Entwined (9 page)

Her steps slowed. She didn’t know what she’d do. She was now mistress of Evernight Hall, so she supposed she could stay here, humiliating though it might be.
But then you aren’t really Mrs. Evernight, are you? Not if anyone should find out the truth.

Lu ignored the insidious little voice in her head as she arrived at the smithy. Standing before the door, she could feel the heat coming off the walls, as warm as a baking oven. It stopped her in her tracks and trepidation skittered over her skin. Perhaps this was a mistake.

“Fuss and feathers.” Lu opened the door, and faced a dark outer hall. Slowly she crept forward, only to jump when the weighted door swung closed with a thud, plunging her in blackness.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.” Indeed, a sliver of golden light along the floor marked the inner door. She merely had to reach it.

Heart pounding in her ear, she edged along, holding her hand out before her to warn her of any impediments. By the time her palm came into contact with the warm inner door, she was sweating beneath her gown.

Fumbling, she found the door latch. A blast of heat hit her full-on. Lu blinked in the brightness.

Eamon’s smithy sat empty. The fire of the forge was banked for the night, and his tools were hung neatly along the wall. A few pieces of wrought steel lay upon a battered worktable. Lu couldn’t make out what they were supposed to be, only that their shape appeared vaguely familiar. They looked almost like small renditions of branches or driftwood. But that wasn’t right. The pieces were something else.

Frowning, she turned her attention to the back door, which lay open just a crack. Cool air drifted through the door, and a strange, cloying smell had her insides recoiling and her instincts clamoring to run in the opposite direction. It was tempting to do just that, but she moved closer. Eamon wasn’t here. And perhaps he had well and truly left her just as Aidan did. If so, she wanted to know for sure. She needed to see all of the smithy.

Ignoring the sticky feeling of dread, Lu walked with assurance toward the door. She would not cower nor make excuses for being here. She was Eamon’s wife, damn it all, and she wanted answers.

Oh, but this was bad. The door led to a cellar. Lu paused at the top. Darkness and dank air lay beyond. Grabbing a small lantern that hung by the side of the door, Lu lit it and descended.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Turn around now.

Lu continued on, the weak light of the lantern wavering under her shaking hold. Cool stone pressed against her feet with each step, and the air grew thicker, fouler. Death. It was death and decay.

That scent was prevalent in London, where the corpses of horses and dogs would rot where they’d dropped. And the realization filled her with terror. Yet her damned, ridiculous curiosity pulled her onward, into the low, square cellar. The light of her lantern bounced off the damp walls and brought the room into blurry focus. There were worktables here, littered with bundles of wood, bleached white.

White. White wood. The image rearranged itself.

She stood frozen for one long, horrid moment. A scream rose and died in her throat. They were not wood. They were bones. Panting, she swung round, illuminating another table. More lumps, meaty and red, pale and swollen.

A severed arm. A leg. A hand. Body parts.

A gurgle rumbled in her throat as her vision went spotty. She was going to faint.

And then she heard it, a low, pained moan. Lu screamed, stumbling backward in an effort to flee. Her foot caught on the edge of her skirt, and she fell hard, her bottom slamming onto the stone and her teeth rattling. The lantern landed at her side, illuminating the floor, and the light shone on a pair of eyes.

She screamed again before realizing that she was staring into the eyes of her husband.

* * *

It was her scream that woke him. Eamon’s eyes snapped open in an instant, and pain followed. Darkness surrounded him and then a blinding light. He saw spots before he could focus. And then he saw her face, so pale and frightened as she stared at him.

“Lu,” he whispered.

She scrambled back, crab crawling to get away from him. Eamon frowned and then became aware of the cold stone beneath his cheek and the smell of decay filling his nose. Christ, he was in the cellar. Christ, she’d seen what he kept here.

“Lu!” He hauled himself up as she got to her feet and dashed up the stairs. His head spun and his stomach pitched as he stumbled after her.

“Lu, wait.” God, but his heart pounded.

She was nearly to the outer door, her tumbled-down hair streaming out behind her and her dress marred with mud.

“Lu.” He grabbed her arm and tried to be gentle as he pulled her back. She wasn’t having any of it. With a guttural cry, she wrenched her knee up between his legs. The only things that saved him were quick reflexes and a man’s instinctive drive to protect his cods at all costs. Pain shafted through his thigh and he grunted, but he didn’t let go.

“Stop, Bit. Just stop.” He wrapped an arm about her and hauled her against him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Bit. Never. Never.”

Something of his words got through to her for she stilled, her small frame heaving against his, and her breath heating the hollow of his neck.

Slowly, he stroked her hair and slim back. “Calm, Bit. Calm.”

When she shuddered to stillness, he eased back a touch and looked down at her pale face. “If you’re going to attack a man, love, punch him in the throat or go for his eyes before you knee him in the stone, eh?”

When she eyed his throat, he laughed. “Please don’t. I’ve had my share of blows for the night, thank you.”

Now that he’d eased her fright, the pain in his head came back with pounding, insistent force.

“You’re bleeding,” she said as she reached out with a tentative hand to touch just above his left temple.

“Someone nearly bashed my head in.”

Her cool fingers feathered over his skin, and he relaxed a bit more. “Who would do such a thing?”

He had a good idea, not that he’d involve her when the bastard had resorted to violence. “I don’t know. Perhaps a vagabond looking for food or a warm place to pass the night. I must have surprised him.”

With utmost gentleness, she brushed her fingertips through his hair, and he barely suppressed a shiver. Lu didn’t notice but frowned at the lump just over his temple. “A few inches down and he might have killed you.” A shudder went through her, and Eamon was base enough to be glad for her concern.

“I’m hard to kill,” he quipped, and she nearly smiled, save the cellar door caught her attention and she went stiff. Eamon tightened his grip once more, lest she try to flee. “Let me explain before you have a go at me, Lu.”

“I know what I saw.” She eyed him with wariness. “What possible good reason can you have for keeping human body parts in your cellar?”

Eamon sagged and let her go, stepping back a pace. “God, I know it looks bad. It’s foul work, and I cannot say I enjoy that part of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he hit a tender spot. Ignoring the pain, he moved to the worktable at the center of the room. “I’m making false limbs, Bit.”

“Limbs,” she repeated as though he were a lunatic. Which was understandable. Most people would think that.

Eamon reached under the table and pulled out a long, thin box that held his first model. “Human limbs of steel.” Setting the box down, he opened the lid as Lu edged near.

She held herself out of striking distance as she peered into the box. Eamon lifted the steel leg out of the box and set it before her. “This was my working model. I improved upon it since then.”

Slowly, she came closer, and with a tentative hand, she touched the leg that was shaped in the exact likeness of a human skeletal limb. “Why would you do this?”

“I take it you met Harry, our head groom?”

She nodded.

“Did you notice his limp?”

“Yes, it’s slight but I did see it.” The dark wings of her brows drew together. “Are you telling me that he has one of these artificial limbs?”

“I am.” Eamon ran his hand along the cool, steel femur. “He lost it to gangrene a few years back. When his spirits began to flag, I made him a leg. I don’t know, I thought, perhaps if he had a proper substitute, one that he could move with ease, that he could regain his confidence.”

The corners of Lu’s pink lips curled in a soft smile. “That was kind of you, Eamon.”

“It was something I could do.” Eamon touched a finger to the metal. “I can do more. I can fashion arms and legs for those wounded at Waterloo. I can help.”

She glanced up, and her dark eyes narrowed. “But why do you need real human limbs?”

“To study. I need to understand how they work, need to replicate their shape.” He shrugged. “As I said, I don’t enjoy that part, but it is necessary.”

Lu took a shuddering breath and laughed lightly. “I feel like a fool. Here I am imagining Gothic horrors and you’re doing your part to better mankind.”

Eamon let himself smile. Relief was a cool balm that flooded his sore muscles. “I’d have screamed as well had I walked into that unsuspecting.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said, but returned his smile.

“So you aren’t planning to flee at first light?”

Her gaze flickered to his mouth and then over his body. “No, Eamon,” she said in a low, rich voice. “I’m not leaving you.”

Tension coiled within his gut, a low pleasurable burn that had nothing to do with fear. “That is good, wife.”

Lu’s lashes lowered on a blush. “Come then, let us see to that bash upon your head, and we’ll have our dinner.”

Eamon followed, watching the subtle sway of her rounded arse beneath her skirts, wanting nothing more than to skip dinner and take her directly to bed.

Chapter Ten

Over the years, Lu had been given specific instructions as to what to do upon the night of her wedding. That her father had been the one to give the instructions had been both mortifying and aggravating. His words rang clear in her mind still. “Come to your bed in a gown of white. Wait for him and do as he says. No begging or pleading, girl. You are a Moran, whether you want it or no, and you will do your duty.”

She’d wanted to hit him whenever he spoke of it, to tell him that he could take his well-laid plans and get stuffed. But she’d been under his thumb, and they both knew it. Without money or a man’s protection, a woman’s world was a cold, dark place that often led to pain, degradation, and eventually death. Lu had been too cowardly to run off and try her odds. The unfairness of it had cut into her. Only Aidan’s letters and the promise of his love had staved off her rage. For Aidan, she would have endured anything.

Lu snorted. “See where that hope got you.” Her voice echoed in the cavernous space. The room was dim and cool, the fire’s heat barely reaching the high, canopied bed upon which she sat. Some maid had turned down the covers, and the fine linen was soft against the bottoms of her feet.

Knees tucked against her chest, and her obligatory white nightgown tenting over her legs, Lu had made herself as small as possible. Try as she might, she was frightened, and her heartbeat would not slow.

After Nan had fussed over Eamon and slapped a raw steak straight from the cooler onto the side of his head, they’d had a nice, quiet dinner. Eamon was easy to talk to and quite witty when he let his guard down.

Lu had found herself both comfortable and entertained. Yet all the while, a certain tension had remained between them, for they both knew what this night would bring. He’d left her at her door with a proper kiss to the back of her hand and a promise to see her at the turn of the hour. Lu hadn’t missed how Eamon’s eyes had gone molten blue, or the way his breath quickened to match her own. He wanted her. She understood it instinctively. And she wanted him. Even if she feared the act in equal measure.

Now she waited.

Nan had prepped the room, putting fresh, pure white linens on the bed and placing a large vase of sweet lilies upon the mantel. The clock ticked, and outside the wind groaned. When the clock struck nine, the door snicked open and Lu’s breath grew ragged. She forced it steady as a large shape filled the doorway.

Eamon. He paused for a moment then walked into the room on quiet feet, moving from the shadows into the light of the fire. So very tall. His shoulders broad and straight. He wore a linen nightshirt that reached his knees, and the color set off the mellow tone of his skin and the brightness of his hair.

Tension coiled and tightened in her chest as he looked at her without saying a word. He was close enough that she could see the rapid yet light pace of his breath. His deep blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his square jaw.

Afraid as she was, Lu could not deny that he was a finely made man, one that had her skin heating with each passing moment they faced each other.

His low voice broke their silence. “I won’t lie to you, Lu. You look like a dark angel sitting there upon that bed with your hair running free as a midnight river. Never in all my living years have I seen a sight equal to you.” He took a deep breath. “And you absolutely terrify me right now.”

A shocked laugh left her, and the tension within snapped. “Well, that’s good, for you terrify me right now as well.” Oh, but she liked that he liked the look of her.

His shoulders eased on a deep breath. “Good, now that we’ve established our mutual terror, we’ve nothing to worry about.” He grinned wryly and walked closer, those long limbs of his moving with utter grace.

Lu swallowed hard. “Nothing? Are you sure?”

Eamon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he stopped before her. “Well, not nothing, but we’re both in the same boat now, aren’t we, my little Bit?” Slowly he sat at the very edge of the bed, watching her as he did, as if he didn’t want to scare her. “Which means,” he went on in a soft voice, “that I can take your hand”—his large palm extended toward her—“and you can take mine.”

Trembling, she reached for him, and their hands clasped, his rough and warm and secure as his fingers threaded through hers. Eamon smiled then. “And we’ll face this together.”