But where was the key? When I had left for my honeymoon, I had hidden it in the back of my dresser drawer, tucking it among stockings and chemises. I walked quickly over to the dresser and yanked open the drawer. My heart slammed in my chest when I saw the gaping cavity.
Calming myself, I left the room and walked to the end of the corridor to John’s room. The door stood partially ajar, and I waited for a moment before pushing it open. To my relief, I found the room empty, but I still felt uncomfortable advancing further. This was John’s room. My gaze strayed to the empty spot on the wall where Elizabeth’s portrait had been, and then to the great mahogany bed. I flushed, imagining what we would be doing beneath its sheets later in the evening.
Elizabeth had had her own room, but her ghost seemed to be everywhere in this one. Even as I looked at the bed, I wondered if she had ever passed the night there, wrapped in John’s arms and enjoying his caresses. I turned away, trying to avert my thoughts, and saw the trunk of paints and supplies John had given me. It sat in the corner, untouched, and I smiled again, remembering his thoughtfulness. One of the first things I would do to become settled would be to set up a place in the house for my painting.
I closed the door quietly behind me and leaned against it, contemplating where my things would have been placed. I was reluctant to go around blatantly opening drawers, still feeling like an intruder in somebody else’s room. A large chest-on-chest occupied the space between the windows, and I was fairly certain it contained John’s personal items. My gaze strayed to a lowboy against the far wall, and I thought that it would be the ideal place for my things.
With my breath held, I slid open the first drawer and, to my delight, found my underpinnings. Wiping my hands on my underskirt, I began digging into the drawer, hoping to feel the hard brass key easily under the light fabrics of my clothing. I almost cried out when my fingers found it, wrapped in a pair of stockings, as I had left it, and pulled it from the drawer.
I had started sliding the drawer closed when I spotted something unfamiliar in the back. It appeared to be a large linen handkerchief, certainly not one of my own, and when I pulled on it, it seemed stuck. I realized it was caught on the back of the drawer and would have been easily overlooked had I not had the drawer pulled all the way out.
I held it out to the light and saw the embroidered initials JEM and knew it belonged to my new husband, as I had seen him in possession of several identical to this one. It was filthy, covered in dirt, with long streaks of mud bisecting the cloth. It was as if somebody had wiped very dirty fingers on it and then stuffed it in the back of the drawer to be hidden and forgotten.
My gaze strayed to my own dirty hands, and they began to tremble as the realization of why it was there struck me. I remembered the ride to the questioning at the town hall, and how I had smelled freshly turned earth on John’s jacket. I raised my eyes to the mirror over the chest and saw John standing in the doorway, watching me closely.
I turned quickly to face him, my hands behind my back and pressed against the lowboy. He approached with long strides, his eyes holding a dangerous spark. He stood so close to me that I couldn’t move away without pushing against him.
His voice was like dark velvet when he spoke. “What are you hiding, Cat?”
“Nothing,” I stammered. “I was simply cleaning and my hands are filthy. I was embarrassed to let you see them.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and slowly let them slide down to my elbows. “There is nothing about you that I do not think is beautiful.” His eyes bored into mine. “Let me see.”
I felt like an animal in a trap, with nowhere to run and hide. Without preamble, I moved my hands out from behind my back and raised them in front of me. One finger at a time, I opened my hands, revealing the key in one and the handkerchief in the other.
His eyes darkened, and the first flash of fear I had experienced in over a year coursed through me. The key hit the floor with a small thud as the handkerchief drifted out of my fingers. John lowered his face to mine, those obsidian eyes glittering, and I clenched my own eyes tightly, waiting for what was to come.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Why were you hiding these from me?” His voice was low and thick, like a dam holding back the words of