CHAPTER 129: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE

The hallway was dim and cold. The torches had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls.

Carlos stood hidden behind a large marble pillar. He held his breath, his eyes fixed on the heavy oak door at the end of the corridor—Marissa’s bedchamber.

He had been waiting there for a long time. He wanted to know. He needed to verify the rumors that Senna had screamed at the gates.

Click.

The door handle turned.

Carlos pressed himself deeper into the shadows.

The door opened, and Derek stepped out.

He was wearing his night clothes, his hair messy. He stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, his hand lingering on the wood. Then, he turned and walked away, heading toward his own separate chambers.

Carlos watched him go. A slow, dark smirk spread across his face.

"So," Carlos whispered to the empty hallway. "It is true."

He stepped out from behind the pillar, looking at Derek’s retreating back with contempt.

"They don’t even share a room," Carlos muttered. "He went in, stayed for a short time, and left to sleep alone. A normal husband would spend the night with his wife. Especially a wife as beautiful as Marissa."

He chuckled, a low, nasty sound.

"Senna was right," Carlos thought, feeling a surge of superiority. "Derek is really a useless, impotent man. He has the title, he has the power, but he cannot even perform the basic duties of a man. He is hollow."

Carlos turned his gaze back to Marissa’s closed door. He stared at the wood, his imagination running wild. He pictured Marissa inside, alone, frustrated, wasted on a man who couldn’t touch her.

He sighed, a sound of deep, greedy regret.

"If not for Ashlyn switching the marriages," Carlos whispered, his voice thick with bitterness. "If she hadn’t been so foolish and impatient... I might have married the sweet Marissa."

He walked slowly toward the door, stopping just a few feet away. He reached out a hand, almost touching the wood, but stopped.

"I would have had everything," he thought. "Marissa is beautiful. She is smart. She manages the entire estate. She controls the treasury. She has the favor of the Dowager."

He clenched his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side.

"I would have had both beauty and control over the family’s finances," Carlos grumbled. "Marissa is just that kind of woman a man needs. She is capable. She is quiet. She solves problems."

He thought of Ashlyn. He thought of her crying, her fake miscarriages, her hiding money from him constantly, her clumsy schemes that always failed.

"Not like Ashlyn," he spat. "Ashlyn causes trouble where there is none. She is a drain on my energy."

He looked at Marissa’s door one last time with a look of longing and hunger.

"What a waste," he said.

He turned around and walked back, his footsteps heavy. He went back to his chamber, where his scheming, "pregnant" wife lay sleeping, unaware that her husband was already wishing he had married her sister.

~ ••••• ~

The morning sun rose high in the sky, burning away the mist. It was almost noon. The light streamed into Marissa’s bedchamber, making the room feel bright and airy.

Marissa sat at her vanity table. She was already dressed for the day in a simple, elegant house dress of pale green. She felt refreshed. The encounter with Derek the previous night had left her feeling light, almost giddy. She kept touching her forehead where he had kissed her.

She picked up her powder puff to touch up her face. As she moved a small jar of cream, she saw it.

A letter.

It was a small, folded piece of thick, expensive parchment. It was resting right in the center of her vanity, propped up against her mirror.

"Your Grace," Lily said, walking up behind her with a basket of fresh flowers.

Lily spotted the letter too. She put the basket down on the floor.

"What is this?" Lily asked.

She picked up the letter and handed it to Marissa with a curious smile. Marissa took it. The paper felt smooth and heavy. There was no seal on the outside, just her name written in a strong, masculine hand.

Marissa.

Her heart did a little flip. She unfolded the paper. The message inside was short.

"Today, at noon, meet me at the old oak tree on the hill behind the estate."

There was no signature.

Marissa read it twice. She bit her lip, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Could it be Derek?" she asked, her voice soft.

She looked outside the window. It was almost moon.

"I thought he would be busy at the Barracks today," Marissa said, tapping the paper against her chin. "He usually is."

But then she remembered his words from last night. He had stood at her door, looking handsome and disheveled, and he had promised her something.

"I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

Her eyes lit up.

"It must be him," she thought. "He wants to give me the surprise in private. Away from the servants. Away from the eyes of the household."

She turned to Lily, showing her the note.

"The oak tree," Marissa said.

Lily’s eyes widened. She clapped her hands together in delight.

"Oh, Your Grace!" Lily exclaimed. "The old oak tree?"

Marissa nodded. "Yes. Why?"

Lily giggled. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a romantic whisper.

"Don’t you know the legend, Your Grace?" Lily asked.

Marissa shook her head. "No. What legend?"

"The servants talk about it all the time," Lily explained, her face beaming. "They say the old oak tree is magical. It is the heart of the estate."

Lily pointed out the window toward the distant hill.

"They say," Lily continued, "that if you confess your feelings to the one you truly love under the branches of that oak tree... your love will be blessed forever. The spirits of the tree bind your hearts together."

Lily sighed dreamily.

"Many lovers confess their feelings there," Lily said. "It is the most romantic spot on the land."

Marissa felt a blush heat her cheeks.

"Confess feelings?" she thought. "Is that what he wants to do? Is that the surprise?"

She remembered the way he had looked at her in the carriage. The way he had kissed her in the tub. The way he had touched her thigh last night.

He wasn’t playing games anymore. He was serious.

"He wants to meet me at the lovers’ tree," Marissa whispered.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her green dress was nice, but it was plain. It was a dress for managing a household, not for a romantic meeting.

She stood up abruptly.

"It is almost noon," Marissa said, her voice rushing a little. "I cannot be late."

She turned to Lily.

"Help me change," Marissa ordered. "I need to wear something... suitable."

Lily grinned. "Suitable for a date, Your Grace?"

Marissa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Just help me. And have my carriage prepared. I will go to the hill."

"Yes, Your Grace!" Lily said, rushing to the wardrobe.

Lily pulled out the dresses one by one.

"This one?" Lily asked, holding up a grey gown.

"Too dull," Marissa said.

"This one?" Lily held up a stiff, formal brown dress.

"Too serious," Marissa rejected it.

Lily reached into the back of the wardrobe. She pulled out the box Derek had given her at the garden that day. The one with the royal purple dress.

"How about this one?" Lily asked, her eyes twinkling. "The one His Grace gave you."

Marissa looked at the purple silk. It was beautiful. It was vibrant. It was the color of royalty, but also the color of passion.

"Yes," Marissa said softly. "That one."

Lily helped her out of the green dress and into the purple one. The silk slid over her skin like water. It fit perfectly. The bodice hugged her waist, and the skirt flowed around her legs like a cloud.

Marissa sat back down at the vanity. Lily quickly redid her hair, pinning it down in a softer style, leaving a few curls loose to frame her face.

Marissa picked up the amethyst necklace Derek had given her. She fastened it around her neck. The purple stones glittered against her skin.

She looked in the mirror. She looked excited.

"You look beautiful, Your Grace," Lily said softly.

"Thank you, Lily," Marissa said.

She stood up. She grabbed the fan with the peony inlay—his other gift.

She walked out of her room, her heart beating a fast, happy rhythm. She walked down the grand staircase, ignoring the servants who bowed to her. She walked out into the bright, noon sun.

Her carriage was waiting.

She climbed in.

"To the hill," she told the driver. "To the old oak tree."