Enthralled

by Lora Leigh

  Not that it mattered. His fidelity had never been the problem; his absence was. But believing that he’d been true to his vows hurt less than believing he hadn’t been.

  And she would not think about how substantial his new arms were.

  Those arms moved restlessly at his sides, steel fingers clenching. He turned his cheek against her palm.

  “Georgie?”

  His voice didn’t sound so painfully dry now, more like his own; her name was a low, deep rumble.

  “I’m still here, Thom.” Right where she’d been for years.

  His unfocused gaze looked beyond her shoulder. “I failed you, Georgie.”

  “Yes.” A hard little laugh escaped her. “Yes, you surely—”

  “I was coming to stay. To hold you every night.” A rough hitch of his breath was like a hook through her chest. “But I lost it. I lost it all.”

  Coming to stay? Her heart suddenly seemed pinched in a vise. She couldn’t breathe.

  It meant nothing. The words of a man blissed on opium. And even if they were true, he’d said them far too late.

  But despite the stern reminder Georgiana gave herself, almost a minute passed before she could speak again. “You were coming to stay?”

  He didn’t respond. Still only seeing the Georgiana in his dream—or perhaps seeing nothing at all now.

  She tried again. “What did you lose, Thom? Oriana? Your crew? And who shot you?”

  Silence. She wanted to shake his shoulders and rouse him. To make him answer. But there would be time for answers tomorrow.

  Nothing he could say would change her mind. But she would need the time to ponder what she would say if Thom’s answer was that he’d hoped to stay.

  TWO

  He never should have married her.

  Sitting naked on the pallet, Thom flicked the coin over in his palm. Just a small bit of gold—and all that was left of his hopes and intentions.

  Almost nothing.

  He’d wanted to give Georgiana so much more. He’d been arrogant enough to believe that he could. But this coin had been waiting for Thom when he’d awoken, as if to make certain he didn’t spend another second fooling himself. In sleep and dreams, her face and her touch had been so close. Then he’d seen that glint of gold, and the memory of everything he’d lost had crashed through his mind like a cold wave, sweeping those dreams away.

  Losing it all was the last thing he remembered: the airship flying in low over Oriana’s sails, the rail cannon firing a chunk out of his ship’s bow, and the turned-out pirate who’d descended from the airship and asked Thom for the chest of coins—then the crack of a pistol and the stabbing pain through his side. A dim recollection of the waves and a lighthouse might have been memories or more dreams. Thom didn’t know. There wasn’t anything solid after the bullet, until the glint of gold.

  But the room he was in now told the rest of the story. Henry Tucker’s house—the bedchamber on the ground floor. Thom must have been too heavy to carry up the stairs, so Georgiana’s parents had put him in their own bed. The mattress dripped water that puddled on the stone floor. Only one reason for that. He’d had a fever and they’d packed him in ice.

  It would have been better if they’d left him for dead. Now he’d have to get off this pallet and look Georgiana in the eye. Tell her that he’d come home with nothing, and that he was leaving again. But Thom thought that going this time might kill him—because this time, he would be leaving for good.

  She deserved more than this. He couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t make her happy. He had to let her go, give her a chance to find a man who knew how to be a husband. Who didn’t return empty-handed.

  Now Thom didn’t even have a ship.

  He dressed, his movements slow. The bullet through his side was nothing more than a twinge now, but he didn’t want to hurry. From the kitchen he heard a woman’s light tread and the clink of utensils. Georgiana, or her mother. Though he ached to see his wife, a step out of this room was a step closer to leaving. And if it was her mother, he dreaded the woman’s cheer. He’d never seen Jane Tucker unhappy. Always simmering with joy, and a smile now would be a curving dagger through his heart.

  But the delay could only last until he pushed his feet into his boots. He braced himself for whoever waited beyond the door, battening down the pain in his chest. He couldn’t falter in this. Georgiana was a stubborn woman. She wouldn’t give up on their marriage easily, and when she argued, Thom would be tempted to soften and give in. But he’d spent four years forcing himself to stay away. He would have to rely on that strength again.

  Silently, he opened the door. At the table, Georgiana sat with her back to him—just like the first time he’d seen her. He’d been standing on the deck of her father’s ship, Sea Bloom, returning after a five-month whaling expedition. Georgiana had been waiting at the docks with her mother, but she’d turned to greet someone, and he’d only seen her black hair, her graceful neck, and a summery yellow dress that left her arms bare.

  She was just as graceful now, but her hair had changed. Instead of a long braid, she’d rolled it into a thick ball at her nape. A dress of dark blue hugged her figure, with long sleeves for winter.

  Aside from the pounding of his heart, Thom had been quiet, but Georgiana must have heard him. She turned her head just slightly, so that he glimpsed the shell of her ear and the shadow behind her jaw. “You’re awake and well?”

  “I am.”

  “Sit and eat, then.”

  Georgiana rose and moved to the stove as she spoke. There was never any nonsense about her when a task needed to be done, even one as simple as breakfast. Always practical. Many of her father’s sailors called her cold and humorless, but Thom had appreciated her steady nature from the first.

  And she wasn’t cold. Nor was she humorless. Just reserved. After those barriers had fallen away, he’d discovered that her teasing could be gentle or sharp, and usually at unexpected moments in their conversations. During the long walks they’d taken while courting, Thom had laughed more with Georgiana than he could recall laughing in all of the years that had come before, and he’d realized that far more went on in her head than ever came out of her mouth.

  But there was nothing in his head except Georgiana. She’d made him happy. He’d wanted to do the same for her. He hadn’t.

  Heart heavy, Thom chose the nearest chair and sat. “As soon as I’ve finished, I’ll haul out that wet bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  She returned from the stove. Oh, sweet blue heavens. Standing close, she set his bowl and mug on the table, and the fragrance of her filled his senses, that delicate flowery scent from a bloom he didn’t know the name of, but that he always thought of as Georgiana’s. Her hair had smelled of it the first time he’d kissed her, moments after she’d accepted his hand. Her nightgown had carried the same scent on the night of their wedding, and it had taken every bit of his control not to strip it from her body and discover if she smelled the same everywhere.

  It took all of his control now. He closed his eyes, fingers clenching against the urge to carry her upstairs and lose himself in her warmth. Never again. Even if he’d intended to stay, never again. He’d promised himself the last time, when she’d been under him, whimpering and squirming as she bore the pain of his raging need.

  Never again.

  He’d done wrong, asking her to marry him. His need had been part of that wrong, coming upon him from the moment she’d turned to face him on the docks eight years ago. He’d been fool enough to believe he had that hunger under control.

  He couldn’t let such needs rule him. He controlled them now. He kept them in order. Marriage should have done that, too. Marriage put them both in their proper place. Wanting a wife, then having her in bed. That was a proper order. Yet his hunger had only grown, and his control had become a bare, slight thing. He’d wanted her every second—if not inside her, then just to be with her.

  Just as he wanted her now. But her presence and th
at fragrance weren’t a poor substitute for the bed. They were a sweet pleasure of their own.

  She moved on to her chair, and her perfume was replaced by the scent of hot grains wafting up from his bowl. He glanced down. Some kind of porridge. It didn’t matter. Everything he’d ever eaten in this house was better than what he had on his ship.

  Georgiana must have read his silence as a question. “I sweetened it with honey,” she told him. “No sugar.”

  He hadn’t doubted. “Thank you.”

  And though she drank tea, she’d given him coffee, because two hundred years ago the Horde had slipped the bugs in through sugar and tea, then put up their towers that made slaves of an entire population. He’d only had to tell her once what he would and wouldn’t eat, and she’d always provided what he needed without asking why. That was Georgiana. She hadn’t pressed him to talk about memories he’d rather forget, or of the occupation in England. Thom didn’t think about his arms being taken and replaced with iron, or the years on a boat, hauling up fish. He didn’t think of the frenzies and the revolution. All that was done. He’d left England behind and found himself in Skagen, where he’d tried to make the sort of life that other men did, men who hadn’t been born under the boot of the Horde.

  He’d tried and failed. Thom was his own master now. But he would never be what other men were.

  Holding her mug cupped between her hands, Georgiana watched him eat, her green eyes steady and calm. “You’ll need to speak with the magistrate about the bullet wound.”

  Mouth full, he nodded.

  “Who shot you?”

  “I ran into pirates,” he said between bites.

  “Your crew?”

  There was no crew. Thom shook his head, but his mouth was full again, and she went on before he could answer.

  Her voice troubled, she asked, “And Oriana?”

  “Stolen.”

  Along with his new submersible, and a fortune in gold coins. His throat closed, making it impossible to swallow.

  It was time to tell her that this was done.

  But he couldn’t yet. He couldn’t meet Georgiana’s eyes now, either. His gaze dropped to the bowl. Still mostly full, but he couldn’t eat. And there was one question that still had to be asked before he could leave. “It’s been some years since I was here.”

  Just the corners of her mouth tilted upward, as they did when her humor was sharp. “Yes, it has.”

  “Was there a child?” He had to force it out. “The last time.”

  “It’s difficult to conceive a child when your husband spills his seed on the way out the door.”

  Heat rushed to his face. He hadn’t actually spent on the floor, but the way he’d rushed out of the room to escape the pain and shame of hurting her, he might as well have. “And your father, mother?”

  Her smile disappeared. Her thick lashes swept down. Quietly, she said, “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?” Thom stared at her. “Dead?”

  “Yes.”

  When she looked up again, moisture had pooled in her eyes. She abruptly rose from the table to pace its length. No task to complete. Just upset.

  “How long ago?” His voice was rough.

  “A month after you came home last. The lump fever swept through town. They both caught it.”

  Almost four years ago. So Thom’s failure was worse than he’d known. Raised in a Horde crèche, he didn’t know what it was to have a mother or father. But he knew she had loved them. Losing them must have ripped her heart to shreds.

  “I should have been here.”

  “Yes.”

  Her soft reply was a heavy condemnation. Thom knew he’d never stop feeling its weight. “Who’s been supporting you, Georgie?”

  “I have been, Thom. Sea Bloom came into my possession. I made use of her.”

  Throat thick, he nodded. He’d let it all fall out of order. Her father had told him, over and over. Thom’s place as a husband was to support his wife, support any children. And not to come back until he had something worth bringing.

  Go on, Thom, and make yourself a man. I’ll look after her while you’re gone.

  But her father hadn’t. And Thom shouldn’t have relied on anyone to help him. He’d been so focused on trying to do what a man should, on trying to make her happy, that everything had lost its place. Georgiana had been supporting herself, while Thom had come home with nothing.

  And she wouldn’t be arguing with him, he realized. Not his strong, practical Georgiana. She’d see all the wrong here, too, and let him go.

  With a sigh, she took her seat again. “The money you sent was appreciated.”

  “It wasn’t much.”

  “It was enough.” Her steady gaze held his. “What are your intentions now?”

  “I’ll be going again.”

  “Without a ship?”

  Without anything. No home, no work. But he’d been there before. He’d left England with nothing, and had found everything here.

  Now it had gone all wrong. Even if he found work, found a place to sleep, Thom didn’t think his life would ever be right again. It didn’t matter where he went, what he did.

  But he had to give some kind of answer. He picked the name of the nearest town. “I’ll try to find work in Fladstrand. Maybe on the docks.”

  “Not in Skagen?”

  “No.” He made himself say it, though the ache in his chest felt like it would rip open and swallow him whole. “It’ll be for the best. I’m hardly a husband to you. Never bringing you anything worth having. Not doing what makes you happy.”

  For a long second, Georgiana didn’t react. Just looked at him. Finally, she nodded. “We’ll go into town and see the magistrate together, then, and set about drawing up papers of separation.”

  “Papers?”

  “Legal papers, Thom. Marriage binds us together by law. Those ties have to be dissolved.”

  He hadn’t even known there’d been anything official to it—he’d thought the marriage had just been a ceremony and a promise. But she’d been tied to him by law. Something as real and as solid as the emotions that were choking him. And no sooner had he learned of them, those bonds were to be broken.

  The ache in his chest burrowed deeper, threatening to overwhelm his control. But he wouldn’t let pain be his master.

  Jaw clenched, he gave a sharp nod. “That seems sensible.”

  “We’ll have to decide how to divide the money and property.”

  Thom didn’t want any of it. “What I have is yours. Though it’s not much. I never made much.”

  And when he had, he’d lost it all.

  She slowly nodded. Then her gaze fell to his gloved hands. “You made enough for those arms.”

  Which would have cost more than Thom had earned in four years, if he’d bought them. But he hadn’t paid anything for the prosthetics, except for the time he’d spent helping a blacksmith build a better diving machine.

  He could imagine how it appeared to Georgiana, though. Sending her tiny bits of money, yet coming home with arms fit for a king.

  “They were a gift,” he said.

  “From Ivy Blacksmith?”

  A new note had entered her voice, something hard and trembling. No surprise, that. He’d kept notorious company when he’d helped Ivy.

  “Yes. You know of her?”

  “I heard rumors of your acquaintance. And Mad Machen’s obsession with her is just as well-known. He came into town about three years ago, searching for her, and there weren’t many people who dared leave their houses while he was here.” She looked down at her cup, her thumb rubbing along the rim. “Is he the pirate who shot you?”

  Why would Mad Machen have reason for that? Thom had no argument with the man.

  “That wasn’t him. It was some nobby gent.” But even as Thom spoke, he realized what she’d been getting at. Sharp anger spit up his throat. Had people told her that he’d been carrying on with Ivy? “Whatever you heard about me and her, it wasn’t anything like that. Is
this why you’re agreeing to the separation?”

  Her gaze lifted to his. “We have been separated, Thom. This just makes it official.”

  Official. And he was suddenly desperate for her to argue, to persuade him to stay. Maybe that’s what he’d wanted all along. So he could be secure knowing that he’d tried to do right by her, telling her that he’d leave—yet remaining here when she asked him to. Now he wanted to beg her not to let him go.

  But this was for the best. He knew it. Now he just needed to persuade his heart of it.

  Softly, she asked, “Why did you keep leaving, Thom?”

  I wanted to make you happy. But he hadn’t. And his throat was so rough, he could hardly speak. But this might be the last she ever asked of him. He’d give her this, at least.

  “I wanted to bring something back to you.” And he’d brought a little. “This is what I have left. It’s yours.”

  He slid the gold coin across the table. She barely glanced at it before her solemn gaze returned to his.

  “You should keep—”

  “You’ll take it, Georgie! Let me give you one damn thing worth having, then maybe I can pretend that I—” Clenching his jaw, Thom bit off the rest. He was losing control. Not with her. Abruptly he stood, chair legs scraping across stone. “I’ll haul that bed out.”

  * * *

  Georgiana gathered her coat and reticule while Thom went to fire up the steamcoach’s furnace. She expected him to return to the house and wait for the boiler to heat, rather than staying out in the cold morning air, but as the minutes passed she realized that he wasn’t coming. She made her way out the roadside entrance of the house and to the shed, but stopped before going in. By the trickle of steam rising from the coach’s vents, she could see that the boiler wasn’t ready—and neither was Thom. He stood at the side of the coach, his hands braced against the aluminum frame supporting the roof. His head hung down between his arms, eyes closed and face rigid.