A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sunlight from a nearby window, a dappled curtain across Ilona's face as she stood waiting by the railing of maple wood which overlooked the grand staircase. A slight twitch of her fingers on the polished wood as she tilted her head up. Her gaze climbing the steps of a second set of stairs towards the third floor.
Should she manage to successfully retrieve the Morana Lily tonight then no longer would an ocean separate Carrick and her. The thought of spending many a morning just like this one in his arms brought a smile to her face.
She turned to walk back to her room to see what was keeping Carrick.

"Lady Ilona."

With a start, Ilona whirled to see Barrymore, his feet poised to reach the step below his current position. His hand resting on the bannister. Time having honed his ability to move with nary a sound, something all werewolves sought to achieve when in pursuit of what they desired.

"L-Lord Barrymore, good morning," Ilona stammered.

He continued his descent, his pace leisurely.
"I trust you slept well."

"I did, thank you my lord," she replied, earning herself a smile.
He stopped in front of her. His eyes widening by a fraction at the sight of her gown of teal and cream lace. Those colours had been a favourite of Elise.

"Good." He reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips. "As your comfort is of great importance."
The last two words, "to me" were written upon her skin by his kiss.

"Surely, you say such a thing to all your guests."

"True," he said with a chuckle. Then his expression grew thoughtful "Yet I find myself wondering if some need to hear it more that their well-being is worthy of care and not to be tossed aside by a cold hand."

The insult racked its claws down Ilona. She opened her mouth to defend Carrick when Barrymore spoke again. "Now, shall I escort you to the treasure hunt?" He moved to place her hand on his arm.

Ilona retrieved her hand from him. "I thank you for the kind offer but I must decline as Carrick has agreed to escort me there."

Irritation flashed across Barrymore's face. "Very well then, I shall leave you for now in Carrick's capable hands. Though I do look forwards to being in your company this evening, Lady Ilona," he said, his words not roughened by annoyance.

He inclined his head and departed down the final set of stairs. Ilona watched him go, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I look forwards to the moment this whole thing and I never have to lay eyes upon you again, Lord Barrymore. Your continued disparagement of Carrick's character is unjust. We cleared up all misconceptions between us.

The sound of a door closing with a click made her turn around. Carrick stood there. A great coat of cinnamon brown stretched across his broad shoulders as he slipped the key into his pocket. The buttons of his coat not yet closed, his starched white shirt visible beneath a waistcoat of clover green. Breeches of the same shade of cinnamon tucked into his Hessian boots of polished midnight. Several strands of his hair were pinned back, the rest of the waves free to crash against his shoulders.

Her breathing quickened. Each step she took, lessening the distance between them. She rested her head on his chest, her hands to lay flat on his chest. A moment later, she felt his arms encircle her waist.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, a note of concern threading his words.

A slight shake of her head, there was no need to tell him about Barrymore's insult. "I just want you to hold me for a moment."

"Of course, I will," he murmured, dipping his head to press a kiss to the top of her curls. No tasks is too great when it comes to you, Ilona.