His breath hitched in his throat, and he buried his face in her bosom. He swallowed hard. All this time he thought he’d entrapped Mercy with the love potion, yet he found himself the true victim.
“Yes,” he said, meeting her expectant gaze. “Tonight, you belong to me.”
• • •
Mercy smiled, running her fingers through his silky hair. Finally, you will be mine.
He kissed the valley of her breasts and worshipped every inch of the path to the sensitive curve of her hips. She delighted in the way her belly quivered under his mouth. His tongue was soft as velvet but deliciously warm, bringing her skin to a fevered pitch. Her thighs relaxed, opening to the gentle pressure of his hands. His chin raked over the thatch of blond curls at the apex, and he breathed her musky scent while spreading the lips of her core.
“Victor,” she gasped, gazing in horror at his roguish grin. “You can’t mean to—”
Oh, but he did. He licked the petals hidden within, over and over again, flaming the fire building deep within. She bucked and moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair as exquisite pressure pulsed in her veins. His engorged cock pressed against her calf, and she collapsed against the pillow.
“Oh, goodness,” she cried, squeezing her thighs. “I can’t breathe . . . I don’t know . . . I’m going to . . . ”
Burst in a kaleidoscope of sensations as she called his name, again and again.
He crawled up her body and pushed swiftly into her channel, groaning with pleasure as her muscles convulsed around him. His fingers found the wet bud of her sex, and he rubbed gently, carrying her through the apex of her orgasm as he stroked long and hard within her, claiming her maidenhead.
She found his mouth, ravishing his tongue as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him tighter inside. He kissed her cheek, along the delicate line of her throat. With one final, powerful thrust, his control shattered, and he joined her state of pure ecstasy. Her extremities tingled and pulsed as he fought to catch his breath.
“Freya, please, let it be a boy,” she whispered, kissing his earlobe. He would be a loving and patient father.
“Oh, Mercy mine,” he rasped.
Rolling onto his side, he pulled her with him and planted soft, lingering kisses on her mouth. The sweet orange scent of her hair wafted around them, mixing with the musk of their lovemaking. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, massaging her body until all rational thought escaped her, so she simply relaxed and explored the emotions simmering below the surface in her heart. She’d often daydreamed about the wonders of making love, but this . . .
“That was interesting,” she said, gazing into his dazed eyes. Interesting did not begin to express the stunning experience they’d shared, but she was in a teasing mood.
He chuckled and swatted her bottom. “Try again.”
“Unexpected?”
Another swat, this one a mite harder.
She giggled and squealed, unable to recall the last time she’d enjoyed teasing another so thoroughly. But his ego had suffered enough for one night. “Like eating apple tart for the first time in a very long while.”
He lifted his brow. “Perhaps you’re right, I’m an arrogant bastard sometimes. Though I admit that sounds rather enticing coming from your lips.”
She pressed her mouth to his, grinning. “Our first time was . . . magical.”
He laughed and pulled her on top of him. Her breasts molded to his chest, and his loins throbbed to life. Their first time was more than she’d ever dreamed it could be. Tonight, in this moment, she believed he loved her.
Fingering a lock of her hair, he twisted it around one digit and tugged. “Are you saying you wish to make love often, my little minx? I’ll happily oblige in fulfilling that wish.”
“All the days of our lives,” she said, laying her cheek on his chest.
His heartbeat drummed a comforting rhythm, and he hugged her close. “Remember this feeling, Mercy,” he whispered. “Hold on tight and never let go.”
What an odd thing to say. She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Whistling a merry tune, Victor descended the stairs at a brisk pace. He pressed Mercy’s handkerchief to his nose and breathed in her scent before tucking the stolen treasure away in his pocket. He’d left her bedroom in the early morning hours, and he missed her already. But she would arrive in the breakfast room soon. When he reached the foyer, he turned the corner and bumped into Dominick.
“Begging your pardon,” he said, laughing. “My head is in the clouds.”
His friend grinned and patted him on the back while steering him in the direction of the study. Dominick ducked inside, beckoning for Victor to join him.
“Why all the secrecy?” Victor asked, closing the door.
“You’re in a very good mood,” Dominick said with a smug smile. “I’m here simply to say congratulations and you’re welcome.”
Victor snorted and folded his arms. “For what?”
“For slipping the fertility potion into Mercy’s wine last night at our little celebration.”
Victor shook his head. He must’ve misheard. Taking a step closer, he growled, “You did not just say you used the fertility serum. Tell me you’re jesting. Right. Fucking. Now.”
“Easy, mate. No need to get riled. It wasn’t wasted. You did make love to Mercy last night, did you not?” Dominick asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I know you, my friend, and I was certain after our discussion that you’d dive into the relationship headfirst. If you’re going to commit to the chit, you may as well make it worthwhile.”
Victor stepped forward, and Dominick danced back. Dammit, but he’d wring the man’s neck for sticking his nose into his business.
“I couldn’t let you risk your life or that of your nephew,” his friend said, holding his hands up. “You mean too much to me, to Hatchet, Eveline. Everyone. And you would never forgive yourself if your nephew died. You’ll thank me in the end. Black and white, mate, but you could only see shades of gray. I made the hard decision for you.”
All words escaped Victor in that moment, so he did the next best thing and let his fist do the talking. His knuckles connected with Dominick’s jaw, and his friend’s head snapped back with a sickening thud.
Dominick shook his head and held up his fists. “First one was free, because I understand how hard this situation is on you. But the next one, you’ll have to work for.”
Victor stomped to the door and glared back over his shoulder. “You don’t understand a goddamned thing! This wasn’t your call, damn you!”
“You’re mad, and I can live with it, so long as you live because of my choice. She never has to know the truth.”
Didn’t he understand the implications of his actions? Christ almighty, Mercy had prayed for a son last night while lying in his arms after they’d made love! She was pregnant with his son—the heir to the Blackburn curse—and they hadn’t located the second stone yet.
He pointed at the meddling blighter and bellowed, “Stay the fuck away from me!”
• • •
Mercy lifted her face to the bright blue sky and closed her eyes, letting the sun’s bright rays warm her cheeks. A brisk wind howled through the forest surrounding the quaint chapel, but nothing and no one could dampen her glorious mood this morning. Not even the insidious butler, Milton, with his brooding nature and penchant for appearing in the oddest moments, like he had this morning on her way out.
Victor loved her! He hadn’t spoken those three precious words, but he meant them all the same. You have a saucy mouth, Mercy, but I love it! He loved her intelligence, and wit, and independent nature. Ergo . . . he loved her.
Dried pinecones crunched under booted footfalls, and Mercy whirled around to find Victor and Hatchet strolling down the path leading from the castle. Her lover’s warm gaze connected with hers, and a blush of happiness stole into her cheeks, heating them against the cold wind. He was a fine specimen of man, and all h
ers. At least in body and mind, if not on paper. But that would soon be remedied.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Victor said with a wink. He halted by her side and peered at the chapel looming behind her. “You look quite well this morning, if a bit tired. Why didn’t you wait for us to escort you here?” he asked, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “Everyone missed you at breakfast, but most especially me.”
Hatchet rolled his eyes and walked to the chapel entrance, feigning interest in a plaque hanging beside the door.
She shrugged and smiled. “I wanted a few quiet moments to enjoy the fine weather and calm my nerves before we enter the crypt. My mother shared many stories of Elizabeth and Vivian in my youth. I’ve read every page of Elizabeth’s spell book. Brewed her potions. And cast her spells. This moment is a little surreal.”
He nodded and rolled a pinecone under his booted toe. “You’re fascinated by the twin sisters, while I find them absolutely terrifying. Perhaps in time you can help me see them through your eyes.”
The thought of anything terrifying him seemed preposterous, but he didn’t laugh nor could he look her in the eyes. She ached to wrap him in her arms and promise him that everything would be all right, that he needn’t fear the curse anymore. But they’d yet to find the second stone, and she would not give him false hope.
“Yes, perhaps,” she said, turning her attention to the chapel. The simple square structure was elegant with its gabled roof, arching windows trimmed in red stone, and the magnificent bell tower. “Shall we head inside, then, or are we to expect Dominick and Eveline?”
Victor placed his hand on her lower back and guided her in the direction of the chapel entrance. “Eveline is unwell this morning, so I ordered them to stay behind. Besides, the crypt cannot comfortably accommodate five adults, with three grown men among us.”
Inside, she was immediately enveloped in cool, damp air tinged with hints of lavender and lime.
“The twins’ remains are in the crypt below the apse,” he said, nodding straight ahead. “Additional crypts were added later below the transept, though I’ve never felt the need to visit them myself.”
The chapel was utterly still, except for the pounding of their boots against the concrete floor. If Victor harbored any remnants of deep-rooted fear of his ancestors, he did not show it in his carriage. Mercy peered down a row of hard oak benches into the semi-transept on their right, offset with a delicate arching entrance. Gas lamps encased in hues of red- and gold-stained glass provided ambient lighting.
Gooseflesh rippled over her arms. She didn’t care to visit the family crypt where coffins could be viewed in plain sight. Let them lie in peace within the graveyard and live on in her memories. But she had no choice.
As they approached the marble altar, her gaze was drawn upward to a magnificent dome, painted with a mural of cherubs frolicking among fluffy clouds in an otherwise blue sky. She craned her neck, determined to view every inch of the mural. Victor bent and lifted a wood panel from the floor, revealing a winding staircase.
Hatchet gestured for Mercy to enter, his smile broad. “Ladies first.”
He handed her a lantern. She shook her head and lifted her skirt with one hand, taking each step at a steady pace. Victor trailed behind her, his hand secured on her elbow. When she reached the bottom step, she held the lantern high and peered around as Victor lit various sconces throughout the crypt.
A series of four columns was dispersed throughout the room, the spirals fanning out to broad arches in the ceiling. In the center of the room lay two Elmwood coffins, side by side, supported by concrete slabs and separated only by a small passageway three feet wide.
Cool, damp air clung to Mercy’s skin, and she breathed a familiar scent. Beeswax, presumably used on the coffins. She rubbed her toe along the surface of the floor, uncertain if it was stone or packed dirt.
“Who maintains the crypt?” she asked, tracing her finger along the smooth surface of Vivian’s coffin, following the intricate pattern of the wood grain.
Victor glanced over his shoulder. “I imagine Pastor Wallis,” he said, lighting the last sconce.
“This place gives me hives,” Hatchet groused, staying close to the stairwell. “Let’s get this over with already.”
Mercy suppressed a smile and focused her attention on the matter at hand. There were no decorative stones adorning the coffin, nor did she see an epitaph inscribed in the wood. She kneeled and examined the sleek sides, noting gold-plated handles where the coffin was carried and an ornate plate surrounding a decorative keyhole. Yet there were no stones.
“Nothing here,” she said, turning to Victor.
He stood opposite the nearest column, where a plaque bore the name of Vivian Blackburn and stated the years of her birth and death. Victor rubbed his hands over the gilded edges of the plaque and squatted, peering at the bottom and then the sides.
He cursed under his breath and joined Mercy beside the coffin. “Nothing there either.”
She chewed on her bottom lip and concentrated on the keyhole. Her stomach clenched as their path became obvious. She was loath to do it, but they had little choice.
“We have to open her coffin,” she said, slipping her fingers through Victor’s. “Do you have the key?”
He nodded but didn’t move to retrieve it.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Hatchet said, storming into the room. “The stone must be here somewhere. Step aside and let me look. I’m not disturbing the dead unless we’re absolutely certain it isn’t here.”
They spread out and checked every surface of Vivian’s and Elizabeth’s coffins, the pedestals, and the plaques. Hatchet crawled on all fours, examining the underbellies of the coffins, and Victor inspected every inch of the sconces. Still, there was nothing. They stared at each other, no one willing to make the first move.
Mercy released an exasperated sigh and held out her hand. “Give me the key.”
“Isn’t there an incantation you might say?” Victor grumbled, digging in his pocket. “Something to ward off evil?”
Her lips twitched as she took the key dangling from a red ribbon. “Vivian didn’t invoke the Blackburn curse. That deed lies wholly with Elizabeth. I don’t understand why you’re both so nervous.”
She bent and slipped the key into the hole. The lock sprang open after one half turn. Holding her breath, she prepared for the onslaught of fetid air and a corpse in an unsightly state of decay. The lid creaked open, and she gasped.
Hatchet jumped back, barreling into Elizabeth’s coffin. He made the sign of the cross as he righted himself and whispered, “Jesus, pray for us!”
Mercy’s knees quaked as she held Victor’s arm for support. “How is this possible?” she asked, staring up at him. “She’s still so young. What happened to the decay? She’s absolutely stunning.”
He blanched. “This isn’t normal. Is there anything in your spell book that would account for this? A ritual to preserve the body?”
“Embalming?”
He nodded without taking his eyes off of Vivian.
“No,” Mercy said, cataloguing the book’s contents in her mind. “Not that I can recall, anyway.”
“You share her coloring,” Victor said, mesmerized. “Long, blond curls. And her bone structure. She died young, also in her prime. Why have I never heard of her tragic death?”
Hatchet recovered from his initial shock and flanked Mercy’s other side. His eyes roved over Vivian’s body, which was encased in a red gossamer gown, tight through the bodice with a flowing skirt. Had she not known better, Mercy would’ve guessed Vivian lay there sleeping.
“Ho, look here,” Hatchet said, pointing to the necklace draped around the corpse’s neck. “The missing amber stone.”
The gem lay nestled atop a diamond broach dangling from a gold chain. Mercy reached inside the coffin and picked up the blue amber stone, holding it alongside her bracelet. A perfect match. She unlatched her bracelet and released her two stones from the casing.
&nb
sp; “Give me the fourth stone, Victor,” she said, swallowing past the excitement bubbling up her throat.
He handed her the stone, and she moved the pieces in various constellations until they melded seamlessly together, forming a teardrop.
Victor threaded his hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Christ, it truly is the amber tear of Freya.”
She clasped the joined stones tightly in her grip and held them to her heart. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, gasping as a whirlwind of images formed in her mind. Vivian brewing a potion and dropping the amber tear in the cauldron, Elizabeth’s furious visage as Ambrose placed a ring on Vivian’s finger, Vivian’s laughter when she bore a healthy son, Elizabeth bawling as she lay alone with a child wrapped in her arms. Mercy’s head swam while her body shook.
“Please look at me!” someone shouted, jostling her shoulder. “What’s happening, Mercy?”
Victor Blackburn’s face came into sharp focus, and she shuddered. Why was he cradling her in his arms? She scrambled to her feet and pushed him away, wishing to shake off the horrible, raw emotions racking her insides. Memories of the past month flashed in her mind’s eye and came to a jarring stop in the quartermaster’s cabin.
He reached for her, but she held him at bay with her outstretched hand. She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs from her mind. He’d tricked her with the love potion, used her to find the missing stones.
“You wish to know what’s happening?” she shrieked, backing toward the stairwell. “I remember everything, Victor. That’s what’s happening.”
She raced up the stairs and down the center aisle of the chapel until she crashed through the door, but no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape the beautiful memories woven inside her heart. Despicable man! He had manipulated her from the moment he had learned her true identity.
Cold air lanced her lungs, and she bent over, heaving in great gulps of air. Every minute they’d spent together was a lie. The way he’d kissed her and held her and made sweet love to her. All of it lies. She couldn’t think on all the things she’d let him do to her body last night without losing her mind.
Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 18
