She blinked hard, and her soft mouth dropped open. "You're going to leave me?"
He eased out of her, wincing at her little sound of loss. "Just until morning," he promised as he levered himself to her side. "For your own protection. If I sleepwalk again, I don't want to be able to leave the room. I don't want to be able to get to you or to anything that might harm you."
"I don't want your protection, Tris." He'd never heard such hurt in her voice. And disbelief. "I want you here with me. How can you make love to me and then just…leave?"
"How can I not? How can I keep endangering you night after night? What kind of man would that make me?"
She offered no answer, but her eyes were pleading. They were going to destroy him, those eyes. Destroy his resolve, and destroy everything he was trying to be.
Before that could happen, he climbed from the bed and went to fetch his dressing gown.
FORTY-FOUR
ALEXANDRA LAY in her marriage bed, stunned.
And alone.
She could scarcely believe Tris had left her. Not after the evening they'd just spent. Her gaze went to the filmy lavender nightgown pooled on the floor, to the silver basket and the beautiful book beside it. Gifts, she knew, from his heart.
Perhaps he couldn't bring himself to say he loved her, but men—especially enterprising men like Tris—didn't care to visit shops. Only love could drive him to spend his day choosing such perfect presents for her. Presents that demonstrated thought. Presents that showed he understood her. Presents that fit her, specifically, not any other woman.
Well, with the possible exception of the wicked underthings. But she didn't want to think about other women those might fit.
Of course, he'd left for Windsor before learning she'd gone off to interview three former servants. Perhaps he wouldn't have bought her beautiful things if he'd known that. Had he really left her alone in bed as a precaution to protect her? Or was he drawing away because he was angry she wouldn't call off her investigation?
She didn't really believe it was the latter, especially considering the way he'd made love to her. She blushed just thinking about that. Those hardly seemed like the actions of an angry man. But she wasn't sure…because perhaps he'd been angry but then found himself lost in temptation when he saw her in that wicked nightgown.
She just wasn't sure. And she wanted answers. And she wasn't the type of person to sit and wait for answers to come to her. Or lie in bed and wait for answers to come to her, either. She was the type of person who went out and found answers for herself.
One would think Tris would have figured that out by now.
If he thought she'd just meekly go to sleep while he locked himself in another room, he'd best think again.
She rose and washed up, then retrieved the lavender nightgown, hoping he'd still find it tempting enough to entice him to talk. A few more kisses wouldn't be unwelcome, either, she decided as she wiggled back into it. Her pulse quickened at the thought.
After covering the nightgown with a very modest wrapper, she took time to brush her tangled hair and pin the front off her face. Feeling she looked as well as she could for a woman so recently ravished, she made her way from the room.
No sooner had she opened the door than Rex came trotting up and followed her down the corridor to the Queen's Bedchamber.
She knocked briskly on the queen's fancy gilded door. "Tris?"
Rex barked.
"I'm sleeping," Tris lied.
She knew he was lying—because if he were sleeping, he wouldn't have answered her, would he? Besides, he quite obviously wasn't in bed. She could hear him on the other side of the door almost as clearly as if it wasn't between them.
"I want to talk to you," she said.
"We'll talk in the morning."
She wondered whether he was sitting or standing. Whether he was upright or leaning against the door. Was he wearing his dressing gown still, or was he stark-naked?
That image made her heart skip a beat. "I want to talk now."
Rex barked again, adding his own demand.
But Tris was having none of it. His heavy sigh emanated from the room. "The door is locked, and only Vincent has the key."
"I'll get it from him, then. I want to talk. And I want you to come back to bed." She pictured him lying beneath the turquoise and gold canopy with the absurd ostrich-feather poufs at its four corners. "You hate this room."
"I'd hate hurting you even more. Vincent has gone to sleep—you're not to bother him. Go to bed, Alexandra."
"No," she said. She needed the door opened in order to tempt him again with the wicked nightgown. But she wouldn't bother Vincent. For one thing, she hadn't the slightest idea where the man slept. She needed to schedule another appointment with Mrs. Oliver to learn where everyone was lodged.
In the meantime, she pulled a pin from her hair and stuck it into the lock, poking it around.
"What are you doing?" Tris asked after a moment.
"Picking the lock." She'd seen Griffin do this more than once, and she'd read of many a protagonist doing it in books. Surely it couldn't be that difficult. But despite the fact that she heard many clicks, nothing seemed to actually move.
Rex barked his encouragement, slapping the wall with his tail for good measure.
"Are you giving up yet?" Tris asked, sounding amused.
"No." She dropped to her knees in order to get a better angle.
"Now?"
"No." Clenching her teeth, she rooted around harder.
"Now?"
"Drat," she gritted out. This wasn't going to work. She plopped to sit on the floor and leaned sideways against the door. "This is ridiculous, Tris. You belong in our bed."
"It's only one night. A few hours. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Alexandra."
"Good night," she returned, but she didn't move.
Rex gave her a disgusted look and
