by Elisa Braden
“Serves ’im right.” Mr. Drayton shifted in his chair. “He shot me first.”
In fact, the recipient of Mr. Drayton’s rifle shot was the very same man who, six years earlier, had fired upon Mr. Drayton to escape capture. Theodore Neville had owned an apothecary shop in Weymouth for the past four years. Before that, he’d been Lady Holstoke’s associate, using his position as an apothecary’s assistant in London to craft her formulations. He’d poisoned his employer when Drayton and Mr. Reaver had drawn too close. Then, he’d fled London and wandered from city to city for a time. Eventually, he’d been drawn to Dorsetshire, where Lady Holstoke had last resided. He’d established himself as an apothecary. Everyone had thought him a rather pleasant fellow, including Phineas’s physician, who had expressed horror upon learning of the man’s murderous insanity.
Indeed, Neville’s obsession with Lady Holstoke had driven him mad. He’d purchased Lady Holstoke’s former home and subsequently taken in another of her former associates, Edgar Erwin. Edgar’s family had thought he’d drowned or run away while they visited Weymouth, as he’d simply disappeared without a trace. Instead, Lady Holstoke had recruited him. Drugged him. Seduced him. Used him.
A young boy of thirteen.
Genie had wanted to vomit when she’d learned that bit.
Soon after Neville had moved into Lady Holstoke’s house, he and Erwin had begun some very strange habits. They’d experimented with poisons, particularly plants, using both themselves and the livestock from local farms to test new formulations. They’d amassed sheaves and sheaves of detailed notes, chronicling their findings.
They’d also regularly sacrificed rabbits, chickens, and several goats to the woman they came to regard as a goddess. Perhaps it had been the substances they imbibed or the warping influence of evil or simple madness, but Neville and Erwin had worshipped Lydia Brand. Murder had been their “offering.”
In addition, they’d kept records. Stacks and stacks of records. Phineas had found Neville’s vast collection of notes and journals on shelves lining the house’s entire second floor. Neville had tracked his sacrifices and experiments with greater care than a rector keeping a church register. Strange, indeed.
It was Neville who had mixed the poisons and Erwin who had delivered them to their victims. In the case of the poor woman who resembled Hannah, Erwin had brought her to the house in Knightsbridge, where Neville had delivered her death.
Phineas had found explaining matters to the magistrate rather trying. Another string of sinister occurrences and poisonous murders. Another death on Primvale land. And this time, the killer had not merely been shot with a pistol. He’d been stabbed with a fork, bitten like a ham, shot with a hunting rifle, and speared through the neck by an arrow. Good heavens, it was a miracle the magistrate had only demanded Phineas surrender Neville’s journals.
Now, days later, Dunston and Mr. Drayton were preparing to leave. And so was Mr. Hawthorn. The Bow Street officer remained weakened from his injuries. Mr. Hawthorn sat across the table from Hannah looking grim as death, his square jaw hard, his interest in breakfast slight.
But, then, Hannah had not eaten more than a bite or two, either. She was coldly composed and beautifully gowned. She sipped her tea and refused to look at Mr. Hawthorn for any reason.
He refused to take his eyes from her.
Genie ached for them both, but she’d done all she could. Hannah had shuttered her heart to the man. Understandable, she supposed. Having suffered deep, permanent wounds, Hannah’s past distorted the shape of her future in much the same way as Edgar Erwin’s. Charging forth into love, risking her strong-yet-fragile heart, was simply out of the question.
“One day, you will want it enough,” Genie had told her gently the previous night. “And then, you’ll be brave. Because you are. Though you may not be ready.”
A single tear had slid down Hannah’s cheek. She’d tilted her chin to a proud angle. “I will learn to ride, Eugenia.”
Genie had grinned. Squeezed her hand. “Splendid. We shall start there, dearest.”
Now, as breakfast ended and the men prepared to depart, Hannah retreated to her bedchamber while Mr. Hawthorn eyed her with visible hunger. Dunston had arranged for a coach to take him back to London. As soon as she was out of sight, he climbed inside without another word.
Genie looped her arm through Phineas’s as they stood on the castle steps watching the men disappear down the drive. “I quite like Mr. Hawthorn.”
Phineas frowned. “He was helpful, I suppose.”
“You should attempt to like him, too.”
“I fail to see why. The probability that I shall ever set eyes upon him again is low. Five percent. Perhaps ten.”
“Oh, I’d put it higher than that.”
His eyes met hers. “I prefer to contemplate the probability that you’ll be naked within the hour.”
She chuckled. Drew him down for a kiss. “Easily one hundred percent, I daresay.”
He sighed and touched his forehead to hers. The scents of lemon and mint washed over her. His eyes closed for a moment. “I need to touch you again, Briar. I need to see that you are … well.”
Grinning, she stroked his jaw and gazed up into glowing green. “I rather thought you had verified my improved health several times last night.”
“A man of science must be diligent.”
“And this morning.”
“Inconclusive.”
“Twice before breakfast, if I recall.”
“Additional experiments are needed to ensure full rigor.”
She moaned, her belly heating. “I do enjoy your rigor.”
He bent and scooped her into his arms. She clung to his neck, kissed his jaw, his ear, the corner of his fascinating lips. Every part she could reach. By time he laid her upon his bed, she was trembling with heated shivers. Sliding amidst the emerald velvets and silver silks, she propped herself on her elbows to watch him disrobe. His eyes shone brightly as they lingered upon her breasts and hips.
Slowly, she tugged her skirts up her legs. “How naked should I be for your experiment, my lord?” She paused at her knees. “This naked?”
“More.”
Her thighs. “This naked?”
He discarded his trousers and climbed into bed, propping himself above her. “More.”
“Show me,” she whispered against his mouth.
He stripped away her stockings. Her skirts. Her bodice and corset and petticoats and shift. He stroked his palms across her nipples. Took the hard tips into his mouth—first one, then the other. He kissed his way down her center, pausing to linger, as he often did, upon her belly.
“Our babe will grow here, Eugenia.” He nuzzled her navel. “Our family will grow here.”
She smiled and stroked his hair. “How right you are, my love.”
Next, he traced a finger along her hip, near where Neville’s bullet had grazed her. The injury still smarted a bit, but she was healing remarkably well, thanks to Phineas’s teas and salves. He laid the softest kiss above and below the bandage.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Feverish.”
His eyes flew to hers, crinkled with concern.
“Your touch sets me afire.” She stroked his cheek, her hips undulating into the mattress. “Now, do get on with it.”
He laughed, low and flinty. The sound was wicked pleasure.
He kissed her belly. Lower. Then lower.
His fingers stroked her thighs. Higher. Then higher.
“Your petals are soft, Briar. Eager.” His fingers parted her folds and slid with maddening strokes around her swollen center. His eyes devoured her there, almost another touch. He dropped his head. Teased the little nub with his tongue. “Sweet, sweet nectar,” he whispered, his hot breath another stimulation. Two fingers slid easily inside her while his tongue worked and worked and worked.
The bright burst of heat and light expanded endlessly like a thundercloud over the sea as she lifted herself into his m
outh. Writhing and clutching at silver silk, she demanded, “Now, Phineas. Oh, please, my love. Now.”
Within seconds, he was filling her. Hard and deep and true. She held his eyes. Kissed his lips. Held him tight and gave him every ounce of pleasure she could.
Because he was hers. Every part of him. The scientist, the husband, the protector. The man. Whole and wondrous.
“God, how I love you, Briar.”
“Phineas,” she breathed. “My heart.”
When her peak came, his body thrust inside hers with mad fury. His eyes blazed, desperate and devouring. She held them as long as she could, wanting him to see her ecstasy. To know that his touch was the only one that could deliver it. And, as his name broke from her throat with a wrenching sob, she could see that he knew.
She was his and he was hers.
She would make him laugh when he grew too serious, and he would strengthen her when her confidence was shaken. Their family would grow. Their love would grow.
Genie knew it as surely as she knew red silk roses looked dashing with indigo plumes.
For, while their marriage might have been sown in the soil of scandal, their roots were now forever entwined.
*~*~*
EPILOGUE
“A griffin? Why, it is part eagle and part lion. Interestingly, legend has it the creature selects one mate for all its life. Quite similar to dragons, in that regard.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham while reading to her oldest grandson, Bain, on a peaceful winter morning.
Frost glittered on the stones of the drive. From above, Primvale’s landscape appeared painted in iridescent white. The sea sighed in the distance. The sun shone bright and pure.
Phineas plucked up a blanket from Eugenia’s sofa and walked out onto the terrace.
He wrapped the soft, red blanket around his beautiful wife’s shoulders. Then, he wrapped her in his arms. “What do you think?” he murmured in her ear.
She leaned back into him then propped her elbow on her wrist and tapped her lips with her finger. “It took a very long time.”
“Yes.”
“And a great deal of expense.”
“There is that.”
“I shall never regain the sleep I lost from being awakened every morning by hammers and chisels and overly jocular craftsmen.”
He chuckled. Kissed her neck. Felt her shiver. “But?”
“It is perfect, Phineas. More perfect than I ever imagined.”
Elation filled him. Pride and pleasure moved through him like lightning.
He’d not allowed her to see his design until yesterday, when the last chisel had finished its work. And her initial response had been wordless—tears. Kisses. A passionate afternoon spent demonstrating her appreciation with her mouth and hands and delicious body.
But he’d wanted to hear her say it. And now, she had.
His mother’s fountain had been transformed. The griffin remained. But where the serpent had once coiled, now branches and leaves and flowers twined. The sweetbriar’s thorns protected the griffin, and the griffin protected the precious blooms. They tangled skyward, strengthened by their embrace.
“I am glad you like it, Briar.”
She drew his palm to her newly rounded belly and laced her fingers between his. “I love it. And I love you.” She sniffed. “I also love my new bedchamber.” They had replaced the yellow silk with crimson in September. “Though I do not see why we keep a bed in there, as I cannot sleep anywhere but with you. Perhaps I shall turn it into a sitting room. Or a workshop.”
“Another workshop?”
“If I am to bring the latest fashions to the ladies of Bridport, I must have room to create, Phineas.”
He sighed. “I should think two workshops sufficient—”
“Do you have merely one garden?” she asked pertly.
He opted for silence.
“Quite right. Besides, Hannah has suggested expanding my offerings into Weymouth. She is quite brilliant, your sister. I’d no idea she had such a head for profits and percentages.”
He kissed the top of Eugenia’s head and savored the feel of their babe beneath his hand. “Come inside, my sweet one. It is too cold to stay out here much longer.”
“I have no worries on that score.”
Smiling, he murmured, “No?”
She smiled, too, her eyes glowing with love as she turned in his arms. “You always keep me warm, Phineas.”
He touched his forehead to hers. Breathed her in. Violets and cherries. He kissed her tenderly, then whispered his promise to the woman he loved. “And I always will, Briar. I always will.”
*~*~*
MORE FROM ELISA BRADEN
It’s far from over! There are more scandalous predicaments, emotional redemptions, and gripping love stories (with a dash of Lady Wallingham) to come in the Rescued from Ruin series. For new release alerts and updates, follow Elisa on Facebook and Twitter, and sign up for her free email newsletter, so you don’t miss a thing!
Plus, be sure to check out the other exciting books in the Rescued from Ruin series, available now!
The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Book One)
Victoria Lacey’s life is perfect—perfectly boring. Agree to marry a lord who has yet to inspire a single, solitary tingle? It’s all in a day’s work for the oh-so-proper sister of the Duke of Blackmore. Surely no one suspects her secret longing for head-spinning passion. Except a dark stranger, on a terrace, at a ball where she should not be kissing a man she has just met. Especially one bent on revenge.
The Truth About Cads and Dukes (Book Two)
Painfully shy Jane Huxley is in a most precarious position, thanks to dissolute charmer Colin Lacey’s deceitful wager. Now, his brother, the icy Duke of Blackmore, must make it right, even if it means marrying her himself. Will their union end in frostbite? Perhaps. But after lingering glances and devastating kisses, Jane begins to suspect the truth: Her duke may not be as cold as he appears.
Desperately Seeking a Scoundrel (Book Three)
Where Lord Colin Lacey goes, trouble follows. Tortured and hunted by a brutal criminal, he is rescued from death’s door by the stubborn, fetching Sarah Battersby. In return, she asks one small favor: Pretend to be her fiancé. Temporarily, of course. With danger nipping his heels, he knows it is wrong to want her, wrong to agree to her terms. But when has Colin Lacey ever done the sensible thing?
The Devil Is a Marquess (Book Four)
A walking scandal surviving on wits, whisky, and wicked skills in the bedchamber, Benedict Chatham must marry a fortune or risk ruin. Tall, redheaded disaster Charlotte Lancaster possesses such a fortune. The price? One year of fidelity and sobriety. Forced to end his libertine ways, Chatham proves he is more than the scandalous charmer she married, but will it be enough to keep his unwanted wife?
When a Girl Loves an Earl (Book Five)
Miss Viola Darling always gets what she wants, and what she wants most is to marry Lord Tannenbrook. James knows how determined the tiny beauty can be—she mangled his cravat at a perfectly respectable dinner before he escaped. But he has no desire to marry, less desire to be pursued, and will certainly not kiss her kissable lips until they are both breathless, no matter how tempted he may be.
Twelve Nights as His Mistress (Novella – Book Six)
Charles Bainbridge, Lord Wallingham, spent two years wooing Julia Willoughby, yet she insists they are a dreadful match destined for misery. Now, rather than lose her, he makes a final offer: Spend twelve nights in his bed, and if she can deny they are perfect for each other, he will let her go. But not before tempting tidy, sensible Julia to trade predictability for the sweet chaos of true love.
Confessions of a Dangerous Lord (Book Seven)
Known for flashy waistcoats and rapier wit, Henry Thorpe, the Earl of Dunston, is deadlier than he appears. For years, his sole focus has been hunting a ruthless killer through London’s dark underworld. Then Maureen Huxley came along. To keep her safe, he must keep her at arm’s lengt
h. But as she contemplates marrying another man, Henry’s caught in the crossfire between his mission and his heart.
Anything but a Gentleman (Book Eight)
Augusta Widmore must force her sister’s ne’er-do-well betrothed to the altar, or her sister will bear the consequences. She needs leverage only one man can provide—Sebastian Reaver. When she invades his office demanding a fortune in markers, he exacts a price a spinster will never pay—become the notorious club owner’s mistress. And when she calls his bluff, a fiery battle for surrender begins.
A Marriage Made in Scandal (Book Nine)
As the most feared lord in London, the Earl of Holstoke is having a devil of a time landing a wife. When a series of vicious murders brings suspicion to his door, only one woman is bold enough to defend him—Eugenia Huxley. Her offer to be his alibi risks scandal, and marriage is the remedy. But as a poisonous enemy coils closer, Holstoke finds his love for her might be the greatest danger of all.
*~*~*
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Reading romance novels came easily to Elisa Braden. She’s been doing it since she was twelve. Writing them? That took a little longer. After graduating with degrees in creative writing and history, Elisa spent entirely too many years in “real” jobs writing T-shirt copy … and other people’s resumes … and articles about giftware displays. But that was before she woke up and started dreaming about the very unreal job of being a romance novelist. Frankly, she figures better late than never.
Elisa lives in the gorgeous Pacific Northwest, where you’re constitutionally required to like the colors green and gray. Good thing she does. Other items on the “like” list include cute dogs, strong coffee, and epic movies. Of course, her favorite thing of all is hearing from readers who love her characters as much as she does.
