Free White Regency 03 - White Knight by Jaclyn Reding

of him, sandalwood and
something else— something spicier. The sudden sense of being held by him, the
warmth of her body against his, was new and oddly comforting and when he
brought her inside and set her on her feet, she instantly missed it.
    He, however, seemed wholly unaffected by
it.
    “I hope that will set fortune at
ease,” Christian said and turned to walk further inside.
    The outside of the building had
intimidated her; the inside, however, was utterly overwhelming. Marble Roman
statuary were set around the circular chamber in alcoves cut into the granite
walls. Rather than being set where they might be better viewed and appreciated,
they had been placed at such a height as to give anyone entering the sense of
being stared down upon by a crowd of overlords. Thick alabaster columns
measured off the perimeter of the room and the Westover ducal coat of arms,
carved in stone, was emblazoned above the arched central corridor. As they
walked, their footsteps echoed on the marble floor and carried upward to the
lofty heights of the ceiling, a ceiling that was buttressed with oaken beams
the size of ship’s masts.
    A figure emerged from the shadows at the
far end of the hall holding a branch of flickering candles, a housekeeper in
dark skirts and a white linen mobcap who surprisingly attempted a small smile
as she curtsied. She came to a standstill beside Ambrose’s rigid posture.
    “Good evening, Mrs. Stone,”
Christian said.
    The housekeeper bobbed. “Lord
Knighton, ‘tis good to see you again.”
    “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady
Knighton, to you both.”
    The butler bowed his head dutifully,
murmuring “Madam” while the housekeeper dipped quickly into another
curtsey. “Welcome to Westover, my lady.”
    “You will show Lady Knighton to our
chambers and assist her with her things. We’ve had a long journey and we will
be leaving first thing on the morrow. Anything her ladyship desires, please see
to it.”
    The two answered in unison, “Yes, my
lord.”
    Grace looked at Christian. “You
aren’t coming?”
    “I have some business to attend to.
Ambrose and Mrs. Stone are quite capable of directing you, unless there is some
other rule that requires bridegrooms to carry their wives over every threshold
in the house.”
    Grace shook her head, uncertain as to
whether he was mocking her. Instead she wondered at his sudden neglect. Did he
mean to leave her alone in this vast cavern of a house for the night—on her wedding night? “I
just thought that—”
    But Christian wasn’t listening to her.
Instead he turned and began issuing orders to the butler. “Please instruct
the cook to have our dinner served in the dining hall. A footman can show Lady
Knighton there when she has finished upstairs.”
    Grace stared at Christian, wondering if he
would ever shed the mantle of cold, armored indifference he seemed to wear. He
had been polite all during their journey, and though not overly interested in
conversation, she had figured him tired and had thought they would get further
acquainted once they reached their destination.
    Apparently that was not to be.
    But before Grace could voice any agreement
or disagreement to these plans, Christian turned and strode toward a side door,
the sober echoing of his bootsteps the only sound in the hall. Grace merely
stood and watched him go as he closed the door firmly behind him.
    “My lady?” Mrs. Stone said
finally.
    Grace looked at her.
    “If you would be so kind as to follow
me, I will show you to your chambers.”
    She gave one last look at the door where
Christian had disappeared before she simply nodded and followed in the wake of
the light from the woman’s flickering candelabrum.
    Mrs. Stone led Grace up a cheerless flight
of stairs to an upper corridor, paneled in dark walnut and lined with portraits
of Westover ancestors bearing expressions as austere and menacing as the house
they inhabited. They glowered at her from their shadowed and gilded perches