Black Widow: A Spellbound Regency Novel

by Lucy Leroux

  The one thing that did surprise him was that she’d never taken it upon herself to learn about the issue on her own.

  “I think Martin did you a disservice by not even broaching the topic of sex,” he confessed. “If you were planning on having children, he should have explained some of this.”

  Amelia had put her head close to his as they lay on their sides facing each other on the bed. “You mustn’t blame him. It was my decision to set such discussions aside. Martin had met Crispin early in our marriage, and I could see the pair were falling in love. At the time, it seemed wise to disregard any personal considerations until they could be indulged.”

  He frowned at her. “I know a wife is expected to do whatever she can to ensure her husband’s happiness, but burying your own needs and desires hardly seems fair.”

  She lifted one white shoulder. “As I said, it was my decision. I had ample opportunity to educate myself as it were, had I chosen to do so. While abroad, I had to actively discourage the attentions of several gentlemen who would have only been too happy to be of service in that regard.”

  “I’m sure there were,” he growled before kissing her with a hard hunger. “Be prepared—any man who dares volunteer to be at your service now will have to answer to me.”

  Gideon pulled her closer, his blatant possessiveness on open display. She should have chided him for it, but instead, she curled her body against his, stroking his chest with her hand until she fell asleep.

  His life, his future, was literally in his arms. Gideon swept a hand over Amelia’s waist and hips with the lightest touch so he wouldn’t wake her.

  A confused riot of emotions stirred in his breast. Guilt was predominant among them. His current prospects for a marriage based on love and respect had come at a high price—the life of his cousin.

  Deep down, a part of him knew that this had been inevitable. He had lied to himself and to Clarke when he said he hadn’t seen Amelia since she was a child. She had been sixteen, almost seventeen, and already a stunning beauty.

  Almost eight years her senior, he had been stirred even then. Instinctively, Gideon had known she could be dangerous to his heart. From them on, he had avoided her and Martin, telling himself he would visit the following year or the year after.

  He hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near Amelia, to be forced to confront his feelings for her, especially after she and Martin had married. Consequently, he had been unaware she was in danger from his predatory uncle.

  Then there was Martin…what if there had been a way to prevent his accident? And if his cousin had lived, would the truth of their marriage have been enough for Gideon to set aside his honor so he could selfishly claim Amelia for his own?

  I would have still wanted her, even if I had met her as his wife. He was honest enough to admit the truth.

  Unlike other men of the ton, Gideon did not dally with married women, restricting his brief liaisons to widows and once a member of the demimonde. Though those women had not asked for fidelity, he had given it to them as long as the liaison had lasted. The only time he had flirted with someone’s wife had been in France, under the auspices of the war office. But he had never been the reason a woman broke her wedding vows.

  Violating the sanctity of marriage—even one as complicated as his cousin’s—would have been a stain on his honor. He had never questioned whether he was capable of such a sin until now.

  He had to stop thinking like this. The sad fact was, Martin was gone. They had mourned him for over a year, but not even the harshest grand dame would expect a widow as young as Amelia to devote her life to his memory and wear black for the rest of her days.

  No, the ton was anticipating a second marriage for her. The fact she would be marrying him and not Lord Worthing would set tongue’s wagging, but Gideon didn’t give a damn about the gossip. As long as Amelia was his, society could hang.

  The moon was too bright. At this rate, he would spend all night staring at Amelia if he didn’t close the curtains. Gideon turned, soundlessly extracting himself from her sleeping form. He was at the window when he saw it—a pair of glowing eyes not ten feet away in the shadow of some trees.

  His mind tried to dismiss it, but the apparition did not fade. In fact, it moved, the eyes shifting position as if they were meeting his gaze. Then they winked out. The head had turned away.

  Gideon was shocked into immobility by the strange sight. But the sound of Amelia shifting on the bed spurred him. He stormed into action. Snatching up his coat, he threw it on, dismissing the rest of his clothing. He hesitated over his boots but decided to go without—there was no time to waste pulling on the tight calf-length Hessians.

  Taking advantage of being on the ground floor, he threw open the window and jumped over the windowsill. He took care to close it behind him before running toward the spot where he’d seen the intruder. If the villain got past him, he would have to take the time to open it again if he wanted to get to Amelia.

  Gideon wouldn’t let that happen.

  He narrowed his eyes and drew his pistol out of his coat pocket, squinting into the darkness under the tree canopy. By the time his eyes adjusted, he knew he was alone. His finely honed senses didn’t detect the presence of another.

  There was no hint of a hidden person breathing in the shadows, no sound of running feet. Indeed, there was no noise at all. None of the normal sounds of the night could be heard. All was silent. Whoever or whatever had been out here was gone, but the unnatural quiet marked the spot. Something had stood here under the trees, watching him.

  Gideon checked the perimeter of the house in his bare feet, careful to keep the gun ready in his hand. With only his coat as cover the cold bit at his exposed skin, but there was no way in hell he was going back inside if there was a chance the intruder was still about.

  What the devil had it been? He stood outside, practically naked, until he accepted that the eyes were well and truly gone.

  Shaking his head, Gideon crawled back through the window, fastening it shut with a tiny metallic scrape. He’d only been gone a matter of minutes. Amelia was still sleeping soundly in bed. Despite his rapid action, he’d left the room with practiced stealth, quiet enough to avoid waking her—at least until he slipped back under the covers, bringing the night’s cold with him.

  Startled, she stirred and pulled away from his chilled body. “What? Wh—”

  Blast. “Shh. Everything is fine. I—I had to go outside,” he said in a murmur.

  “Why?” Amelia muttered, her eyes drifting closed.

  “It was nothing,” he murmured absently, his thoughts on the nightmarish vision he’d seen.

  It had to be a trick of some kind. “I thought I saw something is all,” he said, wrapping one arm around her protectively.

  Amelia murmured something he couldn’t catch, but then her voice strengthened and she raised her head. “Was it the demon?”

  He watched her for a long moment. “What demon?” he asked, his throat tight.

  She yawned and put her head back down on the pillow. He shook her. “Amelia, what demon?”

  “The one that killed Martin.”

  Chapter 18

  Gideon paced outside impatiently. He’d risen at dawn and dressed quickly, determined to examine the area around the house as soon as he could. A weighty resoluteness settled in his breast when he saw the traces of giant footprints under the trees.

  Forcing himself to focus, Gideon followed the prints until they faded some hundred yards from the cottage. They ended well before the ruin of the main house, but after checking the lower floors of the burned building, he was certain last night’s visitor had been there, too.

  He clenched his jaw, taking a steadying breath before heading back to the cottage. If what Amelia had said last night was true, then someone—or something—had been responsible for his cousin’s death. And it was following her.

  A demon. Gideon didn’t believe in such things, but that was what Amelia had said while half-asleep. After what he
’d seen last night, he didn’t question her choice of words—not that she’d elaborated. Despite his poking and prodding, Amelia had slipped back into slumber without further explanation. He’d decided the discussion could wait until the light of day.

  It was difficult to credit, but the threat to Amelia had taken an occult turn. Or at least it was what someone wanted him to believe.

  Despite the strain and distance in their relationship, Sir Clarence would not have harmed Martin. Though he had been frustrated with his son at times, Gideon knew from past conversations that his overbearing relative had loved Martin.

  Clarence’s feelings for Amelia were another story. Nevertheless, connecting Sir Clarence to these events didn’t wash, not if last night’s visitor had something to do with Martin’s death.

  Gideon tracked the position of the sun in the sky, wondering if it was too early to wake Amelia. He needed to question her. She could no longer afford to keep any secrets from him. He couldn’t let her.

  The sound of carriage wheels cut his rumination short. He reached for his pistol before he recognized the man peering out the vehicle’s window as it stopped a few dozen yards down the drive.

  Clarke stepped down and greeted him with a frown. “I received your note. What in the blazes happened here?’ he asked, gesturing to the house.

  Gideon explained his suspicions about the cause of the fire tersely, thanking the impulse that led him to ask his friend to follow him. Clarke had arrived via the most expedient route, traveling on the mail coach and then hiring a carriage in a nearby town.

  “How badly is the viscount hurt?” Clarke asked after Gideon detailed the accident.

  “I’m not certain. But it’s fortunate you’re here. I’d appreciate if you could examine his injuries and make an assessment. We had a doctor look over him last night, but he was quite young and struck me as still wet behind the ears.”

  He hadn’t mentioned this observation to Amelia last night. There had been no reason to distress her further—and he’d known Clarke was on the way. His friend had medical training and had even sewn shut one of his knife wounds after a particularly eventful night in Toulon.

  Clarke nodded and dismissed the driver and postilion with a handsome tip, letting them take the hired chaise back to the posting inn. “I’ll look in on the patient straightaway, but perhaps you’d like to explain why you and the viscount are suddenly on good enough terms to tear across the country together? Not that I question the wisdom of the trip,” he added with a nod at the ruined Palladian.

  Gideon hesitated, weighing disclosing the truth about Worthing and Martin. It was the conflict of a moment. He trusted Clarke with his life—and Worthing’s. They had been keeping too many secrets as it was.

  Clarke was surprised, but not appalled to hear of Martin’s proclivities. He grew quiet and thoughtful before promising not to breathe a word of the truth to anyone. His only exclamation came when Gideon showed him the footprints and described what he saw, but he cut him short—they’d discuss the situation again once he’d spoken to Amelia.

  He sent Clarke to wake Worthing and examine the viscount’s injury before going in search of the caretaker. Now that Clarke was here, they might need more provisions for breakfast.

  The old venerable was one step ahead of him. Gibson had sent messages to the local taproom and the nearest baker. An assortment of freshly baked breads and pies were on their way. Gideon was about to go and wake Amelia when she stumbled into the kitchen of her own accord.

  Somehow, she’d managed to wash and dress in a fresh gown without the aid of a maid. Still blinking sleepily at him, she allowed him to usher her to the table without argument. He’d just informed her of Clarke’s arrival when his friend joined them in the kitchen and the caretaker retreated to check on the horses.

  Clarke greeted Amelia with a warm smile, and then took her hand in a sure sign something was wrong. He didn’t prevaricate, promptly sharing what was bothering him.

  “Viscount Worthing is doing well enough under the circumstance, but his convalescence may be long if he’s not cared for properly. He’s determined to return to London, to the care of his personal physician. Normally I’d advise against moving him, but given the distance to the nearest neighbors and the relative isolation here, I think it would be prudent to accede to his wishes…”

  Amelia’s eyes had darkened as he explained. “Of course, we’ll depart for town as soon as he’s ready,” she said, rising from her seat.

  “After breakfast is soon enough,” Gideon murmured, urging her back down. He waited for her to finish before fetching her pelisse.

  Then he took her out to the space under the trees. He didn’t say anything, watching silently as Amelia’s lips parted. Her creamy skin paled, the horror in her eyes growing until he pulled her into his arms, trying to envelop her with his strength.

  “You’ve seen these before, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

  Her chin rubbed his chest as she nodded. The noise of the carriage stirred her. Clarke was helping Worthing into his carriage.

  “No, put him in Amelia’s coach,” he called out. “It’s bigger and he’ll be able to stretch out more comfortably.” He turned back to her. “Clarke will ride with him. We’ll take Worthing’s coach back alone so we can talk. You are going to confide in me now, aren’t you?”

  “I…yes. It’s time.” She inhaled audibly and pulled away, but was checked by the hold he kept on her arm. Reluctantly, he released her so she could speak to the servants. Once her trunk was loaded, they departed.

  Miles passed in silence. “It’s not a demon,” he began.

  Her blue gaze searched his face in shock, confirming she’d been asleep and had no memory of what she’d said.

  “That is what you said last night. I went out to investigate our trespasser last night and you asked if it was the demon that killed Martin.”

  Amelia averted her gaze, her hands fisting in her lap. He waited and she laughed to keep from crying. “I’ve seen things…things that cannot possibly exist in a sane world. I thought I was going mad.”

  “You’re not mad, but I think someone is trying to convince you that you are. You need to tell me everything. Start when Martin died.”

  She nodded, but her gaze was fixed on her lap, her expression remote. “It was the worst day of my entire life. I had paid a few calls and then attended a tea. We were new to the area, but Crispin had introduced us to all the major landowners—he’d thrown a ball in our honor. He made certain the local gentry embraced us, so I was always being invited to some event or another.” She paused, a trace of a smile on her face. It faded quickly.

  “Everything was going well. Crispin and Martin were happy, and I had met some like-minded females who devoted themselves to charitable causes. I was with the ladies’ auxiliary discussing ways to raise funds to expand the local school…and then I came home and found him.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and he fought the impulse to yank her back into his arms. He needed her to tell him everything, even if it meant letting her face the agony of her memories alone. The most he could do was take her hand, which he gripped tightly.

  “His head had struck the marble floor. There was blood everywhere,” she continued in a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do so I took him in my arms. The servants tried to make me let go, but I refused…The creature was watching from the top of the stairs. By the time I noticed it, the sun had set and it was dark. All I saw was its eyes—they glowed like the fires of hell. And then I blinked and it was gone. Afterward, I was convinced the shock had momentarily unhinged me. Nothing happened while I was in mourning. But then Crispin convinced me I needed to go up to town…”

  She stopped speaking, her eyes growing bleak and distant.

  “You’ve seen it since then,” he prompted when she remained silent. “Was it at Westcliff’s?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No, it was at the Duke of Marlboro’s ball. The demon was watching from the musician’s balcony.”<
br />
  That explains it. “It was why you fainted,” he murmured, marveling at the arrogance of the villain, to attempt such a thing in full view of half the ton. “Did you get a good look at it?”

  “No, again, I only caught a glimpse of the eyes.”

  “Where else have you seen it?”

  “That was the only other time I saw it physically, but I also found similar marks in the soil of my garden in town. And there have been other…disturbances.”

  “What kind of disturbances?”

  Her blue eyes clouded with uncertainty. “It’s not the same. You’ll say it’s my imagination.”

  “No, I won’t.” Gideon stroked her palm with his thumb. “What I saw last night looked demonic. I’m not so much of a braggart that I’d deny it nearly made me piss myself.”

  Amelia scoffed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “It’s true,” he assured her. “But I think the force behind this monstrous vision is a person. One who is trying to frighten you—and they’re doing a fine damn job of it. If this villain is willing to taunt and intimidate you at a major ball, then it stands to reason they’ve made other attempts. This bastard is without morals or scruples and they’re devilishly inventive.”

  Amelia failed to repress a shudder. “I’ve heard voices coming from empty rooms, and have seen shadows cast by nothing at all. Thrice now I’ve been walking in the hallway and caught movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn the corner, there’s nothing there.”

  “What else?” He knew from the way she was avoiding his eyes that there was more.

  “I keep finding things at the bottom of the stairs. Dead things. It used to be roses, but the last was a rodent of some sort. Gideon—”

  “What?” he asked, perplexed.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said, gesturing to the hand holding hers with a now-painful grip.

  “Oh, good God.” He relaxed his hold, rubbing her fingers gently. He was losing control. He needed to refocus.