A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Fifteen

Quick Author's Note: Any information revealed from this point onwards until the very end is new to the world I am creating in A Kiss At Midnight. Information gleamed from any previous works no longer applies as most of them will be retconned into a future project of mine. This includes Wildfire, Dark Frost and WildHeart .

The room was small but packed with the amenities a lady may need. A screen of maple wood and intricate designs carved into its edges separated the room into two, offering privacy. A golden tassel forming the bell pull within arm's reach. Small slabs of lilac, jasmine and rose scented soaps sat on a silver tray next to a wash basin of ivory porcelain. Towels folded into neat rolls.

Ilona leaned her head against the cold glass of her reflection. While her friends were discussing their pottery session and how most of the ladies in attendance had been far more interested in the potter's skilful fingers than the task at hand, she had slipped away needing a moment to herself. To think.

One more course of dinner left until she would have the answers she desperately sought. To soothe the questions ravaging her mind ever since she sent those letters and received silence in return. No more sleepless nights of endless pondering had the faults lay with her. No more letting the quill fall from her fingers as tears cascaded her cheeks, washing away the words her heart longed to say in person.

Ilona straightened, intent on returning to pull back the curtain on Carrick's absence. Opening the door, she stepped in the corridor and froze. Until now, she had seen the rooms as separate ones, not putting them together like a puzzle. To reveal the true picture of the grand scale that was Barrymore's home.
Columns of alabaster stone met walls of currant red. Plush cushions of sangria settled upon ottoman chairs. Intricate designs of gold painted with a delicate yet steady hand onto ivory vases. She tilted her head to look at one decorated ceramic, one hand reaching out. Her fingers brushed against a design of a dragon, its wings unfurled as if they sought her touch...

Images flooded her mind, drowning out her gasp.
A daisy white ribbon dangling from the fingers of a child whose face was little more than a blur to Ilona. A billowing gown of a lapis blue seeking to escape a male's grasp. His sleeve a shimmer of gold and obsidian...

The images relinquished their hold and Ilona stumbled back in utter confusion. A faint sweet and cloying scent in the air. Grave magic. Her gaze unable to leave the mysterious vase. For what she saw made no sense to her and yet something felt achingly familiar...

"Ilona, are you alright?" A male voice asked.
She tore her gaze away to see Barrymore standing there. A faint smile on his lips, his hand behind his back. His attire one of midnight black.

"O-oh Lord Barrymore," Ilona stammered, red spots blooming on her face. "I am fine, just admiring such grandeur."

He regarded her for a moment, seemingly unconvinced by her feeble attempt of a reassurance. With a wave of his hand, he gestured to an ottoman chair. "Please, sit."

"I-I mustn't. I should go back. Carrick will be waiting."

"Oh will he?" Barrymore's tone deceptively light. "Or will you return to find an empty chair. I mean honestly, does he detest your presence that much as to leave you the moment he can just as he did this morning while other husbands at least make an effort to uphold their duty. Does the thought of your touch repulse him so?"

Ilona went very still, his words a physical slap.
"He had matters to attend to." Her voice growing quiet, her head becoming bowed.

Barrymore moved closer. "Ilona, don't be foolish. Young lords show little regard for anyone else's welfare but their own. And even that is fleeting in the gambles of life and you are the one paying the price. You may have met beneath the candle light glow of a ballroom but the darkness is where he see you belonging."
His voice soft as he dealt the final blow. "Alone."