

Flying? My hands fall to my sides as she steps away, befuddlement making a mess of my senses. What could she possibly mean by tha⁠—

My heart stops as she raises her arms and leaps from the edge of the cliff.

25

BERTRAND

This isn’t happening. This isn’t⁠—

I die a million, agonizing deaths as I stare into the churning water below. Where is she?

Not a single hair on Adelaide’s raven head is visible within the treacherous waves as I clamber barefoot down the side of the cliff. There are so many rocks, so many jagged edges poised to tear her soft flesh and crush her skull. She didn’t hit them. There’d be blood if she hit them. You’d smell it. Unless the blood is underwater, spreading crimson streaks as my wife sinks to the bottom of the sea.

I dive into the frigid brine, grateful for the first time that Celeste stole my need to breathe. The current tries to throw me against the bluff, but I fight it with each powerful stroke. A tang of copper and strawberries slithers through the dark water, and I follow it, tracing its source. Rocks scrape my knees and my palms slip through weeds and muck as the trail leads me ashore. My head breaks the surface, and there she is—Adelaide, safe on solid ground.

Safe and smiling.

My fists strike the pebbled beach as I drag myself from the sea, dripping salt and seeing red. “What the hell was that?”

“What? I wanted to have a little fun.” She tilts her head as she wraps long fingers around her dripping hair and twists, wringing out the excess water. Blood trickles from an abrasion on her forearm, but her expression is playful as she gazes up at me.

“Horseback riding is fun,” I seethe. “Sex is fun. Diving off a cliff into rocky water is a death wish.”

Her eyes narrow at my tone. “It was a lark.”