"The dog gave up," Tris pointed out. "It's time you did, too."
She never gave up. Perhaps that was a character flaw rather than a trait to be admired, but regardless, there it was. She didn't go back to bed. If she couldn't tempt him into more kisses, perhaps she could at least get some answers.
"Are you doing this because you're angry with me?" she asked.
"I'm doing it to protect you."
"Are you certain? Because I know you're unhappy that I won't give up the investigation."
"That has nothing to do with this," he insisted—rather patiently, she had to admit. "Except in a peripheral way. If you'd stop your investigation, perhaps I'd stop sleepwalking, in which case I might not fear doing you harm in the night. But it isn't anger driving me to do this. It's concern and sheer fright. Can't you understand that?"
She could, damn him.
If she hadn't been blinded by hurt, she'd never have thought any different. He'd convinced himself he was a danger to her, and unless she proved otherwise, he would stay convinced. But he didn't want her to prove otherwise.
What an impossible mess she found herself in.
But she did understand. And she also understood that, in his own, twisted way, he was doing this because he was honorable.
Damn him.
"I love you," she said.
He didn't answer that. Not that she found that surprising.
She shifted to sit with her back against the door, her knees drawn up toward her chest. She wrapped her arms around them. Just because she understood didn't mean she didn't find his attitude exasperating. "You're acting like your father," she said.
That elicited a response. "What the devil do you mean by that?" A rather hostile response. "A single glass of port hardly makes me a drunk, and I rarely gamble."
"You said he was so convinced love would never happen for him again that he never bothered trying to find it."
"I also said I don't believe each one of us has a perfect person."
"You didn't mean that."
"The hell I didn't. We're not all of us destined for bliss, Alexandra. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."
"Like you're happy?" she countered softly.
He was silent so long, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then he shifted against the door, and she knew he hadn't.
She'd have to give him more time. Three women he'd loved had left him. No, make that five—his mother and his sister had left him, too.
The women he'd loved had been leaving him since he was seven years old.
She laid her head on her bent knees, hugging herself. "I'm not going leave you, Tris. No matter what I do or don't learn tomorrow, I'm not going to leave you. Ever. Not next week or next month or next year. You married me, and you're stuck with me. If you open the door, I'll be right here. Always."
As it turned out, she was right there for only part of the night. As the tall-case clock in the round gallery struck four in the morning, she woke, stiff and sore, and took herself back to bed.
FORTY-FIVE
"GOOD MORNING, my lady." Peggy bustled into the bedroom and threw open the drapes. "It's nine o'clock, and I brought your breakfast." She placed a tray on the bed. "Shall I have the carriage brought round for your visit today?"
Nine o'clock? Alexandra blinked in the harsh light, wondering where the night had gone while at the same time happy those long, uncomfortable, restless hours were over. She struggled to sit up against the pillows and took a slow, bracing sip of hot tea. "I wish to ride again today. The sooner I complete this final interview, the happier my husband will be."
"I've been thinking, my lady. Perhaps, since you enjoy riding, it may be time for me to learn."
"That's a fine idea." Alexandra spread jam on her toast, checking first to make certain it was cherry. "We shall arrange for a groom to give you lessons."
"I meant today. I believe I should start riding with you today."
"Oh, I don't think so." Picturing middle-aged Peggy mounting a horse for the first time, Alexandra hid a smile behind her teacup. "I shall be in quite a hurry today, and you'll need a few lessons before you go galloping off. I believe I shall just take Ernest with me and get this done."
She'd quite enjoyed riding with Ernest yesterday. Unlike Peggy, who talked her ear off, Ernest was quiet and deferent. He never asked to come in during her interviews, nor did he ask what happened afterward. He allowed her time to think.
Peggy scowled, clearly unhappy that Alexandra was going off without her again. As the maid helped her into a riding habit, Alexandra did her best to ignore the woman's bad mood. Peggy had seemed so pleasant and accommodating the first few days—even going to the trouble to make the list—and it was good of her to want to learn to ride.
When Alexandra was dressed and coiffed, she handed Peggy her gorgeous new silver basket, waiting for a reaction.
There was none. "Yes, my lady?"
"Please ask Mrs. Pawley to fill this with the rest of my sugar cakes. I shall meet you in the main parlor."
"As you wish," Peggy said coldly and took herself off.
Alexandra heaved a sigh as she started downstairs. If the woman was going to sulk whenever things failed to go the way she wanted, perhaps she'd be happier with a different lady's maid, after all.
When she entered the main parlor—or rather, tried to—her mouth dropped open. "What's this?"
Two muscular strangers were blocking the door as they maneuvered a large object through it.
An excessively large object.
"A pianoforte," one of them said in answer to her question.
"I can see that." She hurried around to the front and read the name above the keyboard. "Erard," she breathed in wonder, running her hand over the shining, dark mahogany. Sebastien Erard was known to build the
