*Dear loves, I'm very sorry I haven't updated in forever. =( I hope this next chapter helps in earning your forgiveness. I'm having trouble writing everything lately, just missing that spark. But, I'll work on Chapter 6 as well as I can, and try to get it to you asap. Kisses, Almostluver*
Halfway through the night, Scarlet awoke, tangled in Donovan's arms. Her head was resting against his warm, bare chest, his heart beating steadily in her ear. One strong arm was slung around her waist; the other was drifting unconsciously over the skin of her thigh, which was hitched up around his hip.
In the darkness, and asleep, he looked young, soft...beautiful. So different from everything he was in the light of day. Beautiful, yes. Soft...not in the least. A part of her lusted after his hardness, she could admit to herself. But she also wanted to feel his softness directed at her on purpose.
She dozed off again after staring at him for several minutes. Before her eyes drifted closed, she briefly wondered about their morning after. His dream had embarrassed both of them; she hadn't expected him to come back to her bed. Waking up with him there had been a shock, but a pleasurable one. Waking up with him a second time, wouldn't be quite as nice.
She needn't have worried.
The next time she opened her eyes, her bed was empty, with only his faint scent giving away that he'd ever been there.
The next three weeks passed the same way; they would see each other for meals, while the rest of her time was spent with Abner or exploring the grounds -- when the despicable man she was married to gave her leave to do so -- and his was spent in areas of the house he'd forbidden her to venture into. She could probably count the number of words they shared each day on two hands, if that; and that was perfectly alright with her. Their nights began in different rooms...but she always woke up to find him beside her in the middle of the night, and gone again in the morning.
One night, he didn't come at all, and she tossed and turned the whole night.
"Wife --"
"Scar- Annabelle," She corrected him crossly, glaring across the table. He had been calling her that -- not by her name -- since the night of his dream, and she didn't like it one bit.
He frowned, but continued. "Tomorrow, I will be leaving, on business, for a couple days. While I am gone, the same rules still apply. No visitors. You will stay in the house -- Abner has been instructed that your afternoon walks will be postponed until I return, and he knows better than to go against me. Above all, stay out of my rooms."
She flushed guiltily. A few days ago, she had 'accidentally' wandered into his part of the house, and he'd discovered her trying to trip the lock in one of the doors with a hair pin. She had been relieved when all he'd done was lock her in her room for the rest of the night; she'd expected a sound spanking, at least. Then again, that had been the night he didn't come...but how would he know she couldn't sleep without him beside her?
"Do I make myself clear?" His soft growl broke into her thoughts, turned them right around to those annoyingly aroused thoughts she got whenever he spoke to her in that tone -- whenever he spoke, period.
"What is your business?" She asked to distract herself.
He frowned and continued eating. Obviously, he wasn't open to talk about his business. She didn't think he actually had one -- he certainly didn't need it. From what she gathered, his father had died a multibillionaire, leaving every penny and zero debts to his son. Work, obviously, was just an amusement for him.
Then again, she couldn't see Donovan actually performing any sort of task, and not just because of his blindness. He just wasn't a working-type of person, and she knew those types very well. She'd been one, refusing to live solely off her parent's shaky wealth. Donovan Alford had probably never worked a second in his life.
Stocks, she decided, studying him. He has hundreds, thousands, or even millions of stocks, and all his 'business trip' is, is a meeting with his handlers, or brokers, or whatever they're called.
"I asked you a question, Annabelle."
"W-what?"
"I said: do I make myself clear? Don't make me repeat myself again." His lush lips pressed together into a frown, and she looked down and away immediately. It ought to have been illegal, his ridiculous amount of sex appeal. It wasn't fair on her poor hormones.
"Yes, sir." She whispered. He didn't reply, and when she finally chanced a peek at him, his face was quizzical as he 'studied' her. She knew that look very well...she'd seen it on his face almost every time they were together. She puzzled him.
Donovan sighed quietly and picked up is fork. His young wife was a puzzle. She was snappish and a brat to him most of the time, and that he could deal with and understand. But, it was when she got quiet and scared-like, like this, that he was lost. He wished he could see her face, so he'd at least have a clue what was on her mind. He had a feeling his wife's face was very readable.
***
The day after Donovan left, Scarlet woke early -- though, 'woke' is hardly the right word used to describe rolling out of bed before dawn after a very long, sleepless night. She dressed quietly and went downstairs. Abner was puttering away in the kitchen already. She wandered around the bottom floor, aimlessly entering and exiting rooms and losing herself in the long, twisted hallways. She'd become almost familiar with the halls in the almost month that she'd been here, only getting mixed up every so often.
"Milady," Abner popped out of nowhere, startling her as she exited a room towards the back of the house. "Breakfast is ready."
"Thanks, Abner," She headed off to the dining room quickly, momentarily forgetting S that Donovan wasn't waiting for her there. Her pace slowed as soon as she remembered, and she entered the cold, empty room somberly.
Abner served her silently, and she thanked him quietly, as usual. Breakfast had never seemed so long. They usually ate silently, anyway, but it was different with his obvious absence. She looked up at his chair constantly, but he wasn't there. She missed the way he cleared his throat quietly, every so often, as if preparing to say something to her. She missed the way his fingers sounded as they slid across the heavy books he usually brought to the table. She even (almost) missed the way he gave her the day's orders.
Plain and simple, Scarlet missed Donovan.
