“No,” she huffs in frustration. “This is exactly why I didn't want you to know about that.” She pulls the lever again, opening the doors and stepping from the elevator. Her leg is throbbing as she follows him to his suite. When she steps inside, she smiles in surprise. “It's lovely,” she covers a yawn and walks over to the French doors. Glancing outside, she has to fight the urge to not throw them open.
“Your room is over here. I hope it's to your liking.” Declan watches her carefully, noting the limp as she crosses the room.
London walks in and is surprised to find her trunk by the wall. It is unpacked, and all her gowns have been hung up inside the wardrobe. “You have a private bathing room. Tomorrow we…” he stops talking when he hears her stomach growl.
“Forgive me, Declan,” she blushes, “I haven't eaten since breakfast.”
“That’s unacceptable,” he turns and pulls the chord calling room service.
It's been so long since anyone has taken care of her needs. She watches as he walks to the door and places an order for room service.
“It’s our wedding night,” she hears him tell the staff. Walking over to the doors she pulls them open and walks out onto the balcony. The frigid air wraps around her and washes away most of her fear and worry. She glances at her throbbing hand and winces. Tomorrow she should be able to soak it in cold water.
A coat drapes around her shoulders, and she is instantly surrounded by his scent. “Thank you,” she whispers, drawing it tightly around her shoulders and looks over the gardens.
“Who are you?” Declan asks softly, staring down at the lovely young woman.
“I am no one, just a mouse lost in a maze,” she murmurs and avoids looking at him.
“Lost no more,” he answers and moves closer to her.
London stares up at him and can’t help but smile. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, Declan is everything a woman should long for, but her dreaming days are behind her, aren’t they?
All her emotions are reflected in her beautiful eyes. He's surprised to feel an intense desire to protect and shelter her. When his eyes drop to her mouth, her smile fades. A knock at the door has them both jumping apart.
“Excuse me,” he hurries inside, leaving her on the balcony.
London paces and murmurs to herself. “Eat and go to bed. Once he knows the truth who knows what will happen,” she glances through the doorway and watches the staff set a beautifully dressed table with a crisp white tablecloth, topped with crystal candle holders.
“Be strong, London,” she turns away from the vision calling to her and hardens her heart.
Declan watches the staff set the table and is stunned to realize that he's nervous. It almost causes him to laugh out loud. He stuffs the thought down and glances at the balcony where London is pacing. A grin spreads. It looks like she's nervous too. He thanks the staff, walks them to the door, and tips them generously for their time.
“Lady Sheridan, dinner is served,” Declan calls from the doorway.
London jumps and frowns, “You shouldn’t tease me, Lord Sheridan,” she insists and walks over to him, pulling off his jacket to hand back to him.
“I wasn’t teasing. Like it or not, you are now Lady Sheridan,” he grins and accepts it before offering his arm to her.
“Thank you,” she is quiet as they sit down and eat a light meal of fruit, biscuits, and soup.
“Have you ever been to Connecticut, London?” he asks.
“No, is it far?” she picks at her food, and he observes how she fans her hand to soothe the burn.
When she picks up her spoon to eat her soup, the metal presses into her wound, causing her to flinch and drop the spoon. “I forgot,” she murmurs with embarrassment.
He stands and quickly moves to her side. “Perhaps we could wrap your hand long enough for you to eat?” Without waiting for her to respond, he grabs a clean napkin and reaches for her hand.
The moment he touches her, both of them jolt as the energy in the room shifts to one of awareness. “Your hands surprise me. I thought they’d be soft,” she says.
“No. I suppose they aren't. Does that displease you,” Declan asks while he gently wraps her wound?
“No, but you are a Duke.” She pulls her hand back and murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.”
“If I had my way, I’d spend my days in my workshop.”
“Why?” London eats her soup and biscuit while he moves back to his chair to finish his meal. Curiosity has her longing to know more about the man.
“Why?” he sits back and finds her eyes on his. She doesn’t pretend to be interested, she truly seems to be waiting for his answer. Surprise colors his face. “Most people don’t care to know why?”
“I’m not most people,” she says and sips her tea.
Declan nods his head in agreement before responding. “When I work with wood, I seek to bring out the beauty that I see inside. Most often, it's an emotion or feeling that I have. A driving need to carve away the old and reveal the true beauty within.” He waits for her reaction to his words.
“You're a craftsman,” she replies with a smile of delight. “It's a gift from God, the ability to carve and create,” she smiles at him. “The Lord has surely blessed you.”
Declan is stunned by her words. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “Most people don’t see it that way.”
