Beloved Beast

Chapter Fifteen

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          A chill scurried through the corridors, making its way into Lord Rossetti's chambers. Braced at the foot of the bed, Elle shuddered, the draft forewarning her that nightfall was near.

          Lucy had retired some time ago, deserting her to the quiet of the overt masculine room. The hushed air had the darkness pressing closer and her ears strained to catch a scrape or creak that might fill that unbearable silence.

          She had long learned that any noise was preferable to nothing, for nothing, always suggested something.

          Inhaling a deep breath, Elle was determined to not let her restless thoughts besiege her, but the uncanny stillness had a way of extracting fretful notions from the deep recesses of her mind.

          Lucy's tale had left a sickening knot in the bottom pit of her stomach, to where no amount of sound judgment could alleviate her growing fears.

          Suppressing a tremor, she purged the unease abreast to the disturbing notions that invaded her mind, her senses instead centering on the room.

          Rossetti's quarters felt as detached from the rest of the world as its surly dweller.

          A fire burned in a hearth across the room, its flames likely parading in the grate and hurling shadows; its crackling warmth failing to enliven the room, much of it repressed by the grim and musty air.

          With Rossetti gone, now would be a fitting time as any to gain a better understanding of her contentious captor. What better way to do so than to examine his possessions? With the pads of her fingertips, she could attain so much of the man that was a quandary in every way, but to pry through his belongings felt like an invasion of some kind.

          Nay, she concluded. She would rather he confide in her of his own volition than for her to go meddling through his things.

          With a sigh, her hands grazed over the delicate bedding that stretched the length of the bed; its incredible softness a surprising and unlikely element in a room that emanated hardness and masculinity.

          Elle tried to imagine him sleeping there. What did he dream of? Did he dream at all?

          She considered returning to her chambers only she wasn't so certain she could find her way back.

          Exhaustion was a present thing for she longed to lie upon the bed and drift into a peaceful slumber. Instead, she sat immobile, filled with an unease that matched the dismal air.

          A dull twinge started in her lower back, combating her thoughts and rigid posture. With a discordant breath, she at last opted to relinquish her spot and reached for –

          Elle choked back a gasp as her fingers traced air.

          Her staff ... it wasn't there!

          Her mind scrambled to recall where last she had placed it, all the while panic pressing down on her chest.

          Remembering Rossetti had taken it while at the beach, Elle came to her feet in a flurry of skirts, her right hand finding and curling around the bedpost.

          How could she have been so careless? Her staff meant everything to her.

          As a child, before having mastered a means to cope with her blindness, she had clung to her mother's skirts, taking in the world from behind pleats of stiff cotton. There, other children could be heard playing, their peal of laughter reaching her from where she stood unnoticed.