A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Eight

Carrick was strongly beginning to regret his decision to intrude on her evening when the door swung open. His feet becoming rooted to the spot at the sight before him. Her hair, an inky waterfall down her back, past shoulders clad in a robe of honey yellow trimmed with violet stitching. One hand clutching the edges of both halves of her robe to her chest. The sash dangling at her hips.
What at the ball her dress concealed, her ivory nightgown and its high neckline of buttons now revealed; the shallow dip of her knees and the gentle curve of her legs.

"Is something the matter?" Her voice drawing his eye back to her face.

"I thought we could..." his voice trailing off. I should be letting her rest.
"My apologies I shouldn't have disturb you at this late hour. It can wait until the morning."
He inclined his head, intending to leave.

"You are not disturbing me, Carrick." Her voice soft.

"Please," she said, stepping back from the door to allow him to walk in.

The room was furnished with only what was necessary. A bed made of oak across from a small table with two chairs pushed up against it. A wash basin in the far corner. His gaze landed on the plate of food, untouched.

He half-turned to Ilona. "You haven't eaten."

"I prefer not to eat while travelling as not to make my sickness worse. She made a motion with her hand. "And besides, I'll have dinner tomorrow when we arrive at the estate."

"Which won't be served until late evening, you could faint with hunger," Carrick countered.

She walked towards the table. "Surely you would catch me?"

"I would." His declaration causing her steps to falter. "But I would prefer to prevent it from occurring in the first place." Concern lacing his voice.

Ilona ignored the way his words set her heart a flutter.

Carrick joined her as she sat down at the table. He leaned back in the chair, his gaze on her as she picked up the bread bun and began to eat. A weight was lifted from his shoulders, seeing her do so though he could not explain why it had been there in the first place. Once she was finished chewing the last bite, he spoke, "I thought we could discuss the roles you and I will be playing for the week."

"Oh yes, the role of being a wife. I think I know how to play her. She is the one who ensures your cravat is neatly tied before you walk into a room. Who can recite your schedule by heart. The one who you take on long midnight walks, her hair loose down her back and one less set of petticoats on...wait that last part might have been from a book I read."

The image of such with Ilona was highly appealing. Her skin being bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight as they walked along. A veil of darkness and trees to shield them from the eyes of the society. Her smile a warm caress across his senses. He could imagine running a hand along the soft curve of her jaw, his other hand pulling her close...

"Do you read often?" He asked, hooking one ankle over a knee.

Ilona was unaware of the effect her words had on him. "Yes and I have since my childhood. A way to ward off the loneliness I suppose."
She saw his expression. "Carys, my friend his parents were the exception but most mothers and fathers do not like their sons to play with little girls." Her voice grew quiet, remembering their disapproving looks whenever she tried to join in. "I thought I could join in with girls my age but one of their hobbies involved needlework which meant being around parents who wore silver around their neck and wrists or their signet rings were made of such."

"Ilona," he said softly, his fingers a light touch on her arm. "I am sorry."

"It is not anyone's fault just the way things are for our kind. At least I had my parents not all are as fortunate." She reached out, her fingers closing over his. She knew Carrick's had cared more about appearance than their son's happiness. To know such coldness as a child was something so cruel to Ilona.

"It was actually my mother who taught me to read. I would spend many an afternoon, sitting on her lap as she read to me. Sometimes I would catch my father standing in the doorway, enthralled by her voice," Ilona said with a smile. "He would read to me at night when she could not or we would go on treks in the forest. I remember hopping over the roots of trees or splashing through puddles as we ran. He taught me to catch my first rabbit at the age of three. I still remember how proud he was when I scrambled out of the shrubs, twigs and leaves in my hair with it." A note of fondness in her voice.

"Twenty-six for me," Carrick said. "Though I am pretty sure my mentor at the time wanted the deer instead."

Ilona let out a chuckle, the sound a delightful melody to his ears.
Carrick's gaze flickered to the errant curl tickling her cheek.
He reached out.
At the feel of his warm yet fleeting touch on her cheek, Ilona's breath hitched. Her gaze unable to look away as his fingers closed over the stray curl. With almost deliberate slowness, he tucked it behind her ear, his gaze not straying from her. His hand grazing on the spot beneath the shell of her ear.
Without warning, his hand fell away.

"We can continue this conversation tomorrow. I really should let you rest," Carrick said, rising quickly to his feet.

He needed to go before he did something as reckless as to kiss her. It could put her current standing with that prat in fine silk in trouble and the last thing he needed to do was to cause her hurt.

Again.

Her voice catching up to him as he reached the door. "Goodnight, Carrick."

The softness of her voice masking the unexpected sadness she felt, watching him go.

"Goodnight Ilona."

Once the door to his room closed, his facade crumbled. The loneliness he too felt came crashing down on him. One year of his life spent utterly alone in the ruins of a castle after his family turned their back to him. Every mirror smashed. Ashamed of what the werewolves and his own hand did to him.
Until Ilona walked into his life, banishing the emptiness.

The mattress sank beneath his weight. In his hands, Danika's ring.
Ilona had been wrong about him seeing it as a mere trinket. He knew the story.

The dragon bowed willingly to the maiden but can a beast such as I hold Beauty in my arms?