His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  Michael had stopped making love to her only a week after their honeymoon. He'd used Sera as his excuse, pointing out that his unschooled sister was liable to hear them in a bedroom only two doors down the hall. When Eden tried to seduce him during less conventional times—the Saturday afternoon, for instance, when Collie first sneaked Sera to the animal orphanage to meet Vandy—Michael claimed he'd agreed to repair the leaks in Claudia's roof. Other times, he pleaded an appointment he'd forgotten to mention. Or a headache. Or fatigue.

  As if to apologize, he usually brought her flowers the next day. He never actually said he was sorry; she supposed he was too proud for that. But in truth, she didn't need him to say the words. She just needed him to hold her.

  She remembered the last time he'd allowed himself to touch her in their bed. On that predawn morning in mid-August, a golden moon had long since bobbed behind the horizon. The candles had guttered; even the crickets had hushed. Daylight couldn't have been more than an hour away. Something roused her from a dream—the usual restless dream—about him.

  She realized his breath was stirring the curls on the nape of her neck.

  Tingles streaked to her toes. She lay on her side, not daring to move. Not since Louisville had he eased himself beside her in this way, a hungry way, as if his long weeks of abstinence had finally taken their toll. His hand skimmed her cheek, so feather soft, she thought she must have imagined it. But then the hair he'd been brushing back from her ear snagged on the button of her gown. She swallowed.

  He froze.

  Half afraid to breathe, she lay waiting, hoping. She listened to his heart—or was it hers?—thundering around her in the night. The heat between his thighs nearly scalded her buttocks, but she only craved more. How many nights had she lain smoldering like this, longing for him to set her aflame?

  Finally his voice, low and husky, crooned above her ear. "I'm sorry."

  Tears crowded fast and thick into her throat. He said nothing else, did nothing else.

  It was more than she could bear.

  "Michael."

  He tensed.

  "P-please touch me again."

  She felt a tremor move through him.

  "I didn't mean to wake you." The tone was very different this time, so distant. So... polite.

  "I don't mind. Truly." She rolled on her back—and checked her next impulse. Something in his manner warned her against reaching for him, against pressing her lips to his or weaving her fingers through his hair.

  "I love you so much," she whispered fervently.

  His chest heaved above her. As dim as it was, she could see his features contort. Was he in pain?

  "You are"—the rasp of his words grew almost guttural—"more than I deserve."

  She tried not to frown. This wasn't the first time he'd alluded to such a thing. That he might honestly harbor the belief was starting to unnerve her.

  She tried to focus on her love, not her upset. "Sometimes you make me so happy, I wonder how I could deserve you," she countered gently.

  He bowed his head. She didn't need to see his face to realize his turmoil. Struggle was etched into every rigid sinew, every ragged breath. She ached to know what was tearing him apart.

  "Would you... tell me if I'd done something wrong?" she whispered uneasily. "Something that hurt you?"

  "Oh God." His gasp was half laugh, half sob. "You're the one blessing in my life."

  "Then what—?"

  His lips swooped. Her head reeled with the tender savagery of his kiss. Dizzy with delight, she barely noticed the taste of salt on his tongue. She barely noticed how he shuddered when she arched her hips against his.

  He loved her in every possible way that early summer morning—except one. The one that would join them completely. The one that she yearned for so much, she ached physically whenever he stood within reach.

  Her husband had denied her his child. And in the weeks that followed, as he'd returned home later and later from his business, he chose to sleep in Gabriel's old bed.

  Eden's suspicions made her heart bleed. It could no longer listen to the scant excuses that Michael offered. It couldn't be salved by his flowers and trinkets. News of Bonnie's baby had been the final assault.

  And this time, Eden's wound was mortal.

  Chapter 12

  The morning following Bonnie's visit to the clinic, Eden was still grappling with her conscience, wondering if she had the right to breach a patient's confidentiality to confront Michael and question his fidelity. She thought she might explode with the feelings at war inside her. That's why she was glad, for once, to be refereeing the usual coon-and-cat feud that had erupted after Collie's plea to "mind Vandy for a spell."

  But another, more unsettling diversion soon arrived at the back door to test her patience.

  Feathers of frost speared the kitchen window, distorting all but the lean build and tawny hair of the person who approached the house. She didn't know who was more surprised when she answered his playful, Morse-code rapping. She'd been expecting the return of Collie. The stranger had obviously been expecting... someone else.

  For a long moment, keen pewter eyes searched hers. They were so clear, she actually glimpsed her reflection: flushed cheeks, stray damp curls, flour-dusted gingham. If not for the broom she clutched, sticky with syrup and fragments of porcelain, one might have thought she'd been baking instead of chasing Vandy around the war zone that had once been her pantry. Stazzie was still hissing behind one of the few canning jars that hadn't rolled off the top shelf. Vandy heckled her from below, shoving broken lemon cookies into his mouth. Eden expected to hear another crash any minute. She didn't have time to entertain.

  And yet the man's smile, a dazzling flash of rogue dimples, chipped at her resolve.

  "My apologies, madam." His drawl was a captivating blend of southern elegance and western twang. "I thought this was the Jones residence."

  "It... uh... is." She chided herself for stammering like a moonstruck maid. "Dr. Michael Jones lives here."

  "Ah. Well, I was looking for Miss Sera Jones."

  Eden's curiosity climbed another notch. This gentleman was looking for Sera? For surely the stranger's impeccably tailored gray wool, silk cravat, gold wrist cuffs, and bouquet of zinnias were the marks of good breeding. Michael would be overjoyed to know that his sister had finally cast her eyes toward a beau of merit—perhaps one with an honest-to-goodness bank account—although she did worry that Michael might object to the stranger's age. He appeared close to thirty.

  Even so, Eden guessed the man's mouth-watering good looks had won over Sera's resistance to mature beaux. She'd been moping for days, ever since Kit and she had called it quits. Eden wasn't exactly sure what had happened—or who had ended the courtship—because Sera was barely on speaking terms with her. Indeed, the only person whom Sera seemed to confide in these days was Collie.

  Something splashed behind Eden. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder, following the sound of Vandy's gleeful whickering. He was washing the pork rib Stazzie had left unguarded by her water bowl. Meanwhile, fierce cat growls rattled the pantry door that the coon had so cleverly pushed shut.

  Eden mustered a smile for the stranger. Sera would kill her if she let Vandy and Stazzie drive the man away.

  "Um... Sera ran next door to borrow some eggs," Eden said, raising her voice above the animal feud behind her. "I'm sure she'll be back any minute. You're welcome to wait inside. It's safer than it sounds, I promise."

  Heartened by the amusement in his eyes, she opened the door wider. "I'm Eden, Sera's sister-in-law."

  Shock registered on the man's sunbronzed features.

  "Mrs. Jones." He gave her an off-center smile. "That's very gracious of you. I wasn't aware Michael had married. No doubt my invitation was lost in the mail," he added with dry aplomb. "I realize they're not much of a wedding gift, but I hope you'll accept these flowers as a token of esteem from... your brother-in-law. Raphael."

  Her breath hissed between her
teeth. She could have kicked herself for her reaction. She hadn't meant to be rude. Even so, he didn't bat an eye. No doubt he'd expected worse.

  "Oh, Rafe." She hastily accepted his bouquet. "I'm so sorry. I should have guessed."

  "You've heard of me then," he said wryly.

  "Yes. Yes, of course. Please come in."

  He inclined his head, stepping past her. She had the fleeting impression of feral grace and sandalwood cologne. He didn't look the least bit intimidated as he entered the lion's den—or perhaps she should say the grizzly's den—and yet, like the wily fox, she sensed his every instinct was on the alert. She hastened to juggle her broom and bouquet so she could take his hat and gloves.

  But the minute her arms were loaded, Vandy, to her consternation, chose to pester her guest. Fearless of humans, he galloped over to Rafe's shoes, which were polished bright enough to catch a raccoon's eye, and yanked at the shiny buckle fastening his gray spats. Eden was mortified, but Rafe's lips quirked.

  "I see you've had more than one visitor this morning," he drawled as Vandy wrestled with his prize.

  "I'm so sorry." She lunged for the coon, who'd been forewarned by her shadow, and was making a beeline for cover. Somehow, she grabbed his ruff before he charged through the razor-sharp fragments of cookie jar she'd been sweeping. "He keeps escaping from his cage," she added, blowing out her breath. Vandy had grown into a hefty, twenty-pound adolescent. "Collie left to put a new latch on the door, but I'm afraid it's hopeless. Vanderbilt is just too smart to stay behind bars. And the truth is, he shouldn't have to. If he weren't so trusting of people, we would have released him back to the wild by now."

  "Hmm." Rafe cocked his head, addressing her masked ward. "I daresay it's no fun climbing trees when you could be locking cats in the pantry, eh?"

  "Stazzie! Good heavens, I almost forgot."

  "Allow me, would you?"

  To her bemusement, Rafe offered to take the raccoon from her arms. Beady black eyes regarded him solemnly, and Vandy stretched out a paw, as if recognizing a kindred spirit.

  "Are you sure?" Eden suspected her bundle of mischief would leave Rafe's expensive silks and wools the worse for wear. "I mean, Vandy won't bite or anything, but he will try to rob you of every button, coin, and gewgaw you own."

  "I rescued a baby otter once and had to teach her how to swim. She's surviving quite well in the forests near Aspen these days, but..." He cast her a sideways glance as he let Vandy wrap a miniature hand around his thumb. "Sometimes I miss her. Tavy was fond of buttons too. Buttons and crayfish and... imported French soap bubbles."

  Wistfulness crept into his tone. She tried to imagine this well-heeled sophisticate kneeling by a copper bathtub to teach an otter how to swim. It wasn't the sort of picture Sera had painted of her wayward, oat-sowing brother. And it wasn't at all like the bitter, angry young man that Michael had painted.

  Eden smiled in understanding. Rafe smiled back. Vandy got busy ransacking his pockets.

  With a curious coon to thwart the formalities, it wasn't long before Rafe lounged on her settee in an arrestingly male pose. Charming and debonair, he proved the model guest, acting as if it were an everyday occurrence to have the contents of his pockets strewn across the carpet, the spoils of a ring-tailed marauder.

  Sipping coffee, munching sticky buns, he regaled her with comedic tales: his stage debut as Shakespeare's Juliet, his five-month misery as a saddle-sore cowpoke, his adventures in a haunted silver mine, and his otter's frolic in the bath of his outraged bride-to-be. His stories had Eden laughing so hard, she feared she'd split a seam. It surprised her that she could strike up an instant camaraderie with the black sheep of the Jones family. Part of her felt guilty, considering the bad blood between Rafe and her husband. Another part of her empathized with Rafe. She supposed the reason was Talking Raven. The Cherokee had shown her how painful it was to be an outsider.

  Perhaps a half hour slipped by before Rafe set his empty cup and saucer on the serving tray. Vandy had curled up at his boots, chewing the last of the sticky buns; Stazzie dozed in Eden's lap.

  "I fear I've been rather selfish," Rafe drawled, "rambling on about myself. My only defense is that you've been an attentive audience. More attentive than I deserve."

  "I've enjoyed your stories, Rafe."

  "I take it laughter has been in short supply around here these days?"

  His question, so matter-of-fact and yet so insightful, caught her off guard. She'd guessed that Sera had written to him, of course; still, she hadn't had a moment to think how she should address the cause: Michael's illness.

  "How is he?" Rafe asked quietly.

  She averted her eyes. She hadn't meant to be cowardly. In truth, the feelings that wedged in her throat were so familiar now, she'd learned to talk around them.

  But whether for good or bad, this time, she was spared from one of her discreet rebuttals. The back door slammed. Stazzie jerked awake. Sera's laughter floated down the hall. She was talking to someone about eggs and pumpkin pie. Eden felt every hair on her head prickle. She prayed that "someone" was Collie.

  It wasn't.

  Sera's gasp came next from the hallway. Rafe had already risen, silhouetted against the stream of autumn sunshine like some bronzed Apollo. Eden's introduction fizzled on her tongue as Sera squealed. A streak of pink tarlatan and lace ruffles, she flew into the parlor and launched herself into his arms.

  Rafe laughed, swinging her around as effortlessly as he might a child. Eden watched nervously, her gaze flickering to her husband. Michael stood motionless on the threshold, his face chiseled granite.

  "Oh Rafe, oh Rafe, you came!"

  "Of course I came. I told you 'whenever you need me,' remember?"

  Michael's chest heaved. Other than that, one might have thought he'd turned to stone.

  Sera stepped back, clapping her gloved hands together. "Oh, what fun. I bet you surprised Eden, huh?"

  "You might have told me about my new sister-in-law," he countered.

  She dimpled endearingly. "You didn't like my surprise?"

  Rafe's gaze flickered to Michael, then back to Sera. A refined roguery crept into his smile. "Your surprise has been delightful."

  Eden cleared her throat. Stazzie was rubbing affectionately against Michael's ankles, but he didn't appear to notice. His eyes fairly smoked, riveted as they were to Rafe.

  Unable to postpone the inevitable any longer, Rafe turned at last and faced his older brother. The air crackled between them.

  "Michael," Rafe greeted dryly.

  "Raphael."

  Eden held her breath. She knew what this reunion could mean for Michael if he'd only drop his pride.

  The silence lengthened. For the first time since meeting Rafe, Eden actually sensed the presence of some bottled tumult inside him. She suspected he'd exercised no small amount of courage to show his face at Michael's door.

  "Well." Rafe folded his arms across his chest and critically eyed the brother standing apart from them in the shadows. "You don't look sick."

  "Disappointed, are you?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake." Sera rolled her eyes. "Rafe didn't come to gloat. He came here to talk some sense into you."

  Um..." Eden found herself twisting her hands in her skirts. She hated when she did that. "I'm expecting Collie to return any minute with Vandy's cage. He might even bring Jamie. Might we call a truce for the sake of our guests?"

  "A splendid idea." Rafe's smiled dripped mockery. "We'll postpone the dagger throwing 'til after luncheon."

  Sera giggled. "That should give us plenty of time to march you down to the trading post. I declare, Aunt Claudia will bite her pipe stem in half to see you all grown up and looking so fine."

  Sera took Rafe's arm. He acquiesced, turning to say his farewell.

  "Eden." The gaze that rose to hers was apologetic. "I look forward to knowing you better."

  She nodded and swallowed, uncertain whether to be relieved or frustrated when Sera rushed Rafe out the front doo
r, leaving her to deal with Michael.

  He held her gaze for an excruciatingly long moment.

  "Did you know he was coming?"

  His question was unsettling. She couldn't tell if he was angry or weary, resentful or hurt. But then, her husband was a master at hiding his feelings. She supposed all doctors had to be dispassionate to some degree. But Michael was also a man. He didn't have to pretend he never feared. Or yearned. Or despaired.

  At least, he didn't have to pretend with her.

  "No," she answered warily. "Sera never tells me anything these days."

  Stazzie's purr sounded unnaturally loud in the unwinding silence.

  "I'm sorry your friendship has suffered." He drew himself taller, like a man waiting for the lash. "Let's hope this is the last of Sera's surprises. I trust Rafe made arrangements for his lodging elsewhere?"

  "He... agreed it would be best."

  Nodding, Michael turned for the stairs.

  "Michael?"

  His heart tripped to hear the quiet determination in her query. Either she was about to ask him to make some kind of promise regarding Rafe, and he'd have to deny her; or she was about to demand some explanation he'd been avoiding, and he'd have to lie. Neither prospect sat well with him. The alternative—watching her grieve while he discussed his mortality—was more devastating than his disease.

  That's why he'd been secretly arranging for the inevitable. He'd signed his last will and testament, ordered his grave marker, and paid the remainder of his debts. While he wouldn't leave Eden and Sera wealthy, at least they'd be comfortable until they fell in love more wisely the next time and married.

  He prayed that Eden wouldn't waste time in mourning.

  Even so, the thought of her in another man's arms was likely to kill him before this damned, lingering plague did. He didn't know which was the lesser hell: barring himself like some prisoner from their bed, or watching her shutter her heart as she slowly fell out of love with him. Christ, that love had come to mean everything to him, even though he couldn't quite believe he deserved it. He wanted to feel worthy of a woman like Eden.