by Marina Myles
Her panic was interrupted by a sudden rapping at the door. Draven jerked his head up.
“Who is it?” he thundered.
“It’s Rogers, sir. I’m sorry to interrupt yer work, but it’s yer mother.”
“My mother?”
“Yes, sir. Her ladyship has been taken very ill. She’s in her bedchamber and is askin’ for ye.”
“Yes . . . yes, of course. I’ll be right there.”
Isabella’s heart plummeted. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Helena had planned the interruption.
Draven gave her a quick, but gentle kiss and rose to his feet. He offered her his hand. “We shall go together.”
Gathering her discarded clothing, she shook her head. “Hurry and attend to Helena. I shall be along shortly.”
He dressed quickly, without making a sound. “We shall continue this later, my beauty.”
She shot him a sheepish look before he planted another kiss on her lips. As Draven rushed out the door, Isabella’s cheeks flamed. They’d shared a pivotal moment to be sure. A few minutes more and she would have gotten Draven to shatter the vow he’d made to deny her intimacy, bringing her one step closer to getting pregnant.
Was she crazy to think this progress outweighed the discovery that her husband became violent beneath every full moon?
Chapter Eighteen
Isabella made her way to Helena’s bedchamber. Muffled voices filtered through the door, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. She rapped lightly and waited. It was the countess’s lady maid, Alice, who let her in.
Isabella nodded her appreciation to the young girl then neared Helena’s bed. Her mother-in-law lay amid a sea of pillows, pale and still while the physician who’d been summoned spoke with Draven in the corner of the room. Isabella studied the two men as they talked. She found the doctor’s serious expression daunting and wondered if Draven felt the same. He spotted her and motioned for her to join them.
“I believe your mother will be fine, Lord Winthrop,” Dr. Lamstein said after sketching a respectful bow in Isabella’s direction. “What she needs now is plenty of rest. Whatever it was that caused her sudden illness has taken a tremendous toll on her body. Hence, she’ll be very weak for a few days. Please keep her in bed and give her plenty of tea and salts.”
Draven dragged his fingers through his hair. “What could have made my mother so sick? Something she ate?”
Dr. Lamstein’s gray eyes flickered with doubt. “It’s difficult to say, but in my professional opinion it was something more than spoiled food. Her ill state evolved much too quickly and violently and the pallor of her skin is suspect. My assumption is that someone tried to poison your mother, my lord.”
The color drained from Draven’s face. “She was . . . poisoned?”
“As unlikely as it may seem, yes,” the doctor replied as he packed his equipment into a black, leather bag. “Does this house have a still room?”
“Yes,” Draven said. “In the cellar.”
“Then strychnine is my guess. It’s a poison distilled from plants. And it is quite easy to make this compound in one’s home.”
Isabella knew that Draven hated his stepmother with a passion, but did he despise her enough to want her dead? She dug her nails into his arm.
“The countess is lucky to be alive,” Lamstein informed them. “If she continues to reject all the food you try to give her, we may have to leech her to release all the poison from her bloodstream.”
Draven escorted the doctor out while Isabella’s nerves sped. When he reappeared, he instructed Mrs. Eaton, who had entered the room, to stay with his mother. Then he took Isabella by the hand and led her into the hallway where he drew her close.
Heaving out a breath, she stepped away from him with a frown. “Who could be responsible for this and why?”
“The love loss between my mother and me is no secret. But if I wanted her dead, I would have done away with her long ago.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
“Come now, Isabella. From the look on your face, you are wondering if I’m responsible.”
Confused, she said nothing. He hovered over her, such an enormous man and so utterly complex.
“I need to know that you believe me,” he said. “I have no other allies in this place.”
Leaning her face close to his crisp white shirt, she inhaled his scent for strength. He had placed his trust in her moments ago and now she must try and do the same. “I do.”
“Good.” His voice was firm. “I plan to investigate my stepmother’s poisoning and leave no stone unturned.”
“I can’t imagine any member of the household staff having any real motive to poison Helena.” Isabella bit her bottom lip. “Besides, she and I ate the same things for breakfast this morning.”
“Thank God you aren’t sick,” Draven said. He glanced about to make certain they were alone. “I’ll say it once more. I despise Helena, it’s true. But I would never try to murder her.”
She nodded slowly. Murder was such a heinous act. The thought glazed over her, numbing her like a layer of ice. She raised her tear-rimmed eyes to his.
“Why aren’t you showing more signs that you believe me?” he asked with a scowl.
Her dry throat blocked any reassuring words she should have said. All she could think of was that there had been a full moon last night....
“You’re known as the Earl of Madness,” she finally said. “A man who committed murder in the past.”
“And you believe the pathetic gossip that claims I am mad?”
“No. I—”
Draven’s hands clenched at his sides. He pressed his lips together until the color drained from them. He stalked away and Isabella’s heart dropped. Had they just severed the only signs of closeness they’d ever shared?
Chapter Nineteen
The afternoon hours stretched into evening, with the majority of the servants splitting their time between chores and sitting with Helena. Isabella offered to watch over Draven’s mother for a few hours so Mrs. Eaton could prepare some meals. When the housekeeper returned, Isabella decided to confine herself to her room.
A knock sounded on the door as she dined in front of the fireplace. She secured a wrapper and when she discovered it was her father, she let him in. He wrapped his arms around her and the feel of his cold cheek stirred memories of her childhood.
“Mrs. Eaton told me what happened to Helena,” he said. “Why on earth would anyone want to poison her?”
She motioned him toward the fire. “I’ve been pondering it for most of the day. Helena can be disagreeable, but I can’t imagine someone hating her enough to want her dead.”
Her father shook his head as he sat down. “Poison! Such a ghastly, coldhearted act.”
Isabella knelt beside him. She longed to tell him everything yet she couldn’t. If she revealed the countess as Draven’s stepmother she was sure her father would seek legal recourse to end her marriage on the charge that Draven was born a bastard. “I feel it’s my duty to help solve this mystery,” she finally said.
Her father paused. “Isa, I didn’t believe in the rumors of your husband’s madness before you two married. But now I’m reconsidering. Maybe coming back here was a grave mistake.”
She twisted her hands together in her lap. She made a promise to stand beside Draven and she wouldn’t abandon him again. “What are you saying?”
He leaned forward with a frown. “I’m saying Draven may be dangerous. If he ever harmed you—”
She drew back.
Harris stared into the fire with the strangest of looks. “There is something decidedly malicious about your husband. Maybe he’s the one who tried to poison Helena.”
Isabella gasped. He’s not evil. He’s under a curse.
Her father rose and cupped his hand to her face. He studied the look on her face before he spoke again. “I’m sorry, my dear. I can see that you truly have feelings for your husband. Of course I wa
nt you to be happy together. I just wish you didn’t have to rely on Draven for money.”
The thought made her feel dirty. She winced. “We both know that working is impossible for you until your memory is restored.”
Harris nodded. “And we both know that you returned to Draven in order to help me, and for that I can never thank you enough. But you deserve to be happy, Isabella. We will clear your husband of this poisoning business, don’t you worry.”
“I know he didn’t do it.”
“If Draven isn’t behind all this, we’ll prove it.” He pressed a hand against his forehead and slumped to the side.
Alarm swept through Isabella. “Are you all right?”
“Damn these headaches!”
“Maybe you should go lie down,” she said.
He said he would. “You look tired as well. Will you go to bed soon?”
She told him she would but she doubted she’d be able to sleep.
The afternoon air felt crisp on Draven’s face as he trudged into the woods. He needed to escape the stuffy atmosphere—and the suspecting glances—darting around Thorncliff Towers.
He released his queue and slipped off his silk cravat. More and more, he had the urge to roam free in the outdoors. The fresh air cleared his mind and heightened his senses. He could hear the caws of remote birds and spot the needles of tree branches in the distance. And the scent of blood. He smelled it everywhere. In every nearby creature and in every person who crossed his path.
But in no one did he smell it more than in Isabella. Her metallic scent tempted him like a starving boy in a sweet shop. She made his pulse quicken and his loins react. But the way he responded to her was dangerous and the worst part was, she had no idea of the effect she had over him.
Glowering, Draven made his way through a maze of trees. Isabella assumed his curse turned him into a monster in the allegorical sense. And maintaining that assumption, he thought, was best. He had been a fool during the last full moon when he’d watched her through the window. She had realized the beast’s eyes were human.
Thank God she hadn’t deemed them more familiar than that. Brushing aside a tree branch, Draven stepped into the clearing in the woods where the Szgamy Gypsies had made their camp all those years ago. His stomach surged and he closed his eyes as the night he killed that innocent girl replayed in his head. He heard the crack of the rock as it hit her head and he saw her dark hair fall over her face as she crashed to the ground. Bile rose in his throat at the memory.
Now Isabella knew he was a murderer. Had he been wise in telling her everything? He wanted to believe that she would never use the information against him. What’s more, he desperately needed an ally, someone to support him in light of Helena’s poisoning incident. He was innocent, but it was obvious that Isabella doubted him.
He turned away from the conjured scene. Breaking into a sprint, he raced through the forest, desperate to be free of his past, yearning to escape the guilt and the torment it brought. Perspiration beaded his forehead. As he pounded over twisted vines and clusters of foxglove, he realized he was running faster than he’d ever moved before.
The idea of Isabella’s creamy neck pounded his thoughts.
Tonight there would be no full moon. Should he seek her out?
Isabella couldn’t sleep. The clock struck midnight and she rolled over with a groan. Disturbed by her last conversation with Draven, she crawled out of bed and paced the length of her room. She hadn’t meant to belie her suspicions that he’d poisoned Helena, but she had always been a poor liar.
Deciding that she needed some fresh air, she resolved to go for a walk. She layered a shawl under her wool overcoat and scurried into the damp, cold night. To her surprise, she encountered Draven sitting in the garden. His slick hair glistened in rich, black waves and brushed the top of his collar. The sight of him sped Isabella’s heart.
She debated returning to the house before he saw her. But he turned in her direction and his mouth broadened into a charming smile. She sucked in a breath.
“Isabella,” he said, standing.
She came closer. He reached out and grasped her hands.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he whispered.
“Neither could I.” She cast her eyes downward. “Draven, I’m sorry I suspected you. I thought about it and you couldn’t have slipped poison into Helena’s food or drink. You were in your suites all morning.”
He smiled ruefully. “If I were you, I would have suspected me too.”
Relief washed over her. She sat beside him on the stone bench.
“How is Helena doing?” he asked.
“She was sleeping soundly when I left her. The herbal elixir is bringing back the color in her face.”
“Is she keeping her food down?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good news.” He exhaled deeply and gazed up at the night sky. “It seems likely that she will recover.”
Isabella faced him. “Draven, I spoke to my father this afternoon.”
“Does he know about my mother being poisoned?”
“Yes.” She paused. “He thought you may be responsible for the attempt on Helena’s life.”
Draven showed no signs of surprise or anger. “I know my name will remain on the top of the suspect list until the real perpetrator is caught.”
Isabella’s shoulders sagged.
They sat in silence. The moon peeked out on occasion from behind a shroud of billowing clouds. Draven looked up at the stars and Isabella followed his gaze.
“I’ve always had a fascination with the moon,” he said as his breath lingered in the air. “Scholars claim that we never see more than one side of it.”
Intrigued, Isabella tilted her head. “Is that true?”
“We’re able to see only the side of the moon upon which the sun shines.”
She made an ominous face. “And what do you suppose lurks on the dark side?”
Draven’s brows gathered together. “Something dangerous. Perhaps something evil.”
Isabella shuddered. She didn’t want to think that something as beautiful as a full moon could turn a man into a monster. Especially not the man she was falling in love with.
He rubbed her icy hand with his surprisingly warm one.
“Please,” she said as tears sprang to her eyes, “let’s not speak of anything sinister.”
Draven wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. His touch shot excitement to every inch of her body. She was still frightened of him, but not frightened enough to resist her gravitation toward him. He looked so handsome bathed in the glow of the moon. The ivory light exaggerated his dark eyes and complemented the olive tone of his skin.
She, in return, actually felt beautiful under the sincerity of his gaze. Ignoring the caution that coiled in her chest, she decided to let emotions drive her actions.
Would Draven continue what they’d started in his bedchamber?
To her delight, he leaned in for a kiss. She moved against him. As he slid his hand up the length of her arm, her senses began to whirl. And when he reached inside her heavy coat and deepened the kiss, she moaned. Gently, his fingers traced the straps of her nightgown beneath the heavy material. Then they dropped to the lace trim of her bodice to pull her breasts free of the material. Isabella sucked in a breath. Draven drew away with a dark stare to watch her alabaster mounds swell in the pale moonlight. As he fondled them hungrily, his passion for her became apparent. Shifting forward, he dipped a hand beneath her nightgown and inched his fingers inside her pantalets.
While he flicked her clitoris, he ran the tip of his tongue along her neck. Hot moisture surged between Isabella’s legs. When he claimed her mouth again, she groaned deep and low.
“You will be mine tonight,” he murmured against her lips.
Isabella’s blood heated as Draven pulled her to her feet. The feel of his brandy-scented breath floating across her face made her heart pump as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
They stood face-to-
face, a mere centimeter of air separating their lips. She felt like screaming aloud for she hungered for the feel of his mouth on hers again. As if he, too, could no longer stand the restraint, Draven burst forward for a kiss more passionate, more deliberate, and more flamingly tender than any he had bestowed on her.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, breaking contact. “From the minute I laid eyes on you, I’ve been waiting to make love to you.”
“Then make love to me now,” she said breathlessly.
Draven replaced her coat and led her into the house. When they reached the door of his suite, he carried her across the threshold. But this time he didn’t drop her to her feet right away—as he had on their wedding night. This time he cradled her in his arms and lavished her with scalding kisses. When he set her down, Draven began to take away her clothing in quick motions. Once Isabella was stripped of every item, firelight flicked her curved shadow against the wall.
Gasping at the sight of her nude before him, Draven scooped her into his arms again and marched through his private library to the bedchamber. When he reached the bed, he kissed her deeply then spread her over the sheets as if she were the silkiest of ribbons. He kept eye contact with her as he disrobed, his stare caressing her body.
When he joined Isabella on the bed, the feel of his nakedness shot a thrill through her.
“Let me do everything to you, my beauty,” Draven said. Rolling toward her, he stroked the line of her jaw. “I’ll start by tasting your breasts.”
Deciding to trust his lead, Isabella demurred and nestled her head against the pillow. Draven’s full lips dipped across her mouth and chest, causing her legs to tremble. After flashing a devilish grin, he shifted his lips to her erect nipples. His tongue lapped the pearly buds and sounds of her pleasure bounced between a groan and a pathetic whimper. He seemed to enjoy sucking her breasts into hard points because he drew back every once in a while to admire them.
While Draven feasted, his hand drifted across her stomach to the curve of her hip. He traced its hollow shape before caressing lower to the titian hair between her thighs. His sex bobbed in hot beats against her as his fingers petted her silky mound. Another passionate kiss released more of the fire they had both repressed. And when his fingers found their way inside the folds of Isabella’s core, desire exploded through her like a leaping flame.
