The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance))

by Claremont, Maire

  A rage she recognized all too well. Now all she need do was turn it to mesh with her own and they would both have their desire: Eva Carin locked in a room and made an example of to her entire asylum. She’d break the woman’s mind within a month. A smile pulled at her lips.

  “How can you grin?” he snapped. “You’ve made a damn fool of yourself.”

  At that, her smile did fade. She took a warning step forward. As intended, he took a step back. Reclaiming the veneer of calm, she locked eyes with him. “I regret that your letter did not arrive sooner.” She shrugged a shoulder to suggest the culpability was his, not hers. “Perhaps you should have informed me of this cousin’s existence and his problematic nature some time ago.”

  Lord Carin blew out a furious breath. His dove gray gloved hands fidgeted as if longing to strike something. “Don’t mention that bastard.”

  A touch of distaste crawled along Mrs. Palmer’s skin. His control was not as developed as her own. The abject hate under this man’s surface was quite something to behold, struggling to come to the front. She couldn’t imagine him standing up to the man who had so boldly rescued Eva Carin. But someone with this lord’s resources would never have to face an enemy in the flesh. “Do you have anything of use to say?”

  His face turned a mottled red. “I am your better, madam.”

  Ah. She’d struck a nerve, his authority threatened. “You are my equal in this.”

  “You are the mud beneath my boots.”

  “Well, this mud will not assist you in retrieving her, if that is how you feel.” A lie, of course. Eva Carin was never going to be free. Nothing would stop her vengeance.

  “Wait,” Lord Carin said, holding up his hands. “We are being hasty. You want her back as much as I. Such desires make us equals. In this at least.”

  She slowly crossed to her desk, trailing her fingers over an open ledger, adjusting an offending pen back into place. “I have two of my best men tracking them. She should be with us in a manner of days.”

  “I want her silenced.” He wiped a gloved hand over his mouth.

  She hesitated, a delicious thrill running down her spine. “Do I understand you correctly?”

  Lord Carin’s brows lifted. “Silenced. Permanently.”

  “I have some punishment for her first.”

  As if it had never occurred to him, he hesitated, then said, “May I watch?”

  So that was his game. Perhaps one he was only learning. “You’d like to see her punished?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Yes.”

  “It will be arranged.” She lowered herself onto her chair, lifting her assessing gaze. “And now to the additional funds.”

  His eyes widened with indignation. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

  Was he indeed so naive? Apparently so, from his fluttering lids. “Come, now, good sir. I am putting out quite the expense to ensure you have your permanent silence.”

  “You lost her,” he countered.

  “Yes.” She leaned back, glaring at the foolish man. Did he truly believe that she would cover for his sins unpaid? “So I did. But if I don’t get her back for you, what secrets will she spread?” She glared, daring him to contradict her.

  For several moments his face twisted as if struggling with several demons discussing options to a futile problem. At last, he stepped forward and lowered himself into the high-backed chair before her desk, like some strange black bug, pulling in its limbs toward its shell. “Your price?”

  A degree of loathing that she felt for only certain guardians washed over her. She turned the page of her ledger, reached for her quill, and dipped it in the black india ink. The man was a rat. A rat that could afford to pay for his indiscretions. “Shall we say one hundred guineas for her safe procurement?”

  Lord Carin nodded. “I shall make it one hundred and twenty-five to expedite the matter. I trust the next time I hear from you, you will be able to assure me she has been collected.”

  “Without doubt.” She scratched the name and figure into the perfect columns.

  He cleared his throat slightly. “You will summon me then. To watch?”

  She didn’t look up, but smiled to herself, recognizing in the man before her the need to see others suffer to alleviate his own suffering. “Without fail. I will enjoy an audience.”

  Still, after she finished writing, she stared at the immaculate page. She could not help but wonder. How far was he prepared to go in all this? Exactly how far had he already gone? She had her suspicions. “I do have one question, my lord.”

  He cleared his throat, displeasure tightening his features. “Yes?”

  “The man.” The very thought of him spurred a fresh dose of gall through her veins. “Who came to take her away. He is violent and will not let her go without some struggle. If he were to be caught in the fray?”

  Lord Carin stood and brushed at the nonexistent wrinkles in his cloak. A glint of hate flickered in his hard eyes. “I trust you will do what is necessary.”

  “To ensure Lady Carin’s safe return?” She arched a brow. “Of course.”

  Chapter 21

  Eva wasn’t entirely certain whether she could continue to bear Elizabeth’s continual glances of sympathy. Day after day, the older woman wrapped her up in kindness. Held her hand when she shook, gave her peppermint tea to ease the never-ending return of nausea. And good God, she kept on at her deportment. Her carriage. Her walk. Her speech. Each day was a new lesson in behavior laced with the encouragement a governess might give a three-year-old learning her grammar.

  Eva rolled onto her side in her dark room, pulling the blankets up to her chin, and attempted to focus on the fact that each moment brought her closer to reclaiming herself. But Ian’s face kept interrupting her list of growing accomplishments.

  Lord, how she missed him. Even with him in the same house, she missed him.

  The silence between them had not broken since that dinner. She let out a sigh and pressed her face into the down pillow. She should be so grateful. Grateful for this beautiful house and Elizabeth’s care. But now all she wanted was to be alone with Ian again. To feel his arms around her and his body bringing hers to life.

  It didn’t matter even if they yelled and flailed at each other. The powerful feelings that brewed between them could bubble into something stronger, so long as there were no more lies, nor numbing politeness.

  Every hour her mind grew sharper, and she knew now that she had reached the worst of withdrawal before she had even arrived at the castle. Oh, she might still cut off her arm for a dose of laudanum, but she no longer felt as if her body would fly apart without a taste of the dream-inducing poison.

  Eva pressed her face harder into the pillow, wishing that Mary were in the room. Her friend would have stretched out her delicate hand and stroked her shoulder. They could talk. Talk through everything without the worry of corsets and manners.

  A tear slipped down Eva’s cheek. What would Mary be doing now? Tied and beaten and drugged, Eva knew. Whatever had her friend done to be put in that place? And why, when she had done something truly terrible, had she been freed and Mary kept imprisoned?

  Eva punched her fist into the pillow. It was not right. The world was not right. Even now, she could recall Thomas standing over her bed, railing at her for being so entirely stupid as to take her son out in the curricle. Blaming her mercilessly . . . but he’d never truly loved Adam. It was hard to show affection to an infant who had stolen your title.

  A jagged breath tore at Eva’s chest. Why did she torture herself with memories from before the accident when all she wanted was to forget?

  Muffled movement echoed just outside her door and the wood panel creaked open ever so slightly.

  Eva drew in a relieved breath. At last. Of course, he would know she still needed his comfort. She lifted her head from the pillow and blinked at the darkness. “Ian?”

  Shadows moved into the corner of the room, becoming two separate figures. They didn’t speak.
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  Eva jolted up, opening her mouth to scream.

  Before she could, one of the figures darted forward, his dark-clad arm lifting high, a club in his hand.

  Ian ripped off his cravat and threw it to the floor. Draining the contents of the glass in his free hand, he staggered toward the window. God damn it. She was only a few rooms away. She might as well be oceans from him. Continents even. He laughed softly as he weaved his way toward the clay bottle half full of whiskey upon the Chippendale table.

  He yanked at his linen shirt, tearing the neck as he pulled it over his head. Christ, why were the British so insistent on drowning in clothes? Indian street men went around wrapped in cloth about their waists, freeing their bodies to the elements.

  Far more practical. Of course, he’d always been highly restricted in uniform. Still, one could dream.

  He stared at the bottle, then at his glass. Also far more practical to drink from the bottle, yes?

  Why waste time with glasses when one was going to down the entire contents anyway and end up face-first on the floor. Ian plunked the glass down on the table and glanced out the window.

  A wave of self-revulsion washed over him. Hadn’t he watched Hamilton drink himself mindless among the other officers, playing cards and laughing at the stupidity of the men in the ranks? The more Hamilton had drunk, the more he had insisted that Indians were little better than the cattle they worshipped or, in the case of the Muslims, little better than the shit that cattle had deposited.

  Oh, God. Ian stared at the bottle of spirits, wondering how such a small thing as liquor could bring back such hideous pain. The fuzziness of his brain repelled him and he shook his head, drowning in the memory of how his friend had disgusted him.

  He needed fresh air to wash away the sick feeling swallowing him up. Didn’t matter that the fire was burning brightly in his fireplace. He needed the breeze to blow all thoughts out of his head. To get Hamilton out.

  Bastard.

  He’d assumed that when he’d returned to Blythely and had begun to manage his lands again that India would fade into the black recesses of his thoughts. But the daily books, the riding out to assess fences, sheep, and crops could not beat back the constant recollection of an arid land devoid of justice.

  Once, he’d viewed his tenants as something distant, different—human, of course, but still lesser. Now? He couldn’t rid himself of the faces of the Indians, made so gaunt by the British Raj. His own people gave not a damn for the lower orders; that had to stop and it would stop with him.

  He resolved then and there to start a school for the girls and boys of his tenants, ensuring that future generations had some choice in their livelihood. That they might climb free of the mud and struggle of an existence dictated by the whim of crops and market pricing.

  And Eva would help him. She’d claimed as much. With her assistance, he could do it. He could run his estates as they should be run. The fear of fumbling it all disappeared at the idea of her guidance.

  Ian looked out the window, ready to drink in the cold air and relax into his new plan and the idea of Eva by his side, but as he looked into the shadowy night, something was moving rapidly along the lawn.

  Figures. Two of them. They were carrying something. Something wrapped in white and just the size . . .

  He snapped his gaze down to one of the side doors and spotted a footman sprawled on the ground, unconscious or dead.

  Ian’s senses jolted to life as the situation sank in. He threw the bottle to the floor, and before he could think, he ripped the window open and flung himself out into the night.

  Two flights’ drop left him bending his knees and rolling. He hit the ground and sprang to his booted feet. Blood pumped like fire through his veins. He narrowed his eyes, focused on the retreating figures. Drawing in slow, even breaths, he charged across the grass, easily closing the distance.

  They were large, the two men, and fit, but not as silent as he.

  The man running empty-handed glanced back. His eyes widened. “Shite! Dan! Dan!” the thug yelled to his partner.

  Ian reached out and grabbed the shouting man. His hands clamped with such force that, as he swung the accomplice around, bones popped. The piece of shite screamed as his shoulder ripped out of its socket and he plummeted to the ground.

  Dan glanced back over his shoulder. A fatal mistake. His feet caught on the earth and he flew forward. Eva, wrapped in a white sheet, tumbled out of his grasp.

  Christ.

  She wasn’t moving. Not moving!

  Dan, just a few feet from Eva, scrambled back on his elbows. Fear stole over his dirty face. Slowly, Ian stalked forward. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He already knew who’d sent them. He knew what they’d intended. So he’d kill them.

  Dan pulled a knife, its silver blade flashing in the moonlight. Ian dropped on top of him, his hand going for the weapon.

  Dan, equal to Ian in size, bucked. Ian had no idea what demon had taken hold of him, but he slammed his forehead against his opponent’s dirty face.

  Dan screamed as his nose cracked and blood gurgled in his windpipe. In his shock, his hold loosened on the knife and Ian wrenched it from his hand. Jerking his weight forward, Ian lowered his knee onto Dan’s windpipe.

  A scream tore through the air and Ian looked back in time to see Dan’s partner drive down a knife. Ian twisted his torso, thrusting his arm against the man’s wrist. Searing pain flashed through him as the blade skimmed his shoulder.

  The force of the move sent the knife flying from the attacker’s hand.

  “Ian!” Eva shrieked.

  Instead of her voice giving him pause, it only pumped the need to save her harder through his veins. Ian drove his knee down onto Dan’s neck. He jerked, then stilled.

  Dan’s partner took a step back, his eyes fixed with horror on the dead man. “You’re m-mad.”

  Ian ignored the blood trickling down his back. He reached out and seized the discarded knife resting on the wet grass. In one swift move, he jumped to his feet. With a knife in each hand, he started forward.

  The man shook his head, backing away. “You’re bleedin’ cracked!”

  Ian didn’t answer, only took another step forward. He threw the first knife, and it struck the thug’s shoulder.

  A wild animal shriek tore from the abductor’s lips and he staggered under the force of the blow. His hand shot to the wound. “Look, we can come to an arrangement!”

  Ian weighted the other knife, trying to decide which bit of soft flesh to cast it into.

  The man’s throat worked, his eyes flashing with panic. “Please. I’ll tell you anything—”

  “There’s nothing to tell, is there?” What could he say? That Mrs. Palmer had hired him? That they were coming for Eva?

  Ian swallowed, glancing at Dan, dead on the ground, and then back to the man cowering before him. Slowly, he lowered the blade. As the heat of bloodlust ebbed from him, it was clear he could not do this. Not in front of Eva. “Run, you prick. Run!”

  The thug nodded wildly at his sudden good fortune. Without another word, he spun on his booted heel and ran into the night. The sound of his panting breath faded away, mixed with the thud of his boots on wet earth.

  Ian flung his remaining knife to the ground and turned to Eva. On her knees, her thin white chemise was smudged with dirt and wrapped about her thin body. Her skin shone star white in the dark night. Slowly she stretched out a hand to him. Shaking, her fingers hovered, waiting for him to take them.

  Ian gasped in a mouthful of cold air, the feeling of his fear releasing him. He rushed to her and dropped to his knees. “Eva.” He breathed harshly. His hands reached up, running over her naked arms. “I almost lost you.”

  In answer, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her slight body to his hard one, then looked up into his face. Her eyes darted over him. “Never. You will never lose me.”

  With that, he lowered his mouth to hers, a conqueror’s kiss, claiming what was his.
What had always been his. What would always be his. She gasped against his mouth, tense for a moment, before she gave herself up to it. Her body molded against his. Her hands clasped his shoulders, pulling him fiercely close.

  He tangled his hands in her hair, a sort of desperate desire and need to claim her racing through his veins. She opened her mouth, offering, inviting, and he didn’t think twice, driving his tongue into her as much as he wished to drive his cock into her sweet body. To claim her.

  For now. This was enough. This melding of souls in a kiss. Out of fear of loss, out of celebration of survival and triumph against their enemies, they kissed. The wild sweetness of it intoxicated Ian, until his thoughts disappeared and a single pulsing word dominated his being. Mine.

  Her hand trailed to his shoulder and she froze. He winced. Even in ecstasy, he couldn’t deny the burst of pain. Carefully, she pulled back from his kiss. When she brought her fingers away, they glistened black in the darkness. “Oh, my lord.” She breathed, through kiss-swollen lips.

  His breathing began to slow from the ragged, impassioned force it had known just the moment before. “It’s nothing.”

  Eva wiped the blood on her chemise, billowing about her frame in the evening breeze; then she took his face harshly between her hands. “It is not nothing.”

  She grabbed on to him as though she were certain he might disappear at any moment from her grasp. Her gaze burned with a wild intensity. “They could have killed you. Do you not understand?” Her voice came out on a jagged rumble. Unlike any sound he had heard from a woman. “I could not have borne it. Not again.”

  “Eva—”

  “No.” She dropped her hands from him and staggered to her feet. She stared out into the night. “This happened because of me.” She took another staggering step, her bare feet pressing down the grass.

  “Stop,” he snapped. Unable to bear the pain in her voice. Longing to have her back in his arms, where she belonged. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the slow, pulsing throb in his back.

  She swung back toward him, her face taut with fury. “Stop what? Stop telling the truth?” Eva shook her head wildly, her chemise sliding over her shoulder, baring the pale flesh. “You have risked your life too many times already. Too many—”