Dominic's Nemesis (21 page)

When he finally did speak again, his voice
was refined and educated. He held out the volume for her
inspection. “
The Modern Prometheus
. Have you read it?”

Eden stumbled again, this time knocking her
shawl askew. She recovered and ambled forward to the olive branch
he offered. Somehow she managed to make it to the ottoman without
twisting an ankle. “No. I prefer poetry to prose: Byron, Keats, and
the like.”

She rolled the volume around in her hands,
flipping through the gold-edge pages with vague interest. “What is
it about?”

“A man who creates a monster, and then
refuses to love it. The monster does not respond well to
rejection.”

“A horror novel, then.” Her hands stilled,
and she held the book out to him.

Amber glistened on her face, ignoring her
outstretched hand. “Will you read a passage?”

Subtle challenge or polite request? His
inflectionless voice didn
’
t convey. Eden retracted the book, and flipped to
the front page. She felt his eyes stalking her like a shadow.

“You don
’
t trust me.”

“Why do you say that?”

His expression would reveal nothing, so Eden
did not bother looking up. “The way you stare, I feel like I should
make off with the silver so as not to disappoint.”

“Curiosity, not mistrust.”

When she did chance a glimpse, he was leaning
back, amber cloaked, with his head resting partially on the table
back of the sofa. An elegant enigma. If nothing else, she found him
a distraction from her own thoughts.

“Read.”

So, she did.

* * *

Dominic reclined on the settee, not relaxed,
but striving to appear so. Cael hovered at the mantle, toying with
the crumpled parchment. Dominic had rarely seen his self-possessed
brother fidget.

“Is this what triggered it?” He held up
Greyson
’
s message, not
quite looking at him.

“In a way. Ethan is upstairs, you say?”

“Yes, shall I summon him?” Cael pivoted
toward the study door.

Alarmed at the prospect of being alone with
his thoughts, Dom halted him. “Don
’t leave.
”

“Eh, that makes it rather difficult.”

“I will see him later then.” He caught Cael
observing him askance a third time. “What
’
s on your mind Cael?”

“Just wondering when you
’
re going to realize you
’
re not wearing your spectacles.”

He blinked twice before the words soaked
through. “She saw me.”

Cael
nodded.
“Funny, how the mind works, protecting us from
things we aren
’
t quite
ready to know.”

Dominic remembered vividly seeing her, being
overcome by her calming spirit. But no thoughts existed of her
specific expression as she stared at him. “How did she react? Was
she…
repulsed?
”

“Hardly.” His brother scoffed with a
half-smile. “Just the opposite. I practically had to muscle her out
the door.”

Dom pretended interest in the hearthrug,
whilst the fist gripping his heart slackened. She
’
d seen him and still did not shy away.
“You know, I once begged Ethan to gouge them out.” Dom felt
Cael
’
s flinch at his
revelation. “But he wouldn
’
t.”

“It was Lillian, then, not Lucca. I always
thought…”

Dom raised his asymmetrical gaze to collide
with his brother’s concerned eyes. His strength swelled with the
knowledge that Eden could still want him even after witnessing his
deformity. “My father never laid a finger on me…but stood by and
did nothing.”

A beat passed before either man spoke again,
worried amber searched for something in the pewter-blue irises.

“Dominic, please tell me what happened. This
isn
’
t healthy.
It
’s poisoning you.
”

He looked away. “I haven
’
t hidden it completely. Ethan knows and so
do Gideon and Gabriel.”

“They know only because they were victims of
the same woman
’
s abuse.
Have you ever voluntarily unburdened yourself to anyone?”

He hesitated, but deep down, he knew it was
time. Time to let it all out, and perhaps finally heal from the
festering wound of his childhood. Stephan needed him whole. Eden
deserved a true mate, not a stigmatic man-child with an Oedipal
complex. “Talk to me about Eden first.”

“Alright.” Cael
’
s fidgeting ceased, and he abandoned the message on
the mantle. “I find Miss Prescott to be lucid and quick-witted,
with a healthy buoyancy. I haven
’
t the slightest doubt of her sanity.”

“What about the hallucinations? The bruises.
That cannot be normal.”

He tilted a hand to punctuate as he spoke. “I
agree there is something different about her, but she
isn
’
t mad nor is she
likely to be in the foreseeable future. The ordered manner of her
thoughts, the subjects she chooses to draw, the details on her
sketches, her response to the world around her, yes, even her
visions, none are the workings of a madwoman.”

Dominic met his brother
’
s optimism with caution. “No more riddles,
Cael. How do you explain the things she sees, if not—”

“Everything without explanation is not
madness, Dominic. Remember, she also
sees
you.”

Dominic sensed Cael was working up to
something. He walked over to retrieve some forgotten item from
across the room.

“Here, let me show you something that may
better illustrate my point.”

Poised for revelation, Dominic frowned at the
unremarkable drawing Cael placed in front of him. “The Duchess and
her infant. I don
’
t
understand.
”

“Miss Prescott rendered the portrait. When I
asked her what led her to sketch those particular faces, she
admitted she
’
d seen them
recently.”

His brow crinkled. “How? They
’
re dead.”

“Dominic,
this
is the woman and infant
Miss Prescott claims she leapt into the marsh to save…the very same
marsh where they drowned if memory serves.”

Dom opened his mouth to say…nothing. He
couldn
’
t think of a
single coherent word.

“Flip to the next one.”

When he did, he saw yet another sketch. His
breath caught. “Eden drew this?” His fingers flitted over the
images on the page, tentative, awed. “Gideon…Gabriel…”

“I think it
’
s time you face the possibility that
there
’
s something else
at work here.”

* * *

The light had grown dim. Even in a hexagonal
room with panoramic windows, the sun must set some time. Eden
folded the corner of the page and closed the book as quietly as she
could, lest she awaken a sleeping Stephan. He looked especially
defenseless in slumber, his fallen angel face half-masked in
twilight.

From the time she
’
d read the first word to the whisper of the last
one, he hadn
’
t spoken.
He seemed content to listen, quieted. Occasionally he
’
d pierced her with amber orbs. She
assumed, to gleam her reaction to a certain scene in the novel.

If pressed she
’
d acknowledge that Mrs. Shelley
’
s
Prometheus
had its merits, but
she found the man stretched out lengthwise before her a more
compelling read. So unlike Dominic in manner and appearance, Eden
marveled at the similar vulnerability she sensed in him. She
couldn
’
t dismiss it.
Neither Atherton nor Dr. Raine had called forth her sympathies. But
somehow, their brother Stephan did.

The thought of Atherton led her back to
worries over Dominic. She rose from the ottoman amid protesting
joints and stiff muscles. She wouldn
’
t solve the mystery of Stephan tonight. With a
thought to let Dr. Raine know of his brother
’
s whereabouts, Eden gathered up her shoes
and shawl and tiptoed out of the library.

She halted inside Dominic
’
s music room, struck by night
’
s transformation of it into a
backdrop from one of Byron
’
s poems. The full moon clouded the eye overhead,
illuminating the stage in a perfect spotlight. Eden emerged from
the pitch shadows outside the circle to pay homage to the lacquered
black lady. She sat down at the keys, let her lids rest and hoped
she remembered all the notes.

Midways through the requiem, the hairs at her
nape bristled. Still she played, swaying as her almond-shaped nails
flitting over the ivory. The lingering bass chords echoed off the
walls and seemed to close in on its maker, even as she brought the
solemn melody to a finish.

“I warned you never to come here.”

His voice emanated from the opaque edges of
the room, its familiarity a relief to her.

“As long as you visit my chamber,
I
’
ll go where I please.”
She closed the top down over the ivory, and stood. “Do you
play?”

“Music is curative. I find solace in it.”

The resonance and direction of his baritone
changed subtly every few seconds, orbiting just inside the rim of
darkness. Was he tracking her? Eden shuffled her feet, and pulled
the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She knew the edgy fright of
deer facing a hunting party. But this was worse, much worse. She
couldn
’
t pinpoint her
stalker
’
s angle of
…approach? Attack? What would he do when he finally decided to
strike? Her bravado vanished so completely until she wondered where
she
’
d mustered the
courage to taunt him only moments ago. Trembling lips voiced the
first thought that popped into her mind.

“I left Stephan in the library.”

A pause. She sensed a hitch in his step. “He
is…alright?”

“Yes, he
’
s asleep.” Why wouldn
’
t he be alright? But she bit back the question.
Time enough to get into that later. A little more to the left, yes,
his voice had come from there. Confidence rebounding, Eden pivoted
around the pianoforte
’
s
bench to extend a hand in his direction. The loose fringes of the
shawl fluttered with her movements.

“Have you ever noticed that shadows
exaggerate even the tiniest fears? Come.”

An eon passed. He wouldn’t expose himself.
Her arm ached, but the pain in her chest was an all-consuming agony
that cut right to her soul. Defeated, she let her hand fall and
turned to grant him his solitude. Sooner or later she would have to
admit that he would never…

The thought dissipated as the touch of warm
skin slipped into her palm. She spun so quickly that her
slipper
’
s heel tilted at
an awkward angle. The shawl tumbled, forgotten, to the floor.
Bracing herself for a fall, Eden grappled for the nearest support.
Him.

His arms enveloped her in a safety-hug,
fitting her petite frame into his chiseled stone torso…clothed only
by a cotton, dress shirt she realized. The material seemed
blindingly white so near her eye. She stood silent. Cheek pillowed
against chest, his gentle fingers massaged into her hair just above
her ears. Willfully disassembling her bun, she suspected. Eden
remained content to soak up the intoxicating heat of his embrace,
until her disjointed heaving breaths righted to a mild pant, and
finally a sigh.

“They
’re
beautiful, Dom.
”

“They are grotesque. I didn
’
t imagine you
’
d like them.”

She smiled, loving the deep rumble the words
produced against her cheek. “Why ever not?”

“My eyes have been the single most damning
pall over my life. Every awful thing that
’
s happened to me has been because of
them.”

“
Well,
I
’
ve seen them,
and nothing dire has happened.” His body went stiff against hers,
as if he did not quite agree or perhaps he feared she tempted fate
by saying so. She let her hands migrate upward. One to rest atop
his shoulder; the other encircled his back. She trailed soothing
caresses down his chest and at the small of his back

“Are you wearing the spectacles now?
I
’
ll wager you
aren
’
t.”

“How did you and Cael get on?”

She aimed to talk until she got him to relax
again. “Fabulously, once the battle lines were drawn. He is very
different from Dr. Raine, but I rather liked him. He did not treat
me like a madwoman, though he must have thought me one.”

Eden exerted a small pressure against their
embrace. When he let her pull back, she chanced a glance up. He
gazed down at her, unabashed, naked eyes bathed in radiance and
shadow. They were as mismatched jewels twinkling in the moonlight,
fringed by ink-dirtied bristle lashes.

“What are you so afraid of?”

His gaze shifted, infinitesimal. The hand
that had been lost in her ruined bun dropped down to curl around
her throat, in a dangerous and possessive caress. “That
you
’
ll hurt me
…like she did. Or that
I
’
ll hurt you…like she
did.”

Eden couldn
’
t keep the tremor from her voice. “She who?”

“My mother.”

His thumb, flitting back and forth over her
bare skin, stroked her breathing up to hitch and skip rhythm. She
closed her eyes to savor his touch, her fingers restless to rob him
of the shirt so they could roam his chest. The memory of his
artist-rendered torso sent another quiver of anticipation down her
spine, even as he seized her face in both his hands, tilting her
expression to collide with his.