Oh, God, she thought as the strength suddenly vanished from her body, leaving her limp and malleable in their arms. The snake had been Lucifer himself. What had she done?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“BLOODY HELL,” Black rasped as he fell against the velvet squabs. “Did you see her? She possessed the strength of ten men!”
Sussex gathered an unconscious Lucy against him. She was limp, and Black watched as his friend held her carefully in his arms. “She’s not evil,” he murmured. “She was under the spell of the pendant.”
Alynwick climbed to the carriage box, his weight making the conveyance dip. With a crack of the whip, the marquis maneuvered the carriage away from the curb and into the street. Upon arriving, they had sent Lucy’s hired hansom cab on its way. It had taken only an extra shilling for the waiting coachman to abandon poor Lucy.
“I’m not sure why you’re surprised, Black,” Sussex growled. “Your family has been in possession of the pendant for over five hundred years. You were weaned on the stories of it.”
“I…I didn’t know of its powers. I never felt the powers as keenly as Lucy did. But then, I never kept it on me. I…just never believed.”
Glancing out the window, he could barely stand to see Sussex with Lucy, to watch as he held her, and as she lay trustingly in his arms. There was a hole in his heart, and Isabella had made it. Seeing Lucy tonight had only made his pain more acute. Isabella was home alone tonight, and likely frightened.
“Why did you not believe?” Sussex asked quietly, and Black closed his eyes, not wanting to tread down that murky path. But the memories were there, and he replied.
“Because I lost faith.” And he had. After his mother and brother and then Abigail had died and left him, he’d felt his faith slowly dissipate until he had been left with nothing but anger and rage and the fury of having to protect something he loathed.
“Does this prove it then? Have you seen how damn important it is to hide these relics from the world?”
He did. As he felt the heat of the pendant burning in his pocket, he realized that he did believe, that the horror of witnessing Lucy in such a state had reaffirmed what he always believed, that the relics were a curse upon their family, and that he had no desire to wed and breed for the purpose of perpetuating that curse. But looking at Sussex with Lucy made him realize he no longer wanted to live alone and isolated.
“God, I shudder to think of what might have happened to her if Elizabeth hadn’t come to me with her suspicions.”
“Yes,” Black said, shoving aside his thoughts. “Thank God her instincts are sharper than most people’s.”
“How will we get her back into the house?” the duke murmured. “Stonebrook is home, I assume.”
“No, I saw him leave. He very rarely stays in at night any more.”
“Well, that is a small grace.”
“Sussex—” Black stared at the man who sat across from him “—this isn’t the last. And Lucy hasn’t acted alone.”
“I know. What does your gut tell you?”
Punching the seat, Black felt a cloud of impatience wash over him. “Damn if I know. There are too many twists and turns, too many coincidences. I say we fight more than one person.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Sussex sighed and leaned his head back against the carriage. “But, damn it, Black, I can’t think of that tonight. All I can think of is…her. What the devil was she doing there?”
“I think, Sussex, that you’ll have to come to grips with the idea that Lucy is part of this. I think it’s been her who has intentionally tried to part Isabella from me. Think of it, who more than Lucy would know of Isabella’s fears? Lucy set up the séance.”
“And Alice Fox’s death? Lucy did that? No, I won’t believe it.”
“No, but her accomplice did.”
“Rubbish. Lucy’s involvement is true, but she’s an innocent victim in some treacherous game.”
“Your thoughts are clouded, Sussex, and your feelings for the girl are making you blind.”
“Damn you, you should talk, Black!”
The carriage swayed and dipped, and Black let his body move to the rhythm. He was tired. And his mind and body were exhausted from two weeks spent tracking Orpheus, all to no avail, and nights spent awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Isabella.
“Here we are!” Alynwick called. “I’ll bring us round back, and you can carry her in through the kitchen garden.”
“Make certain the servants are out of sight. I don’t want anyone seeing me carrying her in.”
“Right,” Alynwick agreed as he closed the hatch.
Stepping out, Black descended the stairs and took Lucy from Sussex. She was limp as a rag, and her hair cascaded over his arm. Sussex jumped down and immediately took her from him.
“Detain Isabella. Make something up about what Lucy was doing. Elizabeth is there with her. She’ll help you.”
“I won’t lie to her, Sussex.” There were already enough half truths that lay between them. Black had no desire to add more. In fact, he had the absurd notion to spill all to Isabella tonight.
ISABELLA PACED FRANTICALLY in the salon. Where had Lucy gone? Fear overrode her thoughts, and she was consumed with the image of Death claiming her dearest cousin.
“Sit, Isabella,” Elizabeth encouraged with a gentle pat on the settee, signaling her to take a seat beside her. “All this exercise must be most tiring.”
“I can’t. My mind is racing with every possible thought and my body must move, or else the panic will set in.”
“My brother has gone after her. She’ll be safe.”
“Oh, Lucy,” she chided. “What the devil is she about?” She had been so desperate for passion, to search for anything that might remind her of her dead lover, that Isabella feared she might have gone and done something truly dreadful. She knew the sort of ends despair could drive a soul to. And she feared Lucy might have discovered them, too.
“I cannot thank you enough for coming to your brother with your worry and suspicions,” Isabella said. “Had you not, Lucy might have ended up…” Oh, she didn’t want to think of it.
“She said a few things that made me worried.”
“What things were those?” Isabella questioned. Surely Lucy could not have shared her confidence with Elizabeth. She’d hid them above eight months from her, for heaven’s sake!
“You understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss them, but suffice to say, I was alarmed. As I’m certain you’re aware, my brother has developed a tendre for Lucy, and I knew that I would only have to mention my concerns, and he would go after her.”
“I owe you—and the duke—for this.”
And then, as if the heavens parted, His Grace came stomping into the house, his boots ringing off the marble tile. Isabella ran from the salon, forgetting to reach for Elizabeth, and skidded to a halt as she saw Lucy draped in Sussex’s arms. Her first thought was she was dead, and her hands flew to her face, and she cried out, only to feel Black’s arms go around her.
“She lives,” he whispered, then pulled her back.
“Where is my sister?” the duke demanded.
“In the salon,” Isabella murmured, unable to take her gaze off Lucy’s pale face.
“Alynwick, get her. Black, see to Miss Fairmont.”
She was gripped by the arm, tugged along by Black. She allowed it, took comfort in his hold, in his command.
“What is wrong with Lucy?”
“She’s had a fright,” he answered as he pulled her into her uncle’s library and slammed the door. He helped her to sit on the settee and poured her two fingers of whiskey, and demanded she drink it.
The liquor burned, and she felt warm, languid, her nerves calming down.
“A fright? Do you mean she swooned?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it. Lucy is not that sort at all.”
Black frowned, evaded her gaze and dread filled her.
“Tell me all of it.”
Black paced the room, and she followed him, her gaze never leaving him. He was pale. A muscle worked in his jaw, and she saw that he was not himself.
“We caught her in the Masonic lodge. She had broken in.”
“That’s impossible!” she gasped, and stood up, enraged. “Lucy is an honest person. She would never break in anywhere, least of all the Masonic lodge. For what purpose?” she demanded.
The muscle ticked, and he seemed to war with himself. “Isabella, you must believe me.”
“Well, I do not!”
He whirled on her then, and she saw his eyes narrow, grow accusatory. “No, you believe people like Wendell Knighton who seek to use you to further their purposes. You believe Lucy, who has done nothing but lie to you, but people like me, who seek only to keep you safe—to…” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, and the storm in his eyes blazed. “To love you, you don’t give a damn about those.”
“Jude!” His name was a harsh sound coming from her lips. It sounded like a reprimand, but it was not; it was shock, surprise. Fear.
“My God, do not say it,” he thundered. “Do not look at me and tell me I shouldn’t say such things. Such things have been brimming inside me for two years, Isabella. Two damn years,” he roared, heedless that someone upstairs might hear him. “These feelings have seethed inside me. I’ve been consumed by them, but you don’t want to hear it. You want the lukewarm attentions of Knighton. You want it easy and clean, you don’t want to have to trust. To believe. To give a little piece of yourself to another.”
She didn’t know what to say, and when she finally spoke, her words were nothing that she should have said. “We were talking about Lucy.”
“Lucy!” he barked, then he breezed past her, his anger palpable. She reached for him, and something inside him fractured. She saw it, the pain, and the rage, and he reached for her, whirled her around, and she gasped at the way he touched her—possessively, giving no thought to her worries.
“Damn you,” he whispered. “You make me lose all control. I shouldn’t be here like this with you. You shouldn’t even be here, tormenting night after night.”
“What do you mean by that?” she gasped.
“Leave it,” he demanded.
“I most certainly will not! This is my uncle’s house! I have every right to be here.”
He sighed, raked his hands through his hair and hung his head. Something like terror gripped her, and she asked, her voice shaking, “What did you mean, when you said I shouldn’t even be here?”
“You know damn well what I meant.”
And then she felt it, a warmth, a soothing comfort engulf her from behind and then he was there, pressing her bodice against the wall as he covered her back with his chest. Her thin gown did nothing to conceal his heat and she felt him, hot and hard, pressing against her back.
“Don’t!” she cried, struggling against him. “You always do this, immobilize me with passion. Well, it won’t work this time, my lord. Because I won’t let it. We…we…don’t even know each other, you know nothing of me.”
“Jesus, Isabella, don’t shut me out. Just let me in. You accuse me of not knowing you, of you not knowing me, but it’s only because you won’t allow it. You won’t let me into the place where you hoard all your secrets.”
“Don’t,” she commanded, and then she thought to play on his sensibilities, to return him to his purpose here. “Lucy—”
“She’ll be all right. She’s safe with Sussex.”
“I need to know what happened tonight. What is going on?”
His hands reached for hers and entwining his fingers with hers, he raised her arms so that they were above her head and she was resting her brow on her clasped hands, which pressed against the wall. She could feel his heart beating beneath his skin and her own heart skipped with forbidden excitement.
“What is going on?” he rasped. “Me, here with you. Touching you. Taking from you. Two weeks, Isabella, you have denied us this, and it’s not because you want Knighton. It’s because you’re too afraid to reach for this. To take what I’ve offered.”
“What has gotten into you?” she asked, the question sounding more breathless than scathing.
“You have gotten into me. You’re in my blood. I want you beneath me, the scent of you on my body, the taste of you on my tongue.”
She would have given him a set down, but his mouth pressed against the curve of her neck and her mind went blank. Untangling one hand from hers, he trailed his fingers down her bare arm, over her shoulder and down her back where he grazed his fingers, featherlight, along her spine. His mouth, warm and soft, was pressed against her skin, continually nuzzling her neck, and her knees went weak, but he kept her standing with his hard body against hers for support.
Unable to stop herself, she sighed. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head to give him greater access to whatever it was he wanted. He growled appreciatively then flicked his tongue along the vein that pulsated wildly.
“I’ve missed your taste,” he whispered. “Sigh for me, Isabella, and let me know you want this.”
She couldn’t help but moan when his hands roamed to the front of her gown and crept ever so slowly to her belly. She felt his fingers slide back up the silk until they pressed into the tender flesh beneath her breasts.
“Black, you’re out of your mind,” she murmured. “You’re playing with fire by doing this.”
“I know. I can feel the heat even now.” He lowered his hand so that one long finger circled the indent of her navel. “Singe me, Isabella, for I care not.” He kissed her cheek, his finger now sliding down the valley of her breasts. “You want this fire, too, if you would only be honest. This slow flame that is flickering to life inside you. You are not averse to these feelings I stir in you, are you? Your mouth doth protest, but your body belies your words. If you hated me so much you would have run from me. You would not be standing here, restless with longing, waiting with bated breath for me to lower your bodice and thumb your nipples.”
Oh, she had never seen him quite this way before—so much more intense and demanding than he had been before—and so masculine. He would take what he wanted tonight, and she would let him if she didn’t get control of her emotions.
But their absence had been too long. Her mind warned her about the perils of succumbing to him, but her body refused to listen, it craved every one of his touches, his words.
When she should have been worrying over Lucy, she was here, softening. But she knew Lucy would be fine. She knew that in the morning she could discover everything when Lucy awakened. But there might not be another night like this—with Black. The morning would come, replacing the night, but this…this moment with Jude was irreplaceable.
His touch, his hands on her body, ignited something so powerfully addicting that she could not forget it, or resist reaching out to capture it.
He palmed her breast and dipped his finger beneath the edge of her bodice and her body unconsciously pressed farther into his hand when his thumb flicked along her nipple.
He pulled her bodice down then, and her breasts bobbed free. He captured them from behind and cupped them in his hands. “Soft and large and exactly how I like them,” he said in her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking of them, haven’t stopped desiring them.”
Then he turned her around and brought her breast to his mouth. He sucked, a slow rhythmic tug that made her whimper and want to clasp his head to her chest so he could deepen the embrace. But she resisted touching him and instead brought her hands above her head in a show of power. She could not submit to him.
He growled and clasped her wrists in his hand and sucked at her breast, alternating with little bites on her nipple. There was something about Black holding her captive like this that made her hope he would not stop until he had taken what he wanted.
He circled her nipple with his tongue then blew on it, hardening the tender flesh further. Curling his tongue around the nipple, he licked it while he rubbed his e
ngorged erection between her thighs.
She gasped when she felt his free hand raise her skirts. A beautiful, stunning, sinful man, and she wanted to explore him, to discover everything he would show her, she was just too cowardly to take it.
“You make me reckless, Isabella. I am trying to be the gentleman, but you provoke me at every turn. My cock aches to be inside you. Can’t you feel it?”
Her lips parted on a silent plea when his finger slid along her wet sex. Then she felt his hand between their bodies, through the layers of silk and chemise. She heard the buttons of his trousers being freed from their fastenings, felt her body being pushed against the wall and her thigh being raised and hooked around his waist.
Arching her back, she thrust her hips and breasts forward and he stroked his tongue along her nipples. She was rocking against him and she could hear his breathing, harsh and rapid, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that they could be discovered and her name would be tarnished for life. She didn’t care about anything save for what her body was crying out for.
His mouth was against her ear, his chest, muscled and firm, was pressing against her breasts, the silk threads of his waistcoat rubbing against her nipples and making them throb.
“Bella,” he rasped. “Tell me you feel this, too. That you come alive in my arms.”
“You know I do.” Her mouth sought his, and he brushed his lips against hers; the feel of him back, kissing her, was soul filling. She moaned and opened to him, absorbing him. The hollow piece of her was filling, and she feared it, even as she recklessly plunged forward.
She felt her arm being raised, felt the contact of his face beside hers, the warmth of his breath caressing her cheek.
“Touch me.”
Before she could protest or even move, Isabella found her fingers grazing his cheek, the skin warm and covered with the faintest dusting of stubble. His hand guided hers to his chin, which felt strong and angular.
“Isabella,” he said against her fingers. “Touch me,” he whispered again. This time need replaced the masterful tone of his voice. “Make me come alive beneath your hands. I’ve been dead these past weeks.”
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