Page 40 of Façade

I made our excuses as I helped her to her feet, my worry deepening with each of her slow, almost pained movements. Where had her sudden illness come from? Perhaps her piehadbeen tainted; while I wouldn’t have poisoned her, I couldn’t say the same for Lucian’s single-minded focus to do whatever needed to be done for the greater good.

She reached for her plate with the clear intention of taking it with her, seeming entirely unconcerned by this breech in etiquette or even the possibility it was unsafe to eat. I seized her hand to stop her. She made to protest, but I silenced her by handing her my untouched piece. “I’m sure you’d prefer a full slice, especially if your eating it will deprive me of the dessert.”

She made no argument to his, as I knew she wouldn’t; she was easier to predict when free from the illusions crafted by her previous charade. She seemed unable to walk well on her own, so the moment we were free of the court’s judgmental stares I scooped her into my arms to carry her. Predictably, she immediately began flailing about—with surprising force, considering moments before she’d appeared utterly exhausted.

“What are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Carrying my wife.” I sucked in a harsh breath when her elbow made contact with my ribs. After a moment to catch my breath, I started up the stairs.

“I don’t need to be carried.”

I slowed and lifted my eyebrow. “Would you prefer I drop you?”

She gasped. “No!” I very nearly accidentally did when she elbowed me sharply again as her arm came around my neck so tightly she was practically strangling me. She paused in her flailing, which had nearly created a casualty from her dessert, to eye me accusingly. “You almost made me drop my pie.”

Despite her fears, the only one that would likely die in this interaction would be not her or the pie, but me. With effort, I readjusted my grip on her and started up the stairs again, trying not to notice how comfortable she felt in my hold, how soft she was, or the alluring scent of her perfume. “If this was a ploy to get your way, it certainly succeeded.”

“You think me so devious?”

“Prior experience has only given me reason to doubt you.”

She considered. “It’s admittedly quite the clever ploy; I wish I’d thought of it sooner so I could have implemented it during the first course. Your show of concern gives me reason to hope you’re not angry, permission for me to repeat the scheme at the next event you force me to attend.”

With my impending plans to take her to the monastery, there likely wouldn’t be another event for her to work her mischief. The disappointment was sharp.

I swallowed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

It took several corridors and another staircase for her to finally wear out from her attempts to escape enough to curl herself against my chest and tuck her head beneath my chin, sending my heart pattering.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it—this surprisingly comfortable position didn’t last long before she shifted once more to occupy herself with her pie, forgoing the fork to eat it with her fingers. Crumbs stained the edge of her mouth, drawing my unwitting gaze to her lips; if I hadn’t been carrying her, it might have been impossible to fight the impulse to brush the crumbs away.

“You’re so unroyal.” It was a relief I’d processed the idea of her being a decoy enough that I could now tease her about it.

She simply shrugged. “I like pie.”

She demonstrated this by eating the entire slice by the time we arrived at her bedroom. I carried her to her bed, where she promptly wriggled herself free to sprawl atop the coverlet before nestling herself into her pillow with a rather contented sigh that was far more adorable than it had any right to be.

“Please tell me there will be no more tedious dinners to mar the evening,” she murmured sleepily.

“We don’t have one currently scheduled, but I’ll arrange one for an hour hence since I know you enjoy them so much.”

I chuckled at her resulting scowl, a welcome release for the tension cinching my chest before worry once more tightened my expression. I rested the back of my hand against her brow. She was rather warm, dismissing the possibility she was faking her sudden illness and leaving me instead wondering what had caused it. Could her food actually have been poisoned?

“Why are you touching me?” she asked, rather grumpily.

“I’m checking for a fever.”

“There’s no need, I can do it myself.” She reached up to do that very thing and our hands collided. I found my touch lingering; despite her skin being cold, her touch was surprisingly warm and tingly. I seized her hand and held it comfortably between mine to warm it—or so I told myself—and in this position we remained.

Though I had no reason to linger, I stayed by her side. Silence settled around us, punctuated by her shaky breaths and the ticking of the clock. When it measured an hour had passed, Evelyn suddenly sat up. “I’m feeling better.” She admittedly looked more alert, but I was skeptical about her sudden recovery.

“Even with your stubbornness, I doubt you could recover through determination alone.”

She lifted her chin. “Do you doubt me, husband? I accomplish many tasks—whether marrying cads or recovering from illnesses—through sheer stubborn will.”

My lips twitched. That I didn’t doubt. Still, I unwound one of my hands from hers to feel her forehead. To my astonishment, it was much cooler, her fever vanishing as suddenly as it’d come. My brow furrowed. “Your fever is gone.”

She smirked. “And to think you doubted me.”

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