Rohan did not use the door to reach the chamber. It was once his, and he knew many ways to get into it without the door because he knew from instinct that his adorable little wife would have bolted the lock in hopes that he would not come to her. Did she believe he was joking when he told her he would come to her tonight? Scoffing, he never joked about things such as that.
He settled on the open balcony of the chamber and became still, a part of the night, blending for a moment into the very darkness. The chamber was the only room with a light in the entire large castle, which meant she was not yet asleep. His dark, soulless eyes found her through the clear glass of the french balcony door, found her, and claimed her.
She was small-boned, curvy, with a tiny waist and a wealth of golden blonde hair tumbling down her back to draw attention to her rounded bottom. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at that part of her body. She was standing before the vanity table, braiding her long hair for sleep. She did not call the maids to assist her, he noted.
She was unique, intriguing, her skin like satin, her eyes incredibly large, intensely hazel, fringed with thick, long lashes. Not a detail escaped his memories as he had watched her face while she slept in his arms in the carriage. Though she was preparing for bed now, Rohan noticed how she was putting so much effort into hiding the scar above her brow with her fringe, combing her fingers into it and smoothing it down.
She did not wear the nightgown he had ordered to be given to her, and that made him frown in displeasure. He had picked it himself and looked forward to seeing her in it; he liked the color. But instead of it, she wore a faded-looking off-white gown that looked thin from constant washing, and it clung to her skin, hugged her high, full breasts, and bared the line of her throat, her creamy freckled shoulders. Not bad. It might be faded, but it did not hide what his eyes wanted to see. But he would make sure this would be the last time she wore it.
He let his eyes trail down her body. She had small feet, like her hands. So much curve in so small a package. Tsk. She braided her hair, walking to the window and looking out with unseeing eyes. Her face held a faraway expression; there was a look of sadness in her features.
He found himself following every stroke of her fingers as they braided her hair into two sections. Her movements were innocent, but yet his body stirred.
Every action with her fingers in her hair lifted her breasts invitingly, emphasized her narrow rib cage and small waist. The nightgown clung to her body, revealing the dark vee at the juncture of her legs. His fingers dug deeply into the railing, leaving long scars in the metal. Still, Rohan watched. She was graceful, enticing. He found his hot gaze dwelling on her soft throat, the pulse beating steadily in her neck. His. He smirked deviously.
She stared out the window, as if waiting for her lover. The thought of her with another man enraged him, and he became more determined to make her forget her Mr. Marchant. What was his could never be touched by another, Rohan thought, his eyes darkening.
Belle, however, shivered for no apparent reason. A sudden chill crept over her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the strange cold, she glanced around the room. But she was alone.
She hadn't been able to sleep and had stood at the window, watching the darkness and distant lights that were obviously coming from the town of the vampires who did not sleep at night. She'd learned that most of the vampires liked to move at night, and from the distant activities, she could confirm that. But what bothered her mind was far greater than anything.
Today was her first night in this strange land, and she could not imagine sleeping in one piece. She'd taken her bath and changed into her faded nightdress, fearing and dreading that her vampire husband would appear at any time, and every little noise alarmed her until she no longer bothered again as the night drew into midnight. Perhaps he was just bluffing about performing their wedding night and had gone out and forgotten he even had a wife. Good. She hoped he would allow her to live her life.
Many marriages that were for alliance and contract had been like that. The husband would keep his wife and go to his mistress at night, and the only reason they would come together was to make an heir. But apart from that, they would not even see much of each other, and she prayed to the heavens her marriage would be like that with this vampire until her mission was completed.
But right now, she could not help but miss her home and her small chamber in the Dawson household, her nightly activities of writing a reply letter to Jamie and reading his, smiling at his poetic confession of love. She had dreamed of herself being Mrs. Marchant someday, and she felt her eyes and throat burn with emotions as she watched the starless and moonless night, her hands absentmindedly touching the precious ring she had slipped into her chain.
She sighed and was about to turn around and force herself to sleep when a startled scream tore out of her throat at the sight that greeted her. She quickly clapped her palm against her mouth to control herself. What the hell was he doing here, and how did he get into her room? Belle thought to herself in disbelief as she looked towards the door that still had a lock on it and then back to the man who leaned casually against the locked door of the balcony, watching her with his head crooked to the side, his red lips pulled up at the side.
She would not have seen him there had the light in her chamber been turned off because of the dark attire he wore. Apart from his devastatingly handsome face, every other part of him was clad in black, even his hands still had dark gloves, where he crossed his arms against his broad chest, and his one leg was bent and flattened against the wall behind him. How did he enter when the door was locked and her chamber was at the top of the many-story castle? For how long had he been standing there?
"Wh-what are you doing in here?" she asked and felt stupid for asking. He was her husband and had every right to be in her room at night, only that she had not thought he would keep to his words to be here. How did he even enter?!
He didn't take this marriage seriously, did he? Her parents had told her that the mad vampire was against the marriage at first and that even if she went to live with him, she would barely see his shadow around, and she would have ample opportunity to fulfill her mission if she mingled in social gossip of the elite vampires. But if he did not want this marriage, what was he doing here—to perform their so-called wedding night?
Belle gulped when he suddenly pushed away from the wall and let out a burst of smoke from his mouth, clicking his tongue when she instinctively stepped back.
"Isn't it taught to the humans that a husband has every right to be with his wife at night, sweetheart? Why do you look so surprised seeing me? Don't tell me you were hoping I wouldn't make it here to you tonight, hmm?" he questioned as he kept walking up to her slowly, and she began to step back without even realizing what she was doing. He was trying to intimidate her, and it was working!
"I...I thought..." She stammered over her words, not knowing what to say. She thought that he must have gotten busy elsewhere and forgotten about her, or if she were lucky, that he had disappeared tragically.
"You thought what? That I got eaten by the wild wolves and died?" He chuckled dryly. "You didn't wear the nightdress I sent to you, little one. Why? You don't like it?" he inquired yet again without waiting for her to answer the first question.
Of course, she did not like it. It looked too expensive and too revealing for what she was used to wearing, but then she could not tell him that with the way he was regarding her like a predator waiting for its prey to make a wrong move so he could attack.
She shook her head. "I... I like it," she lied, already accustomed to saying things she didn't mean just to please others. "I just thought to wear mine tonight because I… I miss my home." She wrung her hands in front of her and stopped moving backward, realizing he had stopped moving forward. Her head lowered to her bare feet, unable to meet his gaze. His eyes were too intense, and the way he stared at her forehead instead of meeting her gaze made her even more uncomfortable.
However, if she had known how fast he could move, she wouldn't have looked away. Because in the blink of an eye, he was suddenly standing in front of her.
She sucked in a sharp breath, shock freezing her in place as he loomed over her. Instinctively, she wanted to step back, but his gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder, keeping her still. She swallowed hard, her stomach twisting with a quivering sensation as she inhaled his scent, now mixed with the lingering faint scent of scented cigar.
"Raise your head, Isa," he ordered calmly.
She obeyed before she even thought about it. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to him, where his face remained shrouded in shadow. His dark eyes, obscured beneath his fringe, were too unreadable, too dark, for her to see into.
She felt his gaze on her, and she clenched her fingers against her dress, trying to hide her nervousness. His lips curled up slightly as the hand resting on her shoulder slowly trailed up to the thick braid draped over her shoulder. She held her breath, blinking repeatedly, unsure of what he intended to do. Why was he standing so close to her? She might faint because of the way she was holding her breath!
His fingers followed the length of her braid until they reached the front, brushing against her bangs. Gently, he parted them with his fingers, revealing the scar that ate away half of her left eyebrow and stretched up to her side temple.
She stilled.
She hated when people stared at it the way he was doing now because, in the end, they always asked something rude or made a remark about how she had gotten such a hideous scar. As a woman, she was expected to have flawless skin to be considered beautiful in the eyes of society, yet her scar had always drawn grimaces from those who caught sight of it. She had lived her life hating her scar and what had led to it.
Over time, she had learned to style her hair in ways that kept it hidden, realizing that people found it offensive to look at. Now, she tensed, dreading whatever hateful comment her vampire husband might throw at her. Humans had found it hideous, not to mention vampires, who were known to have the most flawless skin because of their healing abilities.