Dominic's Nemesis (8 page)

“Such terrible scars.” The whispered words
slipped from her lips. “What happened?” She reached for the collar
of his shirt.

Dom jerked away from her as if he thought she
meant him harm. Eden lifted her gaze from his torso to his face
wanting to see him…and gauge his expression. Blast! The spectacles
were back in place. Did he
never
forget the damned things?
Why hadn
’
t she thought
to get a look at his eyes when they
’
d been unshielded? She frowned. Because she’d been
too busy gaping at the heinous scars on his chest.

“Well-bred young ladies do not cavort alone
with any man other than their husband.” This he said whilst he
stood, offering her a hand up as well. Damp clumps of hair spilled
across his forehead and cheeks.

“And, well-bred gentleman do not shun their
house guests for days on end.” Eden ignored his hand and stood of
her own accord…padding her dress and hair as best she could.

“
Guest?
” He mocked her. “Strange, I don
’
t recall extending an invitation
to…eh, what did you say your name was again?”

Not to be outwitted, Eden squared her stance,
stepped closer and through down her name like a gauntlet. “You
invited your brother and his wife and you shunned them too.”

When he didn’t retort immediately, Eden
tilted an expectant brow at him. “Well?” She invited. Still he did
not speak. She imagined he was sizing her up. He shuffled his feet
a bit…ahhh, he didn’t tower over her as he’d expected, she
realized. She guessed him to be an inch or two above six feet,
which meant he was only four or five inches taller.

“My brothers do not await an invitation to
visit me.” Dominic informed her. If he dipped his head a few inches
he could catch her blush-colored lips with his own hard seeking
mouth. It would be so easy, so satisfying. His breath quickened a
beat.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “And Kathleen
is here out of necessity, as a chaperon…and doing a rather poor job
of it. Where the devil is she, anyway?”

He scanned the room as if he expected his
sister-in-law to burst forth from the woodwork. “How is it that
you
’
re loose to hurl
yourself off of ladders and such?”

“There is no need to be rude. She
wasn
’
t feeling herself
this morning.” Eden pulled a face and gestured to the forgotten
parchment. “I was bored and thought I
’
d find an interesting subject to sketch. Are you
going to answer my question?”

“About?” His gaze settled back on her. The
expression did not waver, that she could tell. Eden felt at a
distinct disadvantage not being able to see his eyes.

“What was your question about, Ms.
Prescott?”

Her focus lowered, to his now shirted-chest.
Again, almost involuntarily, one hand edged upward, seeking yet
hesitant to try for his collar. “The scars. Were you in the
military? How did you—”

“There are no scars.” He followed the path of
her seeking hand with his shaded gaze.

“But I saw, just now when—”

“A trick of the light.” He dismissed it with
a flippancy that annoyed her.

He must think her stupid. “You, sir, are
lying.” Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought of
calling anyone, much less her host, a liar when she
’
d been snug and cosseted back in
Boston. But the new, reckless, world-weary Eden possessed a streak
of boldness. And she took exception to his highbrow attitude. “I
know what I saw.”

“Do you, now…” The one daring brow, arched
above his spectacles, was all the warning he gave. The next
instant, buttons flew in all directions to join the forgotten
sketching supplies scattered about, as lightening quick hands
ripped the shirt open in one jerk.

There his stood, a sculptor
’
s flawless muse, broad chest bared to show
her ripped musculature and taut enticing stomach, giving way to a
beckoning spiral of hairs…Eden
’
s mouth dropped open. Each breath forced in and out
through sheer will power. His was the body from her visions…sans
one detail. There were no scars, just like he
’
d said. What impetus would cause her to
imagine such a hideous thing? Wait, maybe…

She glazed up at his masked eyes. He seemed
to read her thoughts. The shirt fell to his elbow and he turned
gradually, never breaking eye contact with her until the very last
moment when he dropped his head and sloped his shoulders for her
inspection. With nothing to stop her, Eden approached,
unbidden.

* * *

Dominic resisted the urge to bolt, and
instead planted his bare feet in the rug. Seconds ticked by and he
waited, wondering if she would do the one thing he both craved and
feared. Ahhh…she touched him. Her gentle, jittery fingertips played
along the tops of his shoulders, perhaps testing his willingness to
accept the contact. Dom shuttered, savoring the pleasure of soft
hands on his skin, and in the same moment trying to shut out the
past pain. Her palms flattened out and slid lower, caressing his
blades and lightly kneading the muscles there.

She had seen what she needed to see. He
should stop her, step away. He couldn
’
t. Not yet. He wanted a memory to store and relive
for when she was gone and he was alone again. One luminous sunrise
to blot out a lifelong eclipse. He brought his head up to rest his
chin on his left shoulder, as she continued to explore him.

Her hands curled, possessively, around his
torso to flit over his pecs and down to his stomach. He nearly
relinquished control amid the sea of mounding arousal. He must
compose himself…at least enough to stop her.
Impossible
. His
breath hitched as he felt the stirrings of a new and aching need,
soon to tent his pants.
No
…Dominic pulled the scattered
fragments of his self-control together, and stepped sharply forward
out of her grasp. He jerked the linen back over his body in an
ominous gesture. He did not face her, merely spoke over his
shoulder in profile.

“Leave.” The word hung in the air like a
noose. “
Now
.”

“The house?”

“My library, my…space. Never invade it
again.” He spoke in clipped, warning tones.

Enthralled and confused alike by his
mercurial mood, Eden stared with searching hazel eyes. “Are the
doctor and your other brother allowed to visit your space?”

“
You are
not
my brother.” He snapped, breathing several times before
he spoke again. “I come here to be alone…find peace. You
’
re an intruder and I will treat
you as such.”

“Alright.” She would go, but not before she
left him with something to think about. Coming forward, she stood
on her tiptoes and murmured directly in his ear. “I know that was
you, Dominic…in my bath the other day.”

He stiffened.

“If you don
’
t want me invading your space, then stay out of
mine.”

* * *

Good night! What had possessed her to say
such a thing…goad him almost. What impulse propelled her to touch
him…molest his person so liberally, and enjoy it
so
thoroughly
, heaven help her. Even their verbal sparring held
a certain amount of thrill and enjoyment. Dominic Ambrosi, for all
his insolence, moodiness, and secrecy, proved to be by far the most
interesting man Eden had ever met. And he brought out a side of
herself that she never knew existed and wasn
’
t quite sure she liked. She perched in
front of the vanity, running a brush absently through her flaxen
hair. For once she was grateful her mama and papa weren
’
t here to witness her…make a cake
of herself. Or a wanton, more like.

Another thing she just could not wrap her
mind around, the scars. “I
know
I saw them.” They were there
in the visions, well one of them anyway. In the other vision, with
her and Dominic in
flagrante delicto
, his torso front and
back had shone smooth.

“Come to think of it—” She stopped
mid-stroke, replaying the entire library interlude over and over in
her mind, picking up new clues with each re-do. How did he happen
along just as she lost her footing? Why hadn
’
t her landing atop him harmed him? Winded
him even? He must have entered at the very second she fell to be
standing at that exact spot when she came tumbling off the ladder.
Blast! Why couldn
’
t she
think of these things at the most opportune time? Now
she
’
d never know…no way
could she bring the incident up in the future. Judging from the end
of the conversation it did not appear as though he would be
conversing with her again any time soon.

Normally, Dominic would have shimmered to
town. Cael was one of few people whose essence he could track to
very specific locations. It wouldn
’
t do to attempt astral travel with so many wild
emotions. Plus, he needed a cooling off period before he faced his
brother. Otherwise Cael would notice his upheaval, and knowing him,
ask questions Dominic did not want to answer or rather had no
answer for. So, he instructed the coachman to saddle up one of the
greys. Dominic road the beast with vigor and did not stop until he
reached Southwart, a semi-seedy district south of the Thames where
Cael had chosen to set himself up professionally.

The
austere fa
cade lay nettled in a square with several other
fledgling trade stores, including thankfully a livery stable.
Beyond the square lurked a dense wasteland of decaying riverside
warehouses, intermingled with teaming slums, and the occasional pub
or house of ill repute. The air writhed with a chill of eager
misery, ready to swallow whatever unfortunate soul lurking near
enough to tempt fate. Dockworkers, ladies of the night, beggars and
pickpockets, young and old alike, filled out the canvas. Dominic
abhorred the place at night, when one was rarely able to take two
steps without enduring solicitations of one vice or another.

Later afternoon was settling into evening
when Dominic housed his mount at the livery and strode the scant
distance to his destination. Cael greeted him at the door.

“Dominic. This is a surprise.” He ushered him
inside. “What brings you to town? And during the season.”

Dom shrugged, noncommittal. He took a
haphazard turn about the serviceable room. Along the way, he eyed
the certificates and licenses adoring otherwise bare walls, more
interested in appearing nonchalant then the framed medical
credentials. Cael followed him as he meandered about, until Dom
stopped stalling and came to roost on the desk’s visitor chair. His
brother paused, standing beside his chair. Dominic felt the
all-seeing amber eyes watching him, no doubt trying to size up what
had drove him from his haven in the country.

“Are you sure more pressing matters
didn
’
t prompt this…eh,
visit?”

“I
’
m not one of your mental cases, Cael.”

“Sorry, old habit.” He ceased the scrutiny
and sat opposite him behind the folder-piled desk. “It
’
s just that you
’
re not a social butterfly. So, when you
turn up here for no obvious reason and wander around my office like
you need a road map to find the chair-”

Dom shifted in his seat. “Ahem, Ethan
mentioned that you and Stephan had returned to town.”

“Yes, two days ago.” He confirmed with a nod.
“I wondered when you did not accompany him.”

“How is Stephan?”

“Ahh…as well as can be expected.” Cael tried
for a weak smile. “He is no more fond of my analyzing ways than you
are.”

“There shouldn
’
t be any lingering problems with the University. I
instructed Renfred to settle a very sizable donation on their
redevelopment fund, care of the illustrious Conte Ambrosi. The
Ambrosi name seems to have doubled in impact and importance since
my rise to peerage. Even hermitic foreign nobles are all the rage
these days.”

Frustrated hands mangled dark blonde locks.
“I am more worried about how the incident is affecting Stephan. He
will not discuss it.” The restless movement and bleary eyes echoed
a thread of uselessness and despair. “There is an enormous amount
of pain and guilt he is concealing. Too much, I fear.”

Dom frowned. Despite always being at odds
with each other, he did not like to see Cael so defeated and unlike
himself. “Perhaps the season will distract him.” He suggested, but
he knew as soon as the meaningless words left his mouth that they
were best left unsaid.

“A young man of Stephan
’
s intelligence and depth will not be
mollified by a few dances and a tryst with some silly, round-heeled
debutant.”

Cael always did wield the truth like a sword.
“No, I suppose not.”

Dom stumbled awkwardly in their reversed
roles. Cael did the cajoling and advice-giving and Dom shot him
down. That was their long-standing routine.

“My biggest fear is that there is another
cause for his guilt, something we don
’
t know.”

“Perhaps, I could be of service.” An idea
alit his mind…of mutually beneficial design. “Ethan mentioned
something before he left. About me, maybe hosting Stephan for a few
days in the country. I don
’
t know how much good it will do. I am not one for
exposition—”

“Come again?” Liquid amber eyes burned a hole
in him.

“
Well,
don
’
t look so
aghast.” It somehow piqued Dominic to spy his brother
’
s mouth hanging open.
“You
’
re gaping for all
the world like I just eloped to the Orient with a peg-legged
actress.”