by Elisa Braden
He’d sent one of Dunston’s men to protect her, intending to explain himself once he’d dealt with the cattle. Now, hours later, he discovered she’d raided the wine cellar, led his valet on a merry chase, and was currently ensconced in her bedchamber. He sighed, rubbed his nape, and walked through the door connecting her chamber to his.
The room was cloaked in blue light and gray shadows. He searched for her, seeing the bed disturbed but empty. Strangely, a small pillow lay on the floor, shredded into pieces. Then, he caught a glimpse of white. And wet. And Eugenia—his precious wife—bent forward over the balustrade in the midst of a summer storm.
Bloody hell. Fear and blackness and rage merged. Exploded.
He bolted toward her. Threw the glass doors wide. The blackness spoke before he could think. “What the devil are you doing?”
She straightened and turned. The thin, fine linen of her shift was wet. Clinging. Transparent.
Good God. She was incomprehensibly beautiful. Her waist and hips and breasts—everything was exquisitely curved. He shook away his fascination and started forward. He needed to get her inside before she caught her death.
“Get out.”
The coldness of her voice stopped him. Eugenia was many things—fiery and thorny and blunt—but never cold. Her skin was white, her lips drained of color. And her eyes. God, her eyes were killing him. “Eugenia—”
“I said get out. Leave me, Holstoke.”
Holstoke. Not Phineas. He must have hurt her worse than he’d realized. “I will never leave you.”
Her head tilted at an inquisitive angle. “Why not?”
Because you are mine, the blackness roared. He refused to speak it. He dared not reveal his madness to her. Instead, he moved closer, ignoring the cold rivulets running down his nape. “Come inside, Briar.”
“Stop calling me that.” Her face was blank, her words calm. This was not his Eugenia.
“What I said earlier today—that I should not have married you—it was a mistake.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. Smiled without smiling. “It was the truth.”
“In one sense, and one sense only. As my wife, you are in danger.” He struck his own chest. “I put you in danger. Had I been thinking of anything apart from how much I wanted you, the risk to your life from this poisoner would not exist. That risk tears me apart, Eugenia.”
She blinked, the rain flying from her lashes. She took a shuddering breath and began to shake. Thunder sounded. Wind shoved. Rain sheeted.
“For God’s sake, woman. Come inside.”
“Inside where?”
“Your bedchamber, for a start.”
“It is not mine. Just as you are not mine.”
He frowned. She made no sense. “You are in your cups.”
Again, the smile that was not a smile. “Would that I were.”
“What do you mean the chamber is not yours?”
“It belongs to Maureen.”
This snapped his head back. What the devil? “Maureen has not been here in six years. Apart from which, she is married to Dunston and mother to his five children.”
“Four.”
“Five. I have it on good authority.” He shook his head and stepped closer, but she retreated to the balustrade, her hands gripping the stone on either side of her hips. “It doesn’t matter. You are married to me. One day you will be the mother of my children, Briar.”
“Do not call me—”
He stalked closer. Leaned down. Braced his hands alongside hers. “It is who you are. My wife. My Briar. Perhaps I was selfish in claiming you. So be it. What’s done is done. Now, I must keep you safe.” He inclined his head, breathing in rainwater and violets. “And I will, my sweet one. I promise you, I will.”
She was shivering now. Her teeth clenched against the chill. Shudders wracked her tiny frame. “I—I never doubted it. Protecting is what you do.”
“Come inside.”
“Not there.” She nodded toward her bedchamber. “It is not mine.”
Frustration ate at his gut. “Of course it is.”
“No. It is yellow. I hate yellow.”
He sighed and rubbed his nape. “Then, we will change it. Bloody hell. All this over a color.”
“Her color.” Her throat rippled. Her brow puckered. Her eyes glistened. “Perhaps you should have added that to your list. ‘Eugenia hates yellow.’”
List. Ice ran through his body in a wave. Damn and blast. She’d seen his daft, desperate list?
Her arms folded across her middle. Her shoulders hunched.
Intolerable. He bent and scooped her into his arms. It was a measure of her state of mind that she did not protest, merely dropped her head onto his shoulder. Cradling her precious weight close, he strode through the chamber she’d somehow decided had been designed for her sister and shouldered his way into his bedchamber. Carefully, he set her on her feet beside his bed. Next, he retrieved a pair of towels, using one to squeeze rainwater from the mahogany silk of her hair. Then, he stripped her shift from her body and used the second towel to dry her skin.
By the time he finished, he was wildly aroused, but his body could bloody well wait. He’d injured her. His wife. His Briar. Deeper and more grievously than he’d ever thought possible.
He tossed back the blankets, scooped her up again, and laid her gently on the mattress. After stripping off his own clothes, he climbed in beside her. She rolled away, but he caught her waist and drew her back against him. Her skin was chilled and covered in gooseflesh. He gave her his heat. Wrapped her up tight.
“Listen to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you know what that list was?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
“I don’t think you do.”
“You were sorting things out. In squares. Such a peculiar man.”
His heart thudded. She knew him quite well. Better than he’d realized. “I was giving myself reasons, Briar.” He braced himself. Clutched her tighter. God, he did not want to tell her. He did not want anybody to know. But her pain was more important than his pride. “Sensible reasons why I should not be obsessed with you.”
Her body jerked against him. A mewling gasp emerged. She shook her head. “Do not lie to me.”
He kissed her ear. Her neck. “How I wish it were a lie, my sweet Briar.”
“It is. Your obsession is with Maureen—”
“No. Six years ago, I wanted to marry her. She made sense to me. A highly logical choice.”
“She was your ideal.”
“At the time, perhaps. I had never before realized a family like yours was possible. Maureen opened my eyes. Made me want something for myself that I’d never experienced. More than simply a marriage. A different path, diverging far away from what I had known.”
“That—that is why you kept the chamber for her.” Eugenia’s voice was thin.
He sighed and flattened his palm on her belly, drawing her backside harder into his hips so she could feel what she did to him. “The chamber was decorated two years before I met your sister.”
“That cannot be true.”
“Ask Walters. Or Mrs. Green. The gardens were not the only places where I wanted all remnants of my mother erased. The drawing room had previously been blue. I changed it to yellow, which my mother disliked. We had sufficient silk to clad the walls in your bedchamber. That room was once hers. Yellow seemed … appropriate.”
Tentatively, her hand slid over his. She sighed and trembled. “But it suits Maureen so perfectly.”
He kissed her cheek. Her ear. “Close your eyes.” He waited until she did so. “Picture the chamber.” He nuzzled her neck. “Do you have it?”
She nodded.
“Now, picture it with red walls. The same shade as the lilies I gave you for our wedding.”
Her breath caught.
“For whom is it perfect?”
Her breath quickened. She squeezed his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“Open your eyes.”
&n
bsp; She did.
“Look about.”
“Phineas.”
“What do you see?”
“Emerald. And silver.”
He breathed her in. Violets and cherries. Sea and skin. Gently, he kissed her bruised shoulder. “There was only one room I changed because of a Huxley girl. Shall I tell you which one?”
“No. That cannot be.”
“It is.”
“I was only a girl then.”
“A girl who cared nothing for boundaries. Who treated me as a friend from the first, telling me I should laugh more and wear emerald pins with my silver cravats because they reflect my eyes to advantage.”
“They do,” she whispered, turning her cheek toward his mouth. “You have wondrous eyes, Phineas.”
“I hadn’t the faintest notion what to make of you, even then.” He smiled. “I only knew your advice was correct and given without expectation. How rare that is, Briar. For someone to see so clearly, to offer her insights not as currency but as a gift.”
“I—I don’t understand. Your list.” Her voice twisted. “Pages and pages, Phineas.”
His chest tightened. His arms tightened. The blackness tightened its grip upon the only thing it gave a damn about—her. It wanted acknowledgement. It wanted to possess her again, to stake its claim. His cock swelled with the demand.
She stiffened against him as she felt the change against her backside.
“Do not be frightened,” he said, though his voice was more guttural than he would like.
“F-frightened? I—Phineas.” She huffed nervously. “I don’t understand.”
“I shall tell you. But you must stay. Stay with me.”
Her fingers dug into his arm.
“Promise,” he rasped. “Please.”
She breathed. Clutched his hand with hers. “I promise.”
He closed his eyes. And told her the truth. “There is a kind of … madness inside me.”
She waited. Breathed. Patient and soft.
“It wants you very badly, Eugenia.”
Her belly rippled beneath his palm. Her hips shifted entrancingly, sliding her flesh along his length. “I did have that impression.”
“You don’t understand.”
She clicked her tongue. “Well, that is what I told you. Go on, then. Help me.”
“It wants to take you, yes, but it wants more. Much more. It wants you all to itself. No touching any other man. Bloody hell, it hates when you smile at other men. It wants to kill the one who threatens you. Tear him to pieces. It rages when you are hurt.” He kissed her injured shoulder again, needing the contact. “It is savage. Uncivilized. I have constrained it, but it has grown until I can scarcely think.” He swallowed. “The blackness has command of me now. Ninety percent, at least. It will not be confined. I’ve tried. God, Briar. How I tried. That is why I made the list. I needed to temper the obsession with logic. You are the obsession, to be clear.”
She was silent for a long while. Had her body not remained soft, her thumb tenderly stroking the back of his hand, he might assume she was appalled. Rightly, she should be. But, instead, he concluded she was thinking. Putting things together in her labyrinthine way. After an interminably long wait, he was proven correct.
“Phineas.”
“Yes, Briar.”
“I love you.”
His heart stopped. Then it started again, thudding painfully against his bones. “You do?”
“Yes. I love your gardens. And your hands. And your eyes. And your brilliant mind.” She tugged at his arms until he loosened them enough for her to roll onto her back, where she gazed up at him from glistening, cat-like eyes. “I love your peculiar nature and the thing you do with your tongue when you wish to be particularly persuasive.” She grinned. Laughed. Glowed up at him. “I thought you should know.” Her hand stroked his jaw tenderly. “It might make what I am about to tell you easier to bear.”
Now, his heart stopped again. His insides iced until he could scarcely feel her skin. Numb. He was going numb. No. She could not leave him. She’d promised to stay. “Briar.” The word was airless.
Her eyes filled with tears. She smiled and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “The madness is not separate from you, my darling. The madness is you.”
*~*~*
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Husbands are prone to error. That is why God invented jewelry, my dear.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Dunston upon said lady’s complaint about Lord Dunston’s uncivilized behavior.
Genie gazed up at the beloved face of her beloved man, who looked as though she’d plunged her shears into his chest. Pale green flashed his denial before he spoke a word. “You are wrong.”
She waited, watching his confusion, his incredible mind puzzling through what she’d said.
“This bloody blackness has no rationality.”
“Hmm. So, it must be separate from you. Is that what you mean?”
He blinked. “Yes. I have long preferred reason to impulse and emotion.”
“Eminently sensible. You are a scientist.”
His eyes dropped to her lips. “Quite right. Rationality requires rigor. One must examine one’s logic down to the roots. The degree to which one strays from such examination is highly correlated with errors and, consequently, deleterious outcomes. Reasoning in this fashion has been my practice since I was a young boy at Harrow.” He shook his head. “If I were mad, consistent rationality would not be possible. Apart from which, others surely would have noticed lapses. My tutors. My instructors. Friends at Cambridge. No, this blackness is recent. It began shortly after our conversation in the hat shop. I suspect the headaches are related somehow, as they have improved markedly since our marriage. Perhaps if I develop a proper formula, as I have for my tea, it will abate. I must conduct further research.”
“Kiss me.”
His nose flared. His eyes darkened, sharpened upon her lips.
“You want to, do you not?”
“I want more.”
“Of course. But let’s start with a kiss. Consider it research.”
His hand slid beneath her nape, cradling her and bringing her mouth up to his. Heavens, how she loved his mouth, hot and sliding. His tongue, sleek and sensual. His hands, strong and gentle.
Her moan hummed against his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and dove deeper. Her nipples went tight. Sent sizzling pleasure straight to her womb as they brushed his chest.
All too soon, he drew back. Panting. Flushed. “What was that intended to prove?”
She ran her hands over his shoulders and down onto his chest. “Nothing. I wanted you to kiss me.”
He huffed out a chuckle. “Minx.”
“I will, however, propose an experiment.”
“To what end?”
“I shall demonstrate that this ‘blackness’ you speak of is nothing more than your peculiar nature, which I have known about for some time.”
His shoulders stiffened. His breathing stopped.
She settled her palm in the center of his chest, enjoying the feel of his skin and black, springy hair, the solid thud of his heart. “Will you trust me?” she murmured, kneading his hard muscles, lightly skimming his nipples.
He did not answer.
“Phineas.” She ran her hands over his ribs, then his hips. “Will you let me conduct my experiment?”
After a long silence and a deep sigh, he nodded.
“Good. I shall touch you, and you tell me how the blackness—isn’t that what you call it?” She waited for his nod. “You tell me how the blackness responds.”
A fierce frown creased his brow. “This is not a good idea, Briar.”
“Of course it is. If I recall correctly, you agreed to trust me, Lord Holstoke.”
“Damn and blast.”
“Now, then. Let us begin. Lie on your back, if you please.”
Reluctantly, he rolled onto his back. She followed and propped herself above him, her mouth hovering near
his. His hands went to her waist. Squeezed.
“I shall start here.” She brushed his mouth with her finger. “Your lips are …” A heated chill ran through her. “Fascinating.”
“I could put them to better use.”
She grinned, rejoicing that she had been wrong. He hadn’t loved Maureen. Maureen had made sense to him. Genie, on the other hand, had driven him mad. Mad was much better than sense. Fortunately, with Phineas, she could have both. She only had to help him see it.
“Later,” she replied. “For now, tell me how you feel.”
“Aroused.”
“Phineas.”
“Highly aroused. You do realize you are naked.”
“And?”
“I cannot think when you are naked.”
“Tell me what the blackness thinks, then.”
His eyes lit. “It thinks I should be inside you.”
“Do you agree?”
“Bloody hell, Briar. Yes.”
She rewarded him—and herself—with a kiss, long and sensual and sweet. As shivers and tingles played over her skin, she kissed her way down his throat. Then his chest. Then his belly with its hard muscles and hot skin. “What does the blackness want now?”
He groaned. The muscles of his jaw and belly rippled and flexed. “Take me in your mouth.”
She stroked the long, hard stalk with her hand first, enjoying the silken texture, the flagrant need. With her cheek on his belly, she gazed into his eyes. Glowing green was nearly swallowed by black centers. “Do you concur, Phineas? Do you also wish me to take you in my mouth?”
“Yes,” he growled, his hips driving his manhood harder into her grip.
Smiling her approval, she answered his need and hers by first licking then gently suckling the rounded tip.
“Sweet, bloody hell.” His hand tangled in her damp hair.
She squeezed him firmly at his root while gripping his muscled thigh with her other hand. How she adored his flavor—salt and musk and lust. How she needed the reassurance of his desire for her. Every writhing motion of his hips caused heat to swell inside her, filling her like a cloud. It thrummed beneath her skin, flushed in her breasts, pulsed in her core, as she teased him with playful laps of her tongue and long pulls of her mouth.
