Dominic's Nemesis (13 page)

“What about your mother?”

“There are some women who should not be
allowed to procreate. My mother was one such woman. She had strange
beliefs—on religion, the Almighty and the other one—beliefs and
practices she
inflected
on us with malicious tenacity.”

“But without her you would not exist.”

“Perhaps it is better never to be born than
to live in suspended agony.” He cocked his dark head, supposing she
should understand what he meant.

His words alarmed Eden, reminding her of the
despair that had prompted her pseudo-suicide, but at the same time
his words also wove a tenuous bond between them. Had he, like she,
flirted with death? What had he endured to prompt such drastic
measures? Abuse? Neglect? A little of both, from what she could
gleam.

“Yes. I do see your point.” Taking a deep
breath, Eden prepared to ask the one question she
’
d been longing to know since she first
laid eyes on his shaded gaze. “Dominic, why do you wear the
spectacles?”

He stilled, then straightened…the emotional
floodgates dammed. His face was again a stoic mask. Uh-oh.
She
’
d finally driven him
a step too far. “Why wear clothes, Miss Prescott?” His tenor
clipped and sarcastic.

Familiar with his mood swings, she did not
flinch. “Society dictates that one
’
s nakedness be covered.”

An inky brow arched above the infamous
eyewear. His voice lowered to a velvety rumble. “Society
isn
’
t here now, Ms.
Prescott. And yet you still conceal your body beneath that
dress.”

Eden blushed at his outrageous challenge. No
doubt, designed to unnerve her. “Mister Ambrosi, I hardly
think-”

“Enough.” He dismissed any further comment.
“Ethan returned this morning. He and I are in agreement. It is
time, past time, you re-entered your life. We will send word to The
Prescotts. I am sure they will be more than happy to open their
home, perhaps even give you a season.”

No!
Her heart railed against the idea
of losing him so soon. “I am not so sure. In fact about it, I have
no faith in their willingness to take me in.”

He said nothing, but his intense stare
demanded an explanation.

“Papa and mama did not feel safe on the same
continent with them. Why should I trust them any more than they
did? Particularly, now, when I am defenseless. They could very well
throw me into the care of that Montgomery character.”

He tensed; a tick went to work at his jaw
line. “Why do you say that?”

Eden came to a sudden, reckless decision. If
what she suspected was true then he wouldn’t be altogether
horrified. And, she needed a reason…a legitimate reason to avoid
being sent away.

“I hear voices.” She confessed. “Imagine
people…see horrible events that haven
’
t
happened.
” She kept her eyes lowered and her hands clasped.
“I feel disembodied hands molesting me, have urges to do abominable
things.”

Eden allowed her gaze to wonder up to his
face, lowering her voice to a mere thread of sound. “You
’
re
different
too, aren’t
you.”

She searched his face for any hint of a
reaction: shock, guilt, fear, but found none. Not a twitch. She
might just as well have told him she had a bad dream.

He crossed his hands in front. “No.
I
’
m afraid my
differences
must be another of your pesky imaginings.”
Sarcasm abounded.

Feeling the need for added strength, Eden
stood. She approached him with a mind to eradicate his stoic manner
once and for all…ready to do battle if necessary. “You disappeared
straight from my arms last night. I didn
’
t imagine that, did I?”

“Is that your proof? Do you intend to run to
the constable…or better yet…the parish priest? Claiming witchcraft
and sacrilege.” His cavalier words, dared her to do just that, were
as a red flag to a bull. “What will you tell the priest and the
constable you were doing at the time, little one? Needle-work?”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Damn him! Eden knew she shouldn
’
t let him bait her, but she couldn
’
t seem to control her
irritation.

“I am American and I can return there anytime
I wish it. Why should I give a hoot if the lot of you English
dandies declare me ruined and unmarriageable? Had I any notion of
remaining respectable I wouldn
’
t have tarried on
this
estate not one night.
Haunted ponds. Scars that aren
’
t there. Voices in the shadows.” The accusations
slice through the air like flaming darts fired at enemy lines.
“Whisperings and frightened servants. A host who hides his fears
and inadequacies behind tinted glasses and conceit. I wonder…Just
who was Mr. Montgomery really investigating, Dominic, if not
me?”

Dom stood adjacent his desk, watching her
fume. Though logic was on his side, he could tell she wasn’t ready
to concede the battle. “You, Ms. Prescott, are a woman who has
attempted suicide, not once but twice over. Who would believe
you
?”

“Matthias Montgomery for one.” She lobbed
another stone at his glass house. Despite her delicate feminine
appearance, she was far from a shrinking violet. “But even if he
did not…what does it matter? It
’
s the implication that damns, not the
evidence.”

Dominic frowned. She had the right of it, he
knew. Hell, he
’
d echoed
the same sentiments to Ethan at breakfast. Having his own argument
thrown back in his face worried him. She wasn’t a fool either.

He was losing ground…he should retreat,
strategize, lest she press her advantage. Instead, he looked down
at the cluttered desktop, his fingers toying at the edge of the ink
well. He felt her watching him, as the strained silence stretched
out over a full minute.

“Would you do that…if I sent you away from
here?” He fidgeted with his glasses, waiting for her answer. Was
she angling to blackmail him? She could, with the knowledge she had
of him.

“No, Dominic. I wouldn
’
t do that to you.”

Dom exhaled, lifting his gaze to her. Weary
at the moment of fighting the urge to submit to the powerful draw
her fragile beauty had on him. He absorbed her graceful stance, the
wisps of blonde softness licking her nape. Her pouty rosebud mouth
triggered flashes of the night before, when she let him plunder
that moist hot cove at his leisure. His groin tightened at the
memory.

She
’
d gained a pound or two, he noticed. The dress she
wore today cling to an outlined form beneath…her breast though
small, curved hill-like in the bodice while her hips gently made
themselves known despite the wealth of under-things insulating
them.

“You may remain here while Ethan and I
contact your relatives.” He heard himself say. His heart filled
with a confusing mixture of relief and worry. “If they are as
unwelcoming as you claim…then we will make other arrangements.”

* * *

That was as much of a reprieve as she was
going to get, Eden realized. Still, it bought her hope and a few
more days—possibly another week—in the place that held for her a
snug fitting rightness. She
had
a friend in Kathleen, an ally she suspected in
the doctor, and a promise of possibilities with the man before her.
She felt more at home than she had since she
’
d fled her home in Boston and all its
stifling memories and losses.

He cleared his throat. Eden glanced around to
see that Dominic had moved to the door. “If you will excuse me, Ms.
Prescott.”

“Certainly.” She replied, back on her best
behavior.

But he paused mid-ways the threshold and
turned back.

“Anisocoria.
Heterochromia iridium. Unilateral ocular albinism. Take
your pick.
”

Her brow wrinkled at the foreign-sounding
words.

Dom tapped the side of his spectacles. “Cael
and Ethan are fond of obscure scientific explanations.”

“What…does all that mean? Does it affect your
sight?”

“Not overmuch.”

Eden
’
s gaze followed the Italian enigma as he exited,
leaving her with half-an-explanation. Naturally, she spent the rest
of the day in his magnificent library, researching the terms.
Taking long breaks to nap in front of the hearth, or sketch in the
beguiling sunlight beaming in from all directions. She had no
qualms about breaking her word to keep clear of his domain…not
after that kiss. He obviously had no plans to keep clear of
her.

She found herself anticipating rather than
dreading their next encounter, and whatever possible delight or
shock it may hold. She fed greedily off the provocative sensations,
the wayward longings he stirred in her…craving more not less.

Rank air hung, chilled, thin, and infused
with raw odors, the origins of which were better left unnamed. A
sad wooden cot buckled tiredly under the weight of two, one feeble
of limb, a second robust and beefy. The mattress, little more than
exaggerated straw-stuffed padding, bumped the floor with each new
thrust.

Matthias glanced down into bleary unfocused
windows to a mind no more aware of what was happening to its body
than a tree being chopped for firewood. Disgusted with the slack,
drool-smeared mouth, he turned loose one imprisoned wrist to
spread-eagle his hand across the nameless female face. He quickened
his pace, ready to have his pleasure and be done with the
deed…making a silent promise to select a more feisty subject next
time, still malleable, but also alive and kicking. Perhaps a
fair-skinned blonde like what he
’
d lucked upon at the Ambrosi estates? Or that
red-haired tiger, his cock twitched at the idea of having to tame
one for a change. He
’
d
grown tired of the busty brunettes he usually favored.

His current darling, a Baron’s illegitimate
mongrel, bonnie enough, but she lacked spirit and tended to indulge
in stupefying quantities of opium. Sticking his cock in her
amounted to little more than necrophilia. He silently reminded
himself to make a list in his journal of the new traits
he
’
d require and to have
Harry screen the latest batch of inmates for an upgrade as soon as
possible.

Breaths shot out in forceful puffs, a
guttural moan building deep in his throat as he climaxed strong and
lustful. One pivot of his bare backside and he
’
d disentangled himself and stood next to
the sprawled shadow on the cot. The Asylum Keeper finished
adjusting himself then retrieved his pants from around hairy
ankles.

An abrupt sound of sandpaper against glass
announced that someone had shoved the wooden barrier to the
peephole back in its sheath. A shaft of hallway light peeped
through before a saw-nosed face dominated the opening.

“Mr. Montgomery…” The nervous over-torqued
voice belonged to a man living under the gun, unsure if his value
outweighed his liabilities.

“I thought I told the lot of ya that I
didn
’
t wish to be
disturbed.”

“But, Boss, we got problems.”

Pants secured in place, Matthias cast a final
grimace at the blithering simpleton before throwing an age-worn
blanket over her gaping nakedness. “Take care.” With those parting
words, he threw the lock to extricate himself from the depressing
cinderblock.

Stepping out into one of many labyrinthine
hallways, Matthias felt his chest swell with the power and pride of
Napoleon. Here, at St. Ciaran Isis, he reigned. King and keeper,
feared and respected alike.

“Boss…”

Matthias, shook prematurely from his
post-coital reveling, snapped at the lazy-eyed custodian. “Wot is
it, Harry?”

“There
’
s some dandies here—they say from the social reform
board—making noise ‘bout an inspection.” He reported, anxious, as
he and the Asylum Keeper walked down the progression of archways
leading further into the dark mouth…of madness. “Says
they
’
s making the rounds
in Southwart. Bedlam, Newgate, Guy
’
s Hospital and wot not. I made ‘em wait as long as
I could.”

They traversed murky shafts of light whenever
they passed a door to a common room that had outside windows and
natural sunshine.

“Bribe the bastards and be done wit’em. I
‘ave more important matters to attend to.”
Matthias still hadn
’
t found much dirt to work with in the
Ambrosi case, little to none, if he were truthful with himself.

“
It
ain’
t that simple, Mr. Montgomery, sir. See…” They passed a
particularly noisy common room, packed with giggling, screeching,
wailing, clawing inmates…unrestrained, many with wild eyes and
android movements. Matthias paused to do a peek-a-boo. Hit by the
wall of body heat that cooked the crowded space, he quickly counted
four cudgel-wielding wardens. Satisfied that there were adequate
custodians for the room volume, he moved back into the drafty
hallway.

“Go on, Harry, let
’
s ‘ave all of it.” Matthias prompted,
knowing the imbecile had screwed up yet again.

“Dis way, I left ‘em at one of
the…eh…
observation
suites.
” The jittery Harry led the Asylum Keeper down
another gloomy hallway.

Imbecile did not begin to describe him. The
boy, gangly and just on the right side of twenty, deserved to be
locked up in simpleton
’s
prison.

“And just wot the bloody
‘
ell are they doing outside the observation
suites, Harry?” Though Matthias was sickeningly sure he already
knew.