Entwined (Darkest London)

by Kristen Callihan

  “Lu…” He paused as if not knowing what to say before starting up once more, his words halting and unsure. “Aidan did not—”

  “Stop,” she said, with a viciousness of feeling that surged up from her depths. “I beg of you, do not speak of him. Or make excuses, for I won’t believe them.”

  Eamon took a breath. “Perhaps you would. Perhaps it would make things—”

  “Please.” She gripped her skirts as she blinked rapidly against the growing tears. “I cannot bear another revelation now.” She did not want to know if Aidan found her unsatisfactory, or if he perhaps had fallen in love with someone else. She could not. “If that makes me a coward, then so be it.”

  “You are no coward,” he said softly. “Nor does it change my insistence on you remaining here.”

  “Eamon,” she whispered, “don’t make me feel like a poor relation.” She’d had enough of that feeling for a lifetime.

  His hand, so warm and rough, covered hers. “Then become the mistress of this house and rule it.”

  Her head snapped up, and he did not blink. “Marry me.” As he spoke, a wash of red flooded his cheeks and ran in a crimson wave down his neck. He swallowed audibly. “I know I am not the man you hoped to have, but I will honor and protect you with all that I am. I swear it, Lu.”

  Shock tingled through her and robbed her of her breath. She could only stare at his lovely, strong, yet guarded face, watching as he grew redder with discomfort. “Oh, Eamon.” Tears smarted. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

  “You are not asking. I am.” He peered at her as if willing an answer from her lips. “Not out of pity, or obligation, but because I want to.”

  “Why?” The question burst forth, and she winced. “Why would you want to marry me?” she said more gently.

  His jaw bunched, and for a moment, she feared he might not answer.

  “I am lonely.” He closed his eyes at the admission, squeezing them tight as if pained. Then he looked at her again. “I am not… good with people. I never expected to marry. That was Aidan’s privilege. But I feel comfortable with you, Lu.” His lashes lowered, shielding his gaze as he stared down at their still-joined hands. “I think perhaps you are lonely too.”

  A lump filled her throat. If only he knew the half of it.

  “We could have each other to turn to,” he said.

  “Oh, Eamon.” She turned her hand over to thread her fingers through his, and the clasp felt so very natural and comforting that she smiled tremulously. “You would do that for me?”

  He frowned down at their hands then raised his gaze. “I am doing it for me, Lu. Don’t forget that.”

  His reply had been soft, almost a warning, and yet a shiver of heat ran through her all the same. The heat within her grew when she licked her dry lips and his focus tightened, growing intent. She’d dreamed of Aidan for so long, and here she was suddenly wanting Eamon.

  But enough to marry him? Outside the wind raged. The thought of moving on, leaving here, where she at least had Eamon’s friendship, terrified her. Was she a coward for considering?

  Eamon remained still, waiting, not pushing her. He would never try to make her into something she wasn’t. The irony of that nearly made her laugh. She needed to tell him all. But what would he say, when he was so kindly offering to take his brother’s place? Lu didn’t know, and it hurt her head to even wonder. Could she do this?

  She was already in for a penny. Lu took a breath and plunged in. “I won’t forget, Eamon.” She forced a smile. “In fact, I’m certain I’ll have to remind you at one time or another when you begin to wonder why you took me on.”

  His answering grin was the sun breaking through the clouds. He was incandescent in his satisfaction, and far too appealing. “I shall look forward to those reminders, Bit.”

  The promise sounded almost carnal, and a heat flared along her thighs. Oh, but she was definitely swimming in the deep now.

  Chapter Six

  “You make a lovely bride, my lady.”

  Lu stared at the reflection of herself and the maid standing by her, Lu with her wide haunted eyes and the maid with her floppy mobcap and satisfied smile. The long, oval mirror was old and had a hazy quality to it, making them appear like ghosts—her most of all. The white gown, trimmed in pale blue ribbons, hugged her bodice, then floated about her frame like an ephemeral cloud.

  The maid Jean had twisted Lu’s heavy hair into a coil high upon the back of her head. Snakelike tendrils of black hung about her face. They’d been curled with a heated iron but even now Lu’s fine hair fought to return to bone straight.

  “Thank you, Jean. You did a wonderful job.”

  The dress and a dozen others had been ordered in Galway. While the gowns were not in the height of fashion as the ones found in London, Jean had a fair hand with sewing and had reworked each dress to fit Lu’s form to perfection.

  And while Lu was grateful, she could not quell the nerves that clutched at her insides and made her pulse hammer hard against her throat.

  For two weeks, she’d been left alone with only her thoughts to occupy her. Two weeks in which it took Eamon to get a new special license so that they may wed. Now he had returned and the day was upon them.

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Eamon. They should wait. Get to know each other. There should be no secrets between them.

  Perhaps her distress showed for the young maid began to fiddle with her skirts, arranging the drape into perfect folds. “We’re so glad to see Master Eamon have his chance at happiness.” She stopped, her mouth opening in apparent horror as she looked at Lu in the mirror. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean… well we know that you had your hopes set on…” Jean snapped her mouth shut with an audible click.

  Lu had to smile. It was that or cry. “On Aidan. It’s all right. It isn’t a secret, and I can hardly blame the household for discussing it.” Lord knew that sort of gossip would be too much for anyone to resist.

  Jean nodded woodenly. “It’s only, well, Master Eamon is so kind. He always saw to our needs and cared for the estate when Master Aidan went off on those long trips.”

  “Trips?”

  “Master Aidan was rarely here. He’d often leave for months on end. And Master Eamon would be the one to run things, and doing a fine job of it, no matter what old Master Evernight said about him.”

  Aidan never mentioned leaving Evernight Hall for extended periods. Hells bells but had she ever really known Aidan? Lu paused as the rest of Jean’s words sank in.

  “What did their father say about Eamon?”

  Again Jean winced, her snub nose wrinkling. “Oh, my mam speaks the truth when she says my mouth runs faster than a river going downhill.” She waved a helpless hand when Lu merely stared, waiting. “It isn’t a secret either, and I suppose you’ll hear it anyway. Old Master Evernight hated Eamon. Hated the sight of him, his size, even the sound of his voice. Called him a simpleton, a brute, and a blight upon the Evernight name. All rot. And we all knew as much.”

  Lu put a hand to her chest, where a sharp pain pinched her. “Why would he be so cruel to his son?”

  “The missus died in childbirth with Eamon. The master never forgave him for it.”

  The room before her wavered. Lu’s heart thumped hard and insistent against her ribs. Her mother had died giving birth to her. The guilt and pain never truly left her. But she’d never been blamed. She couldn’t imagine the burden Eamon carried.

  “Evernight would say that Eamon bore the mark of the devil, what with his flame red hair and—“Jean cut herself off and shook her head. “Old tales do no good. Don’t you be believing that nonsense, miss. Master Eamon is a good man and will take care of you, I’m certain.”

  “I’m certain he will.” Even so, the idea that she was about to join her life with a virtual stranger in an hour’s time left her weakened and queasy.

  Jean eyed her with worry. “I ought not have said anything, I know. Only, well, eventually you’ll be going into the
village and hearing talk. Don’t pay it no mind.”

  “Talk of what?”

  “Of Master Eamon.” Jean frowned as she tucked a sprig of orange blossom into Lu’s hair. “Few fools took to believing Master Evernight’s rants, and when the master died unexpectedly, well”—she shrugged—“they believed Eamon killed him as well.”

  My father is dead. It was sudden and unforeseen. The silk of Lu’s skirt whispered as she turned to face Jean. “How did Mr. Evernight die?”

  Jean blanched. “He burned to death after being caught in a fire. In Eamon’s smithy.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Luella Jane Moran, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony…”

  The rest of the priest’s words were lost to the buzzing within Lu’s ears. Heat prickled along her skin, over her arms, and up to her cheeks. She feared she might be ill.

  Above her head, a sorrowful Jesus upon his cross looked down at her with an expression bordering on reproach. At her back, the eyes of the Evernight household staff—the only people invited to attend the ceremony—bore into her like hot pokers.

  Her hand rested in Eamon’s larger one, now as sweaty and shaking as her own as they both promised to love and keep each other for the rest of their days.

  How could she make such a vow when she didn’t even know him? Would love come? And could she trust it when Aidan had let her down so completely? Worse still, how could she expect Eamon to love her when she was living a lie?

  Eamon’s clear blue eyes, the color of forget-me-nots, gazed into hers. She could stare into them forever and still not grow accustomed to their beauty. The corners of his wonderful eyes creased, and his skin grew paste white. As though he were afraid. Afraid of what?

  Suddenly silence was all around her, stretching outward and crushing inward with a weight that felt physical, oppressive. Silence so profound she could hear someone cough, and the minister clearing his throat.

  And then she remembered herself. They were in a church. He was waiting for an answer. By the look of him, he rather feared she’d respond in the negative.

  The very idea of hurting him, rejecting him the way she’d been rejected, was reprehensible. She’d rather die than do that to someone as kind and quietly proud as Eamon Evernight.

  Without another thought, the answer flew from her mouth in an abrupt yet ringing clear, “I will.”

  Heaven help her, she’d stood before God and all who witnessed and lied. Worse, she lied to Eamon.

  * * *

  Married. Eamon had gone and bloody married her. A fool act. It did not matter that it was the one thing he’d wanted in the past four years. He knew it would come to no good. She was in love with a phantom. Eamon knew he ought to be pleased that Lu unknowingly loved him. But it wasn’t really him she’d been yearning for. It was the soul of Eamon wrapped up in Aidan’s gilded perfection.

  No lady would want an awkward, ginger-haired giant when compared to Aidan’s lithe golden splendor. Likely she’d be shocked and mortified once she realized just whom she’d been truly corresponding with all these years. But she’d have to know soon. He couldn’t keep up this charade.

  A complete cock-up.

  “Cheer up, my boy. It’s not so bad, now is it?”

  Eamon looked up from the scarred wooden table and glared at Nan, his sometime voice of reason. He did not want to hear that voice now.

  “Not so bad?” Eamon laughed darkly. “I’ve become sorry seconds for Aidan’s bride.”

  “Have you now?” Nan took the kettle off the fire and continued to prepare a tray of tea. Aside from being the housekeeper, she was also their cook. After all, Evernight Hall never entertained visitors, and she’d only had to look after the men. Until now.

  Eamon grunted, ignoring his own long-cooled cup. “Likely she’s up there crying, distraught over Aidan’s defection, and hating the very idea of me.”

  Nan merely made a noise that, to Eamon’s learned ear, meant he was feeling right sorry for himself. Which he was. Not that she needed to push the point in.

  “Your father, God rest his soul, was an eejit to let his grief turn to hate.” She lifted a knobby finger and pointed at Eamon. “And you are an eejit to believe his mad ravings. You’re the best of men, Eamon. You only have to believe it.”

  “Is that so?” Eamon retorted.

  “It is.”

  “So then when he told you that your currant biscuits tasted like plaster dust and were harder than a horseshoe, you naturally ignored that tripe and continued to bake them.” They both knew she’d never again made another biscuit, much to his and Aidan’s disappointment.

  Nan’s lips thinned, and he snorted without mirth. “You see, Nanny, I know he was a mad bastard with a vicious tongue, but the heart has a tendency to ignore logic, no matter how hard we try to tell it differently. And each time I attempt to forge a new self, his words creep up and pound me back down.” But he was trying. By God, he wanted to be the man he knew he could be for Lu. He just hadn’t yet figured out how.

  The sounds of the house grew loud around the silence in the kitchen, then a kind and cheerful smile crinkled Nan’s plump cheeks. “There now, boyo. If you can stand up to me, you can certainly buck up and take the young lady her tea.”

  “What? Me?”

  “Are there any other men in here? Cowering away like some frightened puss? Go.” She waved her hand when he scowled. “Let her get to know who you are.”

  Eamon flushed, annoyed at her, Aidan, and himself most of all.

  He grabbed the tray, tempering himself when the china rattled. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  * * *

  Lu sat in her room, crowding in front of the crackling fire. She was married now. To Eamon. How strange life was. Whenever she tried to plan it, her course shifted down unforeseen avenues, tugging away from all of her intentions.

  Sighing, she curled her knees to her chest and cuddled farther down in the dainty settee that matched the rest of the room’s feminine furnishings. A soft knock at the door had her tensing. “Yes?” she called, hoping it was merely the maid coming to stoke the fire.

  “Lu?” Eamon’s deep voice was muffled through the thick door. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.” Lu sat up and put her dressing gown to rights.

  He came bearing gifts. The fragrance of hot tea and fresh buns hit her, and her stomach made a gurgle of impatience. One that Eamon unfortunately heard. A sly curl pulled at his mouth as he set the tray down on the little table before the fire. “So you won’t be saying no to tea, then?” He winked, a quick, sweet gesture that had her grinning.

  “Tease,” she retorted as she reached for the pot.

  “Only with you, Bit.” His massive frame had the delicate gilded armchair creaking, and he leaned his weight forward, bracing his arms upon his muscled thighs.

  “I see I shall have to order new chairs for my sitting room.” Lu handed him a plate of hot buns. “How do you take your tea?”

  “With milk.” Eamon frowned slightly. “Why should you do that?”

  Lu paused, the cup of tea in her hand hovering between them. “So that you may sit comfortably when you visit me.” Her skin prickled. “That is, should you like to visit me. You needn’t if you’d rather not.”

  Carefully, Eamon took the tea from her hand but his gaze stayed locked with hers. “Lu, I married you because I fancy your company.” That gentle smile of his, the one that crept up like the dawn, graced his face once more. “Keep your little chairs if they please you. I can manage.” He took a sip of tea. “Though I shall not stop you if you insist upon having a sturdy leather chair brought in.”

  “Leather, eh? Duly noted, husband.”

  Eamon ducked his head at that, a flush working across his cheeks as he bit down on a grin he could not hide. The action, combined with his big, strong frame and chiseled features, made him utterly appealing to her just then. And she had the mad urge to lean forward
, kiss his cheek, perhaps crawl into his lap and nuzzle his throat so that he might blush some more.

  “Well then, wife”—he grinned again—“once you’ve settled the issue of proper chairs, what shall you like to accomplish here at Evernight Hall?” He leaned in, tilting his head as he considered her. “Shall you improve our sadly lacking stables? Restock our aging library? What will make you happy, Bit?”

  For a moment, she could only stare at him. No one had ever asked after her wants and desires. Deny joy, do as you are told, survive. Those had been her truths. But no longer.

  She took a deep, easy breath. It felt so good that she did it again. Breathe. Let the past go.

  “The stables,” she said. “I’ll see to them first.”

  “And where shall you escape to when you ride?”

  Eamon’s eyes were bright and happy, but his words made her heart skip a beat. She’d written to Aidan that riding was her means of escape. Had he told Eamon? Let him read her letters? Lu couldn’t bear that; it was too humiliating now.

  Eamon noticed her disquiet for his expression sobered. “You must be tired. I shouldn’t be keeping you.” He moved to go.

  “No.” Lu reached out and clutched his forearm. It was like stone beneath her fingers. “I want you here.”

  When he reluctantly sat back, she let him go and forced a light smile. She was being suspicious and overthinking things. Eamon was a shy man and clearly trying to forge a path toward an amicable partnership.

  “I am not sure where to ride,” she said. “Perhaps you can show me?”

  His high-bridged nose wrinkled at the base. “I’m afraid I am not much of a rider.” He looked down at himself with dispassionate appraisal. “Horses tend to find me a mite too big for their comfort.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Yes, well, we simply have to find you a horse of the proper size.”

  “Didn’t think they came that large,” he muttered.

  She laughed at that. “And when I escape my cares on the back of a horse, shall you be in your smithy, creating something lovely?”