10
“HAVE I KEPT YOU waiting?”
Ariana rounded the hall to the second-floor landing, hastening her step at the sight of her husband’s restless pacing.
Trenton’s head snapped around. “No,” he replied with stiff formality. “I’ve only been here a moment longer than you.”
His gaze flickered briefly over his wife’s titian-haired beauty, her huge turquoise eyes and slender shape accentuated by the blue-gray taffeta gown that fit closely to her hips, then draped delicately behind her.
“Is there something wrong?” Ariana managed, shifting beneath his scrutiny.
Trenton tore his gaze from her. “Not a thing.”
“Good.” She forced a smile. “Then, shall we dine?”
“Yes.” Without proffering his arm, Trenton gripped the banister and started down the staircase, maintaining a considerable distance between himself and his wife.
Painfully aware of Trenton’s unspoken message, Ariana swallowed her pride and followed silently beside him, making no move to catch up. Her head was spinning from lack of sleep and from the pain of her husband’s pointed rejection.
His complete behavioral turnabout had occurred the instant they’d awakened. Despite his tenderness during the night, he’d opened his eyes and stared at Ariana as if she were a stranger, rolling away from her with the same icy withdrawal that repeatedly accompanied their physical separations, donning his robe and heading for the door without glancing back.
“I’ll wait for you on the second-floor landing,” he’d instructed, his tone as impersonal as if he were speaking to a business associate. And then she was alone, with only the damp sheets and the savored warmth of his body as lingering memories of the long hours when he’d belonged to her.
I can, I WILL, obliterate the invisible wall between us, Ariana vowed to herself now, watching her husband’s rigid descent. Deliberately, she summoned strength by recalling the flight of her rare and magnificent white owl. His appearance at dawn’s first light had been no accident, but a sign that what she was seeking could be hers. He seemed to materialize whenever her faith was raw and needed renewal—specifically, at the brink of each emotional precipice with Trenton. First there was the night they’d met, then the day she’d become his wife, and now this morning, when she’d accepted the reality of her love for him. Like a true miracle, her owl had become a symbol of inspiration and a promise of the future.
A sense of lightness and inevitability replaced Ariana’s melancholy. Somehow, some way, she would reach into Trenton’s heart, extract his pain, and procure his love. She needed that … and so did he.
Resolutely, she racked her brain for a safe topic of conversation, intending to rectify the fact that, despite their physical intimacy, she and her husband scarcely knew each other. Their time together had thus far been dominated by either anger or passion, leaving little room for verbal discourse.
“Broddington is an extraordinary home,” she offered cautiously.
Trenton acknowledged her words with a curt nod. “So you’ve told me.”
“Yes, but at the time I had seen only the conservatory.”
“And that’s changed?” Surprised by his wife’s implication, Trenton swung his head around to look at her.
Vigorously, Ariana nodded. “Yesterday Dustin gave me a tour … or at least a partial one,” she amended, warming to the memory. “The music room, the drawing room, the billiard room, the gallery … he showed me all of them.” She paused to catch her breath. “They’re every bit as impressive as the conservatory.”
Throughout Ariana’s enthusiastic recounting, Trenton’s scowl had intensified. “I’m pleased you feel that way,” he returned in a clipped tone. “You and Dustin were apparently even more productive during my absence than I’d originally realized.”
Ariana started. NOW why is he angry? she wondered. Is it the fact that I invaded his domain? Or is it the memories this conversation evokes … memories he’d rather forget?
Whatever his reasons, Ariana was determined to learn all she could. “I saw the paintings of your mother in the gallery,” she began, racing on before trepidation compelled her to reconsider. “She was an incredibly beautiful woman. I see only a slight resemblance between the two of you. … She looks so ethereal, so small and delicate. Dustin has her midnight-blue eyes, don’t you think?”
A glimmer of humor softened the rigid lines of Trenton’s face. “Yes, my mother was beautiful; no, I don’t resemble her much; and yes, Dustin does have her unusual color eyes. Anything else?”
Ariana flushed, recognizing how absurd her inane babbling must sound. Still, as a first step in isolating Trenton’s suppressed ire, it had served its purpose. His unruffled reaction told her he wasn’t bothered by her visit to the gallery or by her viewing of his mother’s portraits. In fact, he seemed totally unaffected by Ariana’s intrusion into that aspect of his past. Further, his own reference to his mother was made with relative ease, indicating that she was excluded from the bitterness that ate at his heart.
Which left, as she’d suspected, his father.
And the Caldwells.
Trenton had reached the foot of the stairs. Leaning against the wall, he studied the engrossed expression on his wife’s face as she made her way toward him. “Evidently you were greatly impressed by your tour,” he commented dryly.
Ariana blinked, snapping out of her reverie. “Your talent is visible in every one of Broddington’s rooms.” She tilted her head back to watch Trenton’s reaction. “As well as Dustin’s talent …” She paused. “And, of course, your father’s.”
A dark cloud settled over Trenton’s face.