by K. Webster
Her eyes lose their feral flare upon winning so easily. “Don’t placate me.”
“I would never. Now, please, let me tuck you into bed. We can discuss the matter further once you’ve had rest,” I tell her softly.
She sighs but crawls out of my arms and under the covers. Once more, my eyes skim over her naked flesh, and a longing begins to fester within me. If only I could have her here, spend my years tasting and pleasuring her. Instead, I’m trying to learn who this new, crazed woman is—attempting to walk on the broken glass between us in a struggle to bring her back to a sense of normalcy.
Once I’ve situated the blankets, I stand to leave her.
“Where are you going?” she hisses, her voice taking on the vulnerable quality from earlier.
“Darling, I’m leaving you to rest. You need rest.”
Her face crumples as her body shudders with a silent sob.
“Fuck,” I growl. “I’m tired as hell, but if you want me to stay, I will. But we’re sleeping—no more talking. You need to sleep, Ella.”
I take my shoes off and don’t bother with removing any of my clothes before I snuff out candles. Once the room is dark, I climb into bed with her. Her slender arm snakes across my chest and she wraps herself around me as if she’s afraid I’ll steal off in the middle of the night. That’s not going to happen.
“I’m sorry this has happened to you, Ella,” I murmur into her still damp hair. “I was so close to a point where I felt comfortable in asking to court you. Ever since I met you in Havering, I’ve been enamored with you. You’re beautiful and sweet and incredibly intelligent. I wanted to wait until I had made something of myself so that I would be worthy of you.”
She tenses at my words, and her thumb grazes over my nipple through my dress shirt. The simple touch causes my cock to twitch in response. If only things were different.
“Now, all I care about is gluing your broken pieces back together. You’re changed and everything in my soul screams at me to fix you. Let me put your innocent being back together again, Ella.”
The darkness ripples with her hollow, throaty laugh. “I’m no innocent. My innocence was killed the moment William stepped into my home and slaughtered my father. He took that from me—shattered that piece of me.”
I swallow my unease and run a finger down her bare arm. “You’re here, alive. Not him. You were strong enough to do what needed to be done.”
We both remain quiet for a few moments, and I’ve almost drifted off when she speaks.
“There is still so much to be done,” she whispers so softly that I almost don’t hear her words.
My flesh chills at her cryptic statement. I don’t know this person in my bed. This is not the Ella I met in my home in Havering.
I allow her to think I have fallen asleep, whereas, in truth, I stare in the darkness as I try to work out what I’ll do next. If I have any hope of saving this girl, I need to locate Caulder and rip him to fucking shreds. Then, maybe she can begin to heal.
Then, I can court my fucking woman.
I WAKE WITH A start. My rapidly beating heart calms the moment I realize I am no longer in the cellar. Actually, I’m on my back, Alcott’s heavy arm is slung across my middle, his nose is pressed against my neck.
I’m safe.
William is dead.
But Caulder is not. That needs to change soon.
With each measured breath, Alcott tickles me and an unusual sensation skitters across my flesh. It feels as if I crave for him to touch me. How glorious would it be for him to erase the last touches I endured at the hand of William?
It would cure my wild heart, I presume.
As he sleeps, I slide my palm over the back of his hand and guide it south. Once his hand rests warmly against the thatch of hair between my legs, I relax and test my theory. An undiscovered part of me throbs for him—both inside and outside my womb. I’m achy with a longing I don’t understand, and it feels as if he holds some remedy that could save me.
Again, I attempt to calm my heart as it flutters wildly for a reason other than fear. Could it be desire? I am not sure. The very fact that Alcott, the sinfully beautiful man I met but a year ago, has his hand between my legs nearly makes me forget all I have endured. His comforting presence distracts me from the pain of my life.
And the mere fact that he never married and is here with me soothes a piece of my soul. Maybe he truly wants to be with me like he so plainly stated so many months back. Last night he certainly seemed keen on wanting to protect and care for me. A woman can hope.
A smile, the first since I was taken, tugs at my lips while I remember when I first met him. I developed quite the crush for the man.
“When you see God, tell him I said hello,” a deep voice rumbles from behind me.
I tug away from Father’s arm, as he’s lost in conversation with Edith’s father-in-law, and face the man who spoke. Upon seeing him, my heart catches in my throat.
Alcott Dumont.
We were introduced when we arrived for the ceremony, and our encounter was delicious yet uncomfortable. He seemed to undress me with his eyes and I was embarrassed.
Yet now . . . Now, I want to see more of those dark eyes that appeared to see through me when nobody else hardly noticed my presence.
“I don’t understand.” I half smile back at him.
He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. Very blatantly, his eyes peruse over my figure. As of late, I’ve bloomed into a woman—a woman he very clearly sees.
“You came from heaven, no?”
My cheeks blaze as I realize he’s complimenting me. Apparently, my innocence intrigues him.
“No,” I reply and drop my gaze to the floor.
I’m hardly comfortable in my recent womanly skin, and I feel as though Alcott’s quite comfortable in that of his manhood. We’re as opposite as can be—he with his cultured wit and charm and I with my nerves and naïvety.
“Your sister has tried to intimidate me into staying away from you. She claims you’re too good for the likes of me, angel.”
My eyes lift to find his humored ones. At first, I believe he’s making fun of me. But I soon realize he is entertained by my shy demeanor. I can see he’s used to riling people up for sport. And he’s quite good at his game.
“Are you bad?” I question, a tiny smile tugging at my lips.
“Mother would say otherwise. Edith, however, would beg to differ. But what matters”—he flashes me a grin that dizzies me—“is what you think? What is it, Ella? Do you think I’m bad?”
When he takes a step closer, I am infected by his scent. Never have I noticed a man’s smell—besides that of my own father—before. Alcott smells as if he had rolled around in a lemon field and then drunk tea with vanilla. His presence is alluring, and I find my mouth watering for the man.
“I think, if you go against Edith, you’re asking for trouble. So perhaps you are bad?”
He chuckles and takes yet another step that threatens to cause my rapidly rising and falling breasts to tear through the fabric of my dress. “Care to dance, dear? I promise to be good.”
I blink up at him. His dark eyes are playful, yet I see the desire in them. He wants me, Ella Merriweather, and his want is transparent.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
He winks and grabs my hand. His hand is warm as it firmly tightens around mine. I follow willingly as he guides me through the throng of people. Most are dancing in elaborate fashion with their fancy footwork and twirls.
I’ll never be sophisticated like them or be able to dance the way they do.
I’m overwhelmed and embarrassed, afraid I’ll certainly make a fool of myself.
“Don’t fret, Ella,” he says in a calming voice. “I shall take care of you.”
His words blanket my pounding heart, and I trust in them. I trust this man I hardly know, who seems so enamored with me.
“I don’t know how to dance like them,” I tell him, my eyes cutting over to t
he others on the dance floor.
When my eyes find his again, I see him devouring my face with his eyes. I flush as they skim over my lips and then down my neck, toward the cleavage spilling from my dress. It is as if I am naked under his gaze, but the idea doesn’t frighten me as it should.
“We shall make up our own dance,” he tells me when his brown eyes are back on mine.
He clutches my hand, and with his other, he encircles my waist, causing me to shiver at his intimate touch. I notice that the other women have their palms on their partners’ chests, so I mimic their actions and look up at him as if to say, What next? He begins a slow movement, and it doesn’t take long for me to sway along with him. We aren’t moving much, but it feels as if we’re dancing.
This time, I take the time to inspect his appearance. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and his jaw is set. He pierces me with a hungry stare that makes me heat up in places I didn’t know had the ability to warm to such degrees. The man is utterly handsome with his full lips and slight smattering of facial hair. His shoulders are broad, and his grip is strong. I cannot believe I am not melting from being in his arms. Everyone else blurs into the background and it feels like it is just the two of us—like I am the only woman in the room and him the only man.
He sees me like nobody else ever has.
And that scares me.
“Ella, you’re so beautiful. How is it that I cannot take my eyes from you?”
I blush at his words and divert my gaze to the buttons on his shirt. “My innocence has blinded you,” I murmur. “If you’re as bad as you claim, my goodness draws you in.”
His hand breaks from mine, and he lifts my chin with his fingers. “I’m not bad, dear. I am simply poorly understood. So, where does that leave us?”
I chuckle, but my laugh dies when he gently grips his fingers around my waist and draws me closer until our chests touch. He is aroused from a simple dance and I can feel his hardness up against me. My head becomes light, and I feel as though he’s crawled inside me. The man is in my head, in my veins, flooding me with his essence.
“It leaves me confused,” I whimper. “I’m very inexperienced with men, you see. I have never been looked at, much less courted.”
His hand slides around my jaw and into my hair. I flutter my eyes closed and hope for a kiss. How wonderful would it be to have the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes upon kiss me? He may claim to be bad or misunderstood, but I want him to kiss me nevertheless. Does that make me bad too?
“I want so much more than to court you,” he growls so close to my lips that I can nearly taste the wine upon his. “I want to kiss you. Ella, I want to touch you. I want to fucking taste you so bad it makes me crazy.”
My eyes blink open and I stare into his angry eyes. Why is he angry?
“I have never been kissed.” The words spewing from my mouth are childish and immature. I’m embarrassed by them in front of this man.
“May I be your first?” he questions.
Our lips are so close. And as his nose grazes mine, it feels comfortable. Familiar.
“Yes.”
The word is barely out of my mouth when we hear the crashing.
“It’s Maude! Someone find Doctor Egnator!” a voice shouts.
Alcott blinks away the haze we were suspended in and tears from me without a backward glance as he runs to be with his mother. I stare after him with my finger to my lips, which still taste like him even though we never touched.
I’m dragged from the memory when I hear a clattering from somewhere else in the house. It would seem that the help is preparing breakfast. My stomach grumbles in response.
When I look over at the sleeping man in my arms, I can’t help but notice that the confident, young man has been replaced. He’s different and tired, with dark bags hanging under his eyes. This man has a few worry lines that are now permanently etched between his eyebrows. After abandoning his hand between my legs, I run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. A few strands of grey peek out near his temples—grey hairs that weren’t there this time a year ago.
This man has been through stresses that have caused a change within him. Much like myself. I am no longer the doe-eyed, harmless girl. I have been wronged in an unforgivable way. Hopes of love and marriage, although still there deep down inside, don’t flutter through me like they once did. Revenge and anger surge to the forefront instead.
Will I ever get that girl back?
Will I always be this new person I have become?
When he flinches in his sleep, one of his fingers grazes a part of me between my legs that flares every nerve ending to life. I release his hair and slip my hand back over his. Whatever he did was exhilarating, distracting me from my inward thoughts. With my finger, I press against the same offending one and nearly buck off the bed. My sisters never spoke much of sex to me until after they were married. All I really know is what I experienced last night, which was wretched and awful. It was unwanted. Yet, now, something deep inside me furls in a decadent way that has me thinking that perhaps, with Alcott, it would be something otherworldly.
Then I press again and my skin breaks out into a sweat.
This is something nobody ever spoke of—this sensation. I soon find myself massaging his finger so that it rubs me in that delicious area. My body squirms and writhes as I search for something that seems sinful and out of reach.
I gasp when I realize I am no longer doing the work. His fingers are touching me masterfully, yet he still breathes heavy with sleep. My hand slips from his, and I drag it up to my breast, where my nipples have become hard. And I ache to touch them.
I have never before explored my body, and now, I feel oddly curious. With Alcott beside me, I feel safe to try. William was a bastard, but he ripped away the skin that was my innocence, and I am now probing the wound, exploring its depths.
My muscles begin to tighten—as if they aren’t sore enough already—and I nearly cry out. As something festers deep inside my womb, I feel as though I will explode at any moment. His fingers are magic as he touches me where no other has.
“Oh,” I gasp.
I’m so close. To what? I am not sure. Perhaps the elusive orgasm William spoke of. Just the thought of what we did, he and I, causes bile to rise in my throat. I quickly swallow it down and embrace the feeling of Alcott touching me.
Alcott came for me.
Alcott wanted to court me.
Alcott wanted to kiss me.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
So close.
So incredibly close.
His groan reverberates through me, and his erection pokes my leg through his trousers. I can feel myself hurtling closer to the edge of my sanity and I want to throw myself over it. But just as stars begin to dance in my vision, he unceremoniously rips his hand from me as if he were burned.
“Bloody hell!” he curses.
I shriek from the loss of his fingers, and tears form in my eyes. My body is shaking with need, and I nearly scream obscenities at him
“Ella, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea what came over me,” he apologizes as he sits up on an elbow and looks down at me with concern.
I snatch his hand and attempt to force it to where it felt so delicious and sinful only a moment earlier. “Do it. Whatever it was you were doing, I want you to do it.”
His eyes widen before a groan rushes from him. It is almost as if he has given in, but he instead rolls away from me and climbs off the bed. When he turns around to look back at me, his eyes are wildly darting all over the place. His hair is wild and unruly. He’s even more handsome now than when he is put together. I crave for his touch.
“What is going on in that head of yours, Ella? This isn’t you.”
My lip juts out and I pout. “I want you to touch me.”
He’s already shaking his head in protest. “You don’t know what you are saying. He fucked with your goddamned head, woman. This isn’t right.”
I sit up to rest on my k
nees, throbbing and wet between my legs. He’s wrong. I want more of his caresses.
“Touch me, please,” I beg with tears in my eyes. “I need to feel something other than the anger and hate rushing through me. Please.”
“No. You need to dress and come to breakfast.” His voice is hoarse and thick. My eyes fall to his trousers and I see that he’s most certainly still aroused. I’ll make him want me just as I made William want me.
“Please,” I purr, my begging turning into something seductive and sexy.
But when I slip my hand between my thighs, his eyes bug out of his head. I flinch as I connect with the place that was the cause of my pleasure.
“Ella, stop it.”
I pin him with a challenging glare as I work to find the sensation again. My finger slips against my wetness, and I use it to further chase the feeling I so crave. Though his jaw is set and he clenches it furiously, he makes no move to approach me.
“Do you not want me?” I taunt.
He growls in response. “Are you fucking blind? Of course I want you, but now is not the time. You have been through too much trauma. It is too soon, woman.”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t find what it is I am searching for. My finger aches, and I feel defeated. With a frustrated sob, I fall onto the bed and stare up at him, tears rolling from my eyes.
He smiles sympathetically at me. “In time, dear, I will make you feel things you have never felt before. I will taste you as I once promised. My kisses will begin and end each of your days,” he sighs. “However, now is not the time. Trust me, darling. Now, get dressed and I’ll come for you in a short while. We can attend breakfast together.” He waves toward a dress, presumably my sister’s, which has been draped across the chair at the vanity.
I don’t respond to him. Instead, I bury my face into the blanket. The floor creaks, signaling his approach to the bed. My body aches for him to join me—to distract my mind from all that haunts me. However, he disappoints me. One simple kiss is pressed against my hair and then he’s gone.
THE WOMAN IS MAD. Certifiably crazy. It is in her best interest if I call for a doctor—one who can pry into her mind and fix her. Clearly, I am not that man. I am incapable of understanding what is going on with her.
