The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1)

by Paullett Golden

  Liz ate silently while Charlotte turned the conversation, babbling about a soiree she hosted. She found herself distracted, not hearing her sister’s words. What Sebastian was doing? Did he miss her? Had he noticed she’d left? Would he gather her in his arms when she returned, spin her in a circle, and declare their next steps into the world would be together?

  Oh, blast. Such thoughts were depressing because she suspected he hadn’t left the library long enough to notice her absence.

  As soon as he stepped out of the library again, she would swap out the current travel journals for two new ones. Guilt lingered at the fringes of her conscience for sneaking the journals out of the library, but it’s not as though he forbade her from reading them, merely requested she not. And besides, no harm came from reading a travel journal.

  “Why aren’t you listening? Is something amiss?” Charlotte’s words interrupted her thoughts. “What has he done? Has he hurt you?” Charlotte demanded. “Oh, I will never understand why you married that man, Lizzie.”

  For a moment, she wanted to defend the love of her life. Then she thought of brushing off the questions. In the end, she admitted to herself she needed to share her woes. Isn’t that why she came today? If she couldn’t confide in her sister, in whom could she? She abhorred adding more fuel to her sister’s dislike of Sebastian, but if she swallowed her feelings for too long, she would burst.

  “I am content with my decision. No, far more than content. In fact, ‘content’ doesn’t do him justice. I am truly happy, Charlotte. I don’t need for you to understand why I married him, but I do want you to understand he is my choice.”

  She paused to take a deep breath, not sure how to explain her predicament. “Be that as it may, something is amiss, and I don’t know how to resolve it, for I don’t know what’s wrong. There’s not so much wrong with us, as there’s something wrong with him. No, I’m not explaining this right. I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with him. Blast. He’s not been himself these past few days, and I’m worried about him.”

  Charlotte huffed. With a wave of her hand and a laugh she said, “I told you not to marry him. You should have known he would turn into a savage sooner or later.”

  Tears stung her eyes and wet her cheeks. Here she was humbling herself to confide in her sibling only to have rudeness slapped in her face.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her condescension dissolved. She reached across the table to touch Liz’s hand.

  “Oh, Lizzie, I didn’t mean anything. I was teasing. Please, don’t think me a terrible person. I’m trying so hard to be a good duchess, a dutiful wife, and a loving sister that I muddle my words these days. I can’t seem to do anything right. I never meant to be cruel. Please, forgive me.” Charlotte’s own eyes glistened with tears.

  Lizbeth squeezed her sister’s hand.

  “Will you talk to me, Lizbeth?”

  Liz tried to blink away the tears before she made a spectacle of herself. “Oh, Charlotte. I don’t know what’s wrong. We had a divine honeymoon, but then he started having nightmares, and now he’s all but locked himself in the library. The few times we’re together, he makes such a concentrated effort to act normal that he’s stiff and foreign.”

  Charlotte nodded encouragingly, patting Liz’s hand.

  “I don’t know what to do, Charlotte. I can’t force him to talk to me, nor can I beg him to be himself. I’ve never felt so helpless. I take that back because I have, only it was different before. He’s done this before, you see, but we weren’t living together, so it wasn’t quite so difficult. Now, it’s unbearable. He ignores me, acts like a wounded cub shying from the pride, hoping no one notices.”

  Having the words said aloud, she felt their weight, realized the reality she faced. If he was hiding a wound, he wouldn’t return to euphoric happiness overnight. With dawning clarity, she saw that now, recognized the problem, at least in theory. He was wounded. He was wounded and hiding his weakness, afraid for her to see him vulnerable. If she could somehow discover the wound, she could salve it, or better yet, find out who wounded him and take them to task.

  What would a lioness do if a pride male were injured? Would she protect the wounded lion or leave him for a stronger mate? Being the wounded one, he couldn’t take the chance, but how could he not understand her better than that, know she was his lioness, come what may, and would defend him until he healed, fight on his behalf if necessary?

  “Show your support rather than telling it.” After a bite of cake, Charlotte expounded. “Drake never responds to nagging and can be dim-witted when expressing feelings in words. He’s also a proud man who has to solve all his own problems without my interference. I’ve learned to use other means than badgering to show support when we quarrel. If you can’t use words, show him you care for him.”

  “Thank you for the advice, but I don’t think you understand the problem.”

  “Stop it, Lizzie. You’re always Miss Independent, Miss I-Don’t-Need-Anyone. You always try to solve everyone’s problems for them, bandage them when they’re wounded, fight for them when they’re defenseless. I knew you would come barreling to Northumberland when I wrote, my knight in shining armor, ready to solve all my marital problems. Well, Lizzie, you can’t solve everyone’s problems for them. Whatever this is, it is his problem. You can be there for him and support him, but the more you try to solve his problems, the more he’ll push you away. You’re the brightest woman I know, so if you set your mind to it, you can find a way to express your support without words. Don’t badger him, and don’t steal his fight.”

  “It’s not that simple, Charlotte. I can’t idly stand by while he shuts me out. He’s wounded and refuses to reach out. If I stand by doing nothing, he’ll withdraw so far into himself I’ll never see him again. He needs me but won’t admit it. For reasons I can’t explain, I believe he’s fighting against demons he can’t best, the very demons who wounded him. If I can work out the problem, I can fight for him.”

  “You’re not listening, Lizbeth. If you interfere, he’ll be so busy trying to protect you, he’ll forget to save himself. If you won’t listen to me because you think me a silly prat, then talk to Drake.” Charlotte poured a fresh cuppa for them both.

  Liz almost laughed. What a ridiculous suggestion. “And why would I do that?”

  “He’s Sebastian’s confidant. Sebastian called at the manor practically every other day after we returned from London. They are surprisingly close. Even if Drake doesn’t know the problem, he may be able to offer insight. He knows Sebastian better than anyone. If nothing else, let Drake be a glimmer of light when all the world is dark. Promise to talk to him, Lizzie?”

  Charlotte’s words sounded strange to Lizbeth. Annick—a glimmer of light? When had he ever thought of anyone other than himself? No matter how dark the world turned, she couldn’t see turning to Drake for help.

  “Charlotte,” she said tentatively, “I’m not sure if—”

  “Promise me. He may be pompous, but he’s a dashed good man to those he loves.” Charlotte smiled.

  “Only for you, Charlotte. If I lose all hope, I promise to turn to him.”

  There. That discharged her from the promise as far as she was concerned. She would never lose all hope, certainly not in Sebastian.

  Chapter 30

  She gathered her courage as she mounted the gallery stairs.

  Standby and show support. What a lark. He needed to confide in her is what needed to happen. If he would confide in her about whatever problem ailed him, she would stop at nothing to resolve it.

  Her shoulders slumped in defeat. And now back to feeling helpless. There was naught she could do if he wouldn’t confide in her.

  As she entered the armory, Sebastian stepped out of the library stairwell.

  Her heart caught in her throat. He stopped abruptly, searching the room as if to find a hiding place. The circle
s beneath his eyes were darker, as though he hasn’t slept in two weeks. Was he not sleeping to avoid the nightmares? Oh, Sebastian, talk to me.

  She stood her ground and, as conversationally as possible, as though she hadn’t noticed his discomfort at the confrontation, said, “I’ve had a lovely day shopping with Charlotte.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his shoulders rounded with exhaustion and the weight of the world. His eyes danced, shifting and wandering nervously around the room, focusing on everything except her.

  “Good. Glad to hear she’s well,” he murmured to the floor.

  “I didn’t say she’s doing well, only that I had a lovely day with her. Perceptive of you, nonetheless, as I do believe she’s well. We visited a tearoom, a new experience for me as there aren’t any in Cornwall,” she said, aware of how stiff she sounded.

  “Yes, that does sound pleasant. If you’ll excuse me, I, uh, need to finish a few things.” He turned and took two steps at a time back from whence he came.

  Arg! All she wanted to do was throw one of the armory daggers at his retreating back. How dare he dismiss her? How dare he not look at her? His duty was to ravish her in every room of the house, not shuffle back to the library and hide from her. If she ever found the thorn he kept stuck in his paw, she’d crush it under her boot.

  Once in her dressing room, she stared at the floor dejectedly, tears welling. This was all so confusing. What if this was her fault? What if it had nothing to do with his nightmares and all to do with her? Blast. Now she was talking foolishness.

  Mulling over Charlotte’s advice, she wondered if she might ought to try it. Desperate times and all that. They certainly weren’t going to talk. If she could show him she loved him despite this quarrel, maybe he would know she was on his side, giving him the time he needed to sort through his troubles. No nagging, no badgering, only support.

  Another lark. As often as she told herself she would give him time and space, that he would communicate in his own time, she couldn’t heed her own advice. Well, it was easier thought than done. Standing about being ignored while he worked through issues every few months wasn’t a pattern she wanted to repeat for a lifetime. They had to get beyond this, permanently.

  Liz took a few moments to regain composure, wiping tears from her eyes. What else did she have to lose?

  She marched past their bedchamber, into the sitting room that connected the bedchamber and the library, and straight into his sanctuary.

  The library door closed more firmly than she had anticipated.

  Sebastian, sitting behind his desk and contemplatively studying the adjacent window, jolted at the thunk. He looked up at her with surprise, vulnerability and, could that be… longing? Without acknowledging her, his face darkened, and his eyes returned to the window.

  Lizbeth closed the space between them, stopping at the edge of his desk. No stir from the lion, no movement, only a deepening brow furrow.

  She proceeded to disrobe.

  She started with the half-boots, removing them and tossing them to the side with a thud, and then she rolled down her stockings and threw them on the desk, right on top of his papers. She struggled to reach the buttons at the back of her dress, but after some stretching and wriggling, she unbuttoned them and dropped the dress to the floor.

  As she stripped, his head steadily pivoted towards her. She unlaced her stays and removed her petticoat. She all but yanked the hairpins out of her hair until the locks flowed around her shoulders. He stared at her, eyes wide and confused. Now he looked, she humored, more like a cornered rabbit than a lion.

  Making short work of her plan before he could interrupt, remove her, or protest, she pushed him forcefully against the back of his chair and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. She pinned his shoulders to the leather and kissed him ferociously, her lips communicating every emotion she could infuse into them. He responded, his lips meeting hers, his hands gripping her thighs, caressing her, working their way up her back and twinning in her hair.

  After kissing him sufficiently into a fervor, she sat back, breathless. His face, Sebastian’s face, looked back at her. Not the face of that stranger who had moved into his body. Sebastian’s face venerated her. All curtains removed from his eyes, revealing only affection and adoration. There you are, she thought. My Sebastian.

  He freed himself from the buttoned flap, but as he reached to pull her closer, she grabbed his wrists and lifted them over his head. Not that she could ever hope to win an arm wrestle against him, she still wanted to establish dominance, to be a lioness prowling for her lion, to show him how much she loved him, supported him, and understood him.

  Still holding his arms above his head, she positioned herself over him until his hardness touched her lower lips. He moaned at the contact. Smiling slyly, she rubbed herself against him as much to tease him as to pleasure herself.

  She rubbed against his shaft until his moans were followed by urgent thrusts against her wet lips. Then and only then did she reach down with a free hand to angle him into the folds, into her, sliding herself over him until their groins met.

  She held him there, clenching, teasing, driving him wild and selfishly memorizing his face, his eyes trained on her, full of the beauty she had known at their wedding.

  He moved then, suddenly, swiftly, with cat-like reflexes, pulling her arms down against her body with one arm, the other arm wrapping around her derriere in a possessive hug, forcing her against him while freeing himself to move beneath her.

  He thrust powerfully into her before removing his arm from hers to reach between her legs. He found her sensitive nub and circled it with his thumb, continuing to pull her against him as he thrust upwards.

  The waves rushed over her, plummeting her into the sea. As much as she wanted to close her eyes and focus on the sensation, she refused to lose his face, refused to avert her eyes from his.

  She held eye contact, climaxing over him, letting him see the pleasure he gave her. He held her legs down for one final thrust, spilling himself into her, his eyes never leaving hers, revealing nothing less than the greatest love she could ever imagine.

  She leaned against the chair, her hair falling around him. She nuzzled his mane, and he pulled her tight against him in an embrace.

  “Come to bed with me, my darling,” she whispered boldly.

  He nodded and lifted her with him as he stood from the chair. Light still streamed through the windows, a far cry from evening. She didn’t care. He didn’t seem to care either. Lowering her until she could stand on her own, he finished undressing, leaving the heap of clothes on the library floor. She took his hand and led him to the bedchamber.

  As evening fell, they lay in the bed, limbs tangled, loving each other with trailing fingers and soft caresses. She had missed his smile, missed his eyes, missed his touch. She especially missed his sarcastic wit.

  She thought fleetingly, while she had him in her arms, of pleading with him to tell her what was wrong, but she didn’t say a word.

  He spoke, though. Between kisses and caresses, he called her his angel, called her perfection, called her his everything.

  Well after midnight, he drifted into what appeared a peaceful and dreamless sleep. Was this the first time he’d slept in two weeks?

  She fought against sleep. She feared tomorrow. She didn’t want this moment to end. Squeezing his waist, she fought the intrusion of darkness. With the light of the moon from the window, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, listened to his gentle breathing.

  “You’re my courageous lion, Sebastian. I’m here by your side, always.”

  His features softened in slumber, his arms tightening around her. Maybe tomorrow would be different.

  Chapter 31

  The next morning, she woke to an empty room.

  Depressed, she slunk out of bed, not really wanting to leave it but seeing no point in wallow
ing all day. She freshened herself at the washbasin and dressed in a simple cotton gown, her hair left free to fly about her. Poor Bettye hadn’t gotten to help ready her mistress much since arriving at Dunstanburgh, not with days spent in loose gowns and unstyled hair.

  Her first stop was the library to gauge his mood. The room was empty. Walking around to the window overlooking the beach, she leaned against the stones hugging the alcove. Stone window seats, one on each side of the arched glass, beckoned. Crawling onto the stone, she nestled against the glass and looked out.

  The waves rushed the shore angrily today, a storm brewing in the distance. From this high in the tower, she could see all the way to Embleton beach where the sun still shone, sparkling the sand, regardless of the dark clouds looming over the castle, shrouding the immediate area in a light mist. Below the ravine hugging the northern outer wall, she saw Sebastian.

  He sat on the rocky shore, his feet assaulted by rough waves. She wished he could see himself through her eyes, wished he could rise beyond whatever terrorized his dreams and embrace the here and now, embrace their marriage, embrace the wife at his side.

  “Where are you, my king?” she asked to the window pane. “Come rest your weary soul in my arms. Don’t you remember that I’m the Lady of the Lake? Don’t you remember I can heal you if you come to me?”

  With a sigh of helplessness, she turned from the window. Shuffling to the desk, she noticed first the absence of their dispersed clothes, removed by an amused maid no doubt.

  It wasn’t snooping if she merely wanted to admire the view from his desk and happened to glance down, right? She did just that. Not so much to spy on his affairs, rather to feel close to him, to see the progress of his work. She missed being included.

  Disorganized papers littered his desk, so different from how he normally kept his ledgers and paperwork, tidy in stacks. The papers mostly looked to be financial records from the earldom of Eskdale, one of his holdings. Shuffled in the mix was a letter from one of the doctors confirming the invited visit to Balan. Another letter thanked him for the pensions to the widows. A lengthy missive from the steward at his estate in Guiseley verified the employment of new laborers at the mill and detailed the monthly profits of said mill. Next to the inkwell sat an unfinished draft with strikethroughs inquiring about the purchase of a studding horse for a farm in Brayton.