“Forgive me, Lord Strong,” she uttered breathlessly. “You startled me.”
He made no move to let her go. In fact, he moved closer, his hands sliding over her arms in a way that raised chills on her body. “That was not my intent, Miss Everleigh. Are you quite all right?”
No. She wasn’t. She wanted to throw herself at him. She wanted to tear her clothes off and beg him to take her. Where was that coming from? Blushing furiously, she treid to step back, but he did not let go of her. His hands tightened on her arms, holding her close to him. “I’m fine, Lord Strong,” she replied. “You may let me go now.”
“No.” The word escaped him and he seemed to be as stunned by its appearance as she was.
“No?”
He shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Everleigh. But, again, the answer is no. I do not think I can let you go… not without giving in to a desire that has plagued me since I first saw you here.”
She had no opportunity to ask him what he meant. His lips settled over hers. The kiss in the woods had been brief, a mere brush of their lips against one another. But they’d both been shocked by the power of their connection. But that was nothing compared to what she felt now. This was the kiss she’d waited a lifetime for. It robbed her of breath, left her heart racing and had her trembling in his embrace. She had questioned whether or not a kiss from Lord Strong would be so very different from the liberties that the Squire had attempted to take. In retrospect, the question was laughable.
It was the heat that surprised her most. It suffused her, gathering beneath her skin and building to a fevered pitch. As his lips moved over hers, she found herself leaning into him, savoring the hard press of his chest against her. Then his hands left her arms, closing around her, holding her tightly.
She couldn’t say how it happened precisely, but somehow he moved them, walking her backward until she was pressed against the wall. The pressure of his mouth on hers increased, until her lips parted beneath his of their own accord. But it was the bold sweep of his tongue, sliding between her lips and gliding sensuously into her mouth, that pulled a soft moan from her.
Nothing, to that point in her life, had prepared her for the pleasure that could be had in the arms of a well skilled man. Every bit of good sense she possessed simply fled. Kissing, glorious as it felt, was only the beginning, and she wanted more. She wanted everything.
CHAPTER NINE
In the darkened chamber on the upper floor of Alcott Hall, Elizabeth lay on the floor in the center of the circle that she and her brother had prepared. She did not move, her body perfectly still as she recentered herself, coming back into the physical world.
Astral projection was not a tool to be used by the faint of heart. There were so many things that could go wrong. It was why she was so grateful that her brother stayed with her, watched over her physical body while her spirit traveled beyond.
As she slowly returned to full consciousness, her breathing changed, becoming more rapid. Here eyes flickered beneath closed lids before finally fluttering open.
“What did you see?”
Reginald sounded nervous, she thought. Even as she considered it, another kind of awareness settled within her. He was there. He’d arrived while she was not part of their physical realm, but now, back in her body, she could feel him. His power was a palpable thing in their small home.
“Nothing of note,” she admitted grudgingly. It pained her to admit it. She disliked the feeling of failure that she endured every time she completed another session without getting any information that would be useful in locating the grimoire. “I was correct that Athena and Minerva are matchmaking with Anne and Lord Strong. I believe that they have utilized a spell to heighten their attraction to one another.”
Reginald’s expression hardened. “I cannot help but feel they have worked their spell on me, also. Anne is not at all the sort of woman I would typically desire, and yet my attraction for her is beyond reason and sense! What possible reason would they have for such a thing?”
Her head felt fuzzy, her senses dulled by the exhaustion that always followed any lengthy spirit travel. She couldn’t fathom what possible reasons Minerva and Athena might have had for encouraging her brother’s attractions for Anne, but that didn’t mean he was mistaken.
“I cannot say, Reginald… Has he been here long?” she asked.
Reginald grimaced. “For almost an hour. He’s waiting in the drawing room for any information… His patience grows thin, Elizabeth.”
“My patience grows thin!” she snapped. “I am exhausting myself to provide the items he’s demanded!”
Reginald shushed her nervously. “Be mindful what you say!”
“Yes, Elizabeth.”
He spoke from just beyond the door, his voice deep and pitched low with threat. Rebellion was not something he would tolerate from her and his tone conveyed that without question.
The door opened inward, slowly, inch by inch. He stood silhouetted there, his features as dark as the black clothing that covered his body. “Be mindful of what you say, Elizabeth,” he cautioned.
“They are too suspicious,” she said. “Minerva and Athena have shielded the book. I cannot locate in the house and anytime they go near the book, my spirit is sent hurtling from the house because of their magic! They are too powerful!”
He walked toward her, cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her head back. Then his fingers tightened, squeezing until she cried out in pain. She could feel him moving within her mind, invading, slinking into every dark corner, prying violently at her thoughts and memories. She’d given him her body of her own free will, but she’d never granted him this. The violation of it was intense and revolting.
Abruptly he let her go, his presence receding from within her. A cruel smile twisted his lips. He knew what he’d done to her, knew just how much he’d taken from her in that moment. And he reveled in it.
“You are powerful too,” he said. “Isn’t that what you said to me when I agreed to take you on? That you and your brother had been practicing the dark arts for ages and could be an asset to me and mine?”
She’d gone too far. Those who had crossed him in the past had paid dearly for it, and in spite of their physical relationship, she had no illusions that he held her in any special regard. She had loved him. No, she thought. She had worshipped him. And for him, she was merely a convenience. It was an ugly truth but she had accepted it long ago. But while their romance had soured, his hold on her was as strong as ever. Fear was a great motivator.
“We are powerful and we are gifted. But this is an unusual situation. We’re working against two powerful and active witches, one dormant witch, and the guards and spells of those who are long passed! Winifred’s magic extends beyond the grave, as you well know! With only the two of us and no full coven to work with, we are doing the best we can,” she said.
“Do better,” he urged. “If there is one thing we have in abundance in Penwickett, it is witches. Your social standing puts you on par with the ladies of Evenwold. For that reason alone, you have a bit of leverage, Elizabeth, but do not test me further. You will regret it, I vow.”
I already do, she thought. But she was not foolish enough to cross him openly. He was no stranger to violence and Reginald would be of no help if she were to need protection.
“Ladies Minerva and Athena are coming to dinner tonight,” she offered. “If Anne is occupied with Lord Strong, it would be a perfect opportunity for someone to physically search the home.”
“But you will be occupied here with the ladies… and I cannot enter that house. Winifred’s curse prevents it,” he replied.
“But their are men in the village who are loyal to you who would happily slip in under the cover of darkness and locate the items you seek,” she pointed out.
He smiled then. “So they would. I will head back to the village and make the arrangements… You will come to me tonight, Elizabeth. After your guests have left, you will come to me and make amends for your
sharp tongue.”
She knew what that meant and she shivered with the strange combination of fear and lust that he always managed to incite in her. “Yes. Of course, I will.”
****
Sebastian lost himself in kissing her. He allowed the taste of her to consume him. The softness of her lips beneath his, the press of her breasts against his chest—all of it combined to fuel the fire in his blood. He craved her in a way that was completely foreign to him, and yet he couldn’t recall what it was like not to want her. It had become second nature in little more than a day. As he feasted on her lips, he was like a man starved. The more he had, the more he wanted. Perhaps it was a spell. He didn’t care.
Kissing her had been necessary. He simply couldn’t go another moment without kissing her. But at the same time, it was like the flood gates had been thrown wide. Now that he’d tasted her, it would never be enough. He wanted all of her, to consume and to possess. The urge to stake his claim on her was too strong to ignore.
When she moved against him, her hips straining against his as a low moan escaped her, it cut through him like a blade. The need was sharp and vicious, twisting inside him, driving him to take her further, to demand more.
He broke the kiss, but only so that he could press his lips to her neck, to scrape his teeth over the delicate skin there and feel her shiver beneath him. He heard movement on the stairs, knew that they were on the verge of being discovered. “Anne,” he whispered hotly, “we cannot continue this here.”
“What?” she asked. Her eyes were clouded with confusion and with desire.
“Anne, I cannot explain what is occurring between us, but what I feel for you is unlike anything I have ever felt for another woman,” he said grudgingly. “Tell me you feel nothing for me and I will never mention it again.”
She shook her head. “I cannot say that… but this is not real, Lord Strong!”
“My name is Sebastian, Anne. I would hear it from your 4lips,” he insisted, even as he pressed another kiss to the tender curve of her jawline before reluctantly stepping away from her.
“Sebastian,” she corrected, “This is not real. It is the product of a spell.”
“It matters little to me where these feelings came from. It only matters to me that I have you, that I soothe this craving in my soul to possess you… And to be honest, I cannot say whether or not the ladies of this house have bespelled me. What I can tell you is that with or without a spell, I have never known another woman like you and my admiration for you is my own, Anne. It is not the product of magic or spells. You have my regard on your own merit!”
“I do so wish I could believe that,” she said.
“I have to go to the village… I mean to go to the church and find the records pertaining to the previous owners of Evenwold. When I return, we will continue this conversation. We will continue all of this,” he vowed.
“Perhaps,” she hedged. “I cannot think, Lord Strong.”
“Then do not. Thinking is overrated, Anne. Feel. Just feel… and when I return, we will discuss this further.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sebastian considered the bruising ride into town as just punishment for being tempted to take a virginal young woman against the wall of her kitchen. He had no compunctions about relieving Anne of her virtue, and his intentions toward her were honorable. He would marry her, assuming she’d have him. It was the location more than the activity that was an issue. A woman like Anne deserved to be romanced, to be wooed, to be seduced and introduced to passion slowly. Tumbling her in the kitchen like a tavern wench was beneath them both.
As he neared the village, he slowed his horse and tried to study his surroundings. Someone in Penwickett was willing to destroy the women of Evenwold, but their motive remained unclear. Even after all he’d seen and experienced there, he was hesitant to fully invest himself in the theory that someone still searched for the magical items of a long dead, alleged witch. But stranger things had occurred. It didn’t matter if magic or witchcraft truly existed. It only mattered that the villain believed it did.
He approached the village church on foot after leaving his horse at the stables. The weight of stares from the villagers who watched him pass was almost tangible. They eyed him suspiciously and with a great deal of animosity. What was happening in Penwickett? Surely it wasn’t just superstition.
Entering the church, he noted that it appeared completely empty. The vicar was nowhere in sight and not one villager was there, not even local women cleaning and replacing flowers. In his experience, there were always local women at the church. They fought and jockeyed for position in the community through their work for the church. He called out a greeting, not expecting a response.
“What ye want?”
The querulous response had come from somewhere near the front of the sanctuary. Walking up the center aisle, he peered to the left and saw an older woman on the floor, scrubbing on her hands and knees.
“I wish to speak to the vicar,” he said.
“He ain’t here,” she replied, never bothering to look up. “He ain’t ever here.”
More of the charming hospitality of Penwickett, he thought. “Do you know where I might find him?” he asked.
“Don’t know why you’d want to,” she replied, rising to her knees up to look at him. “Less likely man of the cloth you’re never to meet.”
“Be that as it may,” he replied, “I need to inquire about local records.”
“Records of what?” she asked, resuming her scrubbing.
“The witch trials from last century.” He hoped that his answer shocked her, to get some sort of reaction.
“No records to be had of that, but I reckon if you want to know something, I might be able to answer your questions… for a price.”
Of course, he thought. But he was not opposed to paying for valuable information. “And what is your price, madame?”
“A shilling,” she said.
“That sounds fair.”
“Per question.”
He wasn’t happy with it, but he’d take it. “Fine. Who accused the former occupants of Evenwold of witchcraft?”
“The whole village accused them. Knew about them and their strange ways, but accepted it mostly… but it was the Squire who pushed for them to be tried.”
That was an interesting detail. “An ancestor of the current Squire who is a neighbor to Evenwold?”
She paused for a moment, a strange glint in her eye, before nodding in agreement. “Aye, ’twas an ancestor. Was a neighbor to Evenwold then too. Wanted the land, he did. Still wants it… I’ll do you a kindness, your lordship. I’ll tell you this for free. You’d do better asking who in Penwickett isn’t a witch than asking who is.”
Sebastian seated himself on one of the pews. “And the vicar? How does he feel about these strange goings on?”
She held out her hand for the coins. “He’s right in the thick of it. Like always. Now pay me and be gone ‘afore he returns.”
“And when Winifred Elliott was accused of witchcraft and executed, was he in the thick of that, as well?”
The old woman smiled, though she never looked up from counting the coins in her hand. “You’re a smart one, I’ll give you that. Aye. He was. And since you asked about Winifred, I’ll tell you something else, she cursed the lot of them… her accusers.”
Sebastian frowned. He couldn’t quite believe that he was going down this particular road. He wouldn’t call himself a believer by any stretch, but he was certainly less skeptical than he had once been. “What was the nature of this curse?”
“That none of her accusers would ever know a moment’s peace or happiness until her blood once again resided at Evenwold… and it’s true. The Squire is near broke. The Vicar is a miserable fellow to be sure. And the Squire’s sister, Elizabeth, never a more unhappy and unlucky in love woman will you find, my lord.”
“That could all be a coincidence.”
“It could, but you asked if they were the descendan
ts of her accusers. They are not, my lord. They are her accusers—in spirit, least ways.”
“You will have to explain that, madame. My rational mind cannot decipher it,” he replied.
“They die, just like anyone else. But their spirits never leave this place. Then they simply take a new body.”
Sebastian couldn’t quite fathom that he was having the strange conversation, much less that he found himself wondering if it could actually be true. “How does one just take a body?”
“Ain’t easy,” the woman said. “Requires dark magic, m’lord. Dark, dark magic. But they’re already cursed, and when you’re damned to walk the earth forever, the fear of hell would hardly stop you, now would it?”
“I don’t suppose it would,” he agreed.
“But not all of them view their situation as a curse. Some see it as a great power—immortality. That’s why they’ve made it a point to ferret out all of Winifred’s descendants and eliminate them before they ever take up residence at Evenwold.”
The very thought of it made his blood run cold. Anne had said she was a foundling. He had his suspicions about her parentage and her kinship to the Ravenner family but that did not explain how Evenwold had come to be in their possession.
“I’ve told you a lot more than you’ve paid for, my lord, and he’s going to be less than pleased when he finds out I’ve spoken to you,” she said.
Sebastian reached into his pocket and retrieved the small purse of coins before placing a few more shillings in her hand. “I see no reason to tell him.”
She laughed bitterly. “He already knows, m’lord. He already knows.”
He frowned at that. “The way you speak of him, madame, one would think he’s in league with the devil himself and not just the witches of Penwickett.”
“No, m’lord. More like the witches in league with him… and mayhap the devil too.”
“And is that why you work for him here at the church?”
“I work for the church, m’lord. Not for the vicar… I been dealing with these folks round here, their curses and spells, for longer than you’ve been walking this earth,” she replied vehemently. “Don’t mean I like it none. I reckon you’re here to try and put a stop to it and the goings on at Evenwold. It’s my Christian duty to help.”
A Passion So Strong Page 9
