Black Widow: A Spellbound Regency Novel

by Lucy Leroux

  “Hmm, I don’t know, though I agree,” Gideon said, pushing away the plates so he could stretch out beside her. He leaned on one elbow and ran his finger down her cheek. “I’m just grateful for the unseasonably warm weather; otherwise, I couldn’t do this…”

  He opened the ties at the front of her gown, undoing her bodice.

  “Gideon, we are out of doors!”

  “On my estate.” He laughed, bending to tease her lips with a series of nibbling kisses.

  “Yes, but the tenants—”

  “Better stay away if they know what’s good for them,” he said, tossing up her skirts with a grin.

  “What about the guards? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve had all my footmen shadowing my every step. They’ll be able to hear us.”

  “Which is why I asked them to keep a wide berth this afternoon. None of them are near enough to hear us if we don’t shout…or rather, if you don’t shout.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she pinched him. “You are louder than I am!”

  “Fibbing is a sin, love.” He snickered, blocking her little fists when they flew at him. “But have no fear. The men are far enough away. Plus, I secreted a brace of pistols in that hamper. We are perfectly secure here.”

  Amelia’s lips parted at the news there were arms within reach, but she didn’t seem disturbed. Instead, she dismissed them with a shrug and opened her arms to him.

  With a husky laugh, he crawled over her, his hands gravitating under her skirts. After a few feverish minutes, he’d managed to rid her of her gown, leaving only her gossamer shift. Gideon loved the way her beautiful body appeared through the sheer silk fabric.

  But not as much as I love touching her through it. He opened his shirt and pressed his chest against her swollen breasts as he shifted down to kiss and suckle them.

  “Oh, oh, stop. It’s too much!” Amelia said. Her hands trembled as she tried to shift him away.

  Of course, they’re too sensitive! “Sorry, love,” he murmured, drifting down to pay court between her legs instead. There his mouth was more than welcome.

  Amelia moaned, arching under his touch. The sound heated his blood, and he increased the pressure of his lips, using his teeth to gently graze her soft inner lips and swollen bud.

  She cried out, writhing in an attempt to escape, but he held her firm. Her taste was indescribable—and subtly different now. Combined with her other symptoms, there was only one conclusion. She was most assuredly with child.

  “Gideon, please stop,” she panted, shaking her head. “I can’t…I…”

  “Yes, you can love. Now open your legs a little wider,” he ordered, nudging them with his broad shoulders. Twisting her bud slightly with his teeth, he worked two of his fingers in her sheath, curling them forward to stroke the special little spot inside.

  Amelia gasped and put her hand over her mouth to muffle her own scream, so the guards beyond the orchard wouldn’t hear her. She was still trembling when he pulled open his breeches and drove into her.

  “My lord!” she sobbed, her arms clawing at his shoulder.

  Gideon didn’t know if it was praise or a plea. The moment his shaft entered her hot clinging passage, all thought had ceased. His lips parted as he slid to the hilt. It was like a velvet vise, the only home he’d ever known or wanted.

  “Hold me tight, little love,” he said, withdrawing and surging back inside, driven by the hungry fire she effortlessly stoked in him.

  “Yes, yes,” she breathed, her hips straining to meet his.

  Gideon fisted a hand in her hair. The wanton flush staining her cheeks and lips was a personal victory. He loved her unbridled response, the way she gave herself to him. It was a sign of her trust in him, one he would never take for granted.

  Soon, his breath shortened, the ragged sound joining the chorus of moans that Amelia fought to hold back. But he wouldn’t let her.

  “That’s it, little love,” he whispered. “Take all of me, feel me filling you.”

  She sobbed again, pressing a hot openmouthed kiss as she clenched him tight, her thighs shaking with the effort to keep up with the relentless drive of his hips.

  “You’re all mine,” he hissed. “Every bit of you—mind, body, and soul. It’s all mine.”

  “And you’re mine,” she said, craning her neck to bite his lip, surprising him.

  Her small show of aggression was enough to break down what little restraint he had left. He stroked faster and faster, glorying in her pulsing, throbbing heat.

  Gideon wanted to pound and grind against her, but the thought of his child held him in check. Amelia, however, cared nothing for his self-discipline. She met him thrust for thrust, using her hands to pull him close as she twisted and rocked to caress his length with her body.

  It was too much. He waited until she shuddered, climaxing with a sharp intake of breath before thrusting one more time and finally letting go. The tight coil of pain and pleasure unraveled and he poured himself into her, his seed jetting hard against the entrance to her womb.

  An unwilling groan was ripped from his throat as he expended his last bit of strength to try and roll away. Amelia wouldn’t let him. She held him with shaking limbs, effortlessly managing to keep him in place despite the disparity in their strengths. He gave up and resettled his weight to avoid crushing her, enjoying the feel of her hands running through his hair.

  They lay joined together for so long, he wondered if she had gone numb from his weight, but she didn’t complain. He lifted his head, parting his lips to ask, and saw it watching them.

  The demon.

  The deep mud-brown creature stared at them, the raging fires of hell in its eyes. It was massive, standing two heads taller than him with strangely misshapen arms.

  “Amelia, get up!” he shouted, pulling from her body and scrambling to his feet. He dragged her up and forced her behind him.

  That moment of inattention was enough to give the monster the advantage. The few seconds Gideon spent trying to secure Amelia allowed it to approach. He had no time to move before the creature backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the floor with a strange hissing sound.

  Gideon winced, biting back a shout as his manhood was abraded on the rough ground. He shot back up, ignoring the pain as he spared a moment to tuck himself back in. He went back after the beast, which was steadily advancing on Amelia.

  “No! Stay away from her!” He threw himself at it, landing on its back.

  The creature brushed him off like an annoying gnat. He landed on his back, the force knocking the air from his lungs. Sucking in a big breath, he stood, a little more slowly.

  “Gideon.”

  He couldn’t see his wife. The size of the giant hid her from his sight. Panting for a new reason, he rounded on the beast, spinning to get between it and Amelia.

  “Gideon, what do I do?” Amelia asked, clinging to his back.

  “Run!” he yelled, bracing his booted feet against the ground to keep the monster from advancing.

  It didn’t work. The creature was too strong. The soles of his boot’s slid helplessly back as it continued to advance. He didn’t see the arm lift, but he felt the impact—a glancing blow to the side of his head strong enough to send him crumbling to the ground.

  Amelia’s scream was distant and tinny. His ears were ringing like that time he’d stood too close to a cannon being fired.

  “Amelia, run!” She was still there. He could hear her screaming.

  His heart felt as if it was being ripped out of his chest. The piercing agony of that cry reverberated in his soul. Gideon had never felt more helpless in his entire life.

  “Run,” Gideon repeated, but his voice sounded half-strangled. His attempt to stand failed, so he crawled.

  He blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision. The small pink and cream form against the tree was his wife, the brown mountain the beast moving toward her.

  “Don’t.”

  Amelia cowered against the trunk, her hands up to cover her face fo
r the inevitable blow.

  Staggering to his feet, Gideon watched, transfixed, as it reached out. But it didn’t hit Amelia. It fondled her.

  Amelia’s dumbstruck expression was as shocked as his. The creature was touching her breast, roughly rubbing its massive hand across the rosy-tipped peak clearly visible through the translucent material of her shift. And then it got worse.

  The human-shaped hand trailed down, stroking to the shadowy cleft between Amelia’s legs.

  Face appalled, Amelia shrank down against the tree, slapping at the violating fingers.

  The pistols. Blood surged, and Gideon fought to stand, only to fall when he dived for the basket. But the guns were loaded; he just needed to squeeze the trigger.

  Holding his aching head with one arm, he climbed back up and staggered forward, squeezing between his wife and the monster. Aiming for the head, Gideon fired at point-blank range—and missed.

  Somehow, the creature managed to jerk its head out of the way. The monster reared back, hissing that strange whistling sound again.

  Clutching the back of his shirt, Amelia sobbed. The creature reacted, jerking again. It stood still for a heartbeat and then spun on its misshapen heel, stalking away.

  Gideon released a shaky breath, pushing the pain in his head to the back of his mind. Steadying his arm, he took aim, calling on his instincts and the skill he’d honed with hours of practice at Manton’s.

  The blast caught the hand, blowing off a chunk. Fingers exploded into dust and shards of pottery. Then it began to move away, heading for the tree line.

  Gideon tried to follow but the tug on his shirt reminded him of Amelia. He couldn’t leave her unprotected. In the blink of an eye, the creature was gone, having melted into the trees.

  Chapter 27

  “Will you stop touching it?” Clarke scolded.

  Crispin glanced up with a guilty expression, his hand hovering above the still-recognizable clay finger.

  Gideon glanced up from the book he was perusing, surprised at the vehemence in his friend’s voice. “It’s completely harmless now,” he assured him.

  He should know. He’d been turning the thing over and over since the day the creature had attacked.

  At first, Gideon had insisted on decamping, but Amelia wouldn’t hear of them leaving Tarryhall. He could barely walk in the immediate aftermath. His ears rang for days—a side effect of the blow the creature had dealt him.

  Once the monster had gone, Amelia called their guards for assistance—chiding him for insisting she throw her gown over her head for modesty’s sake before the men saw her in dishabille.

  It took two of them to help him to the house. He only remembered fragments of the trip back. His next clear recollection was of being in his study, undergoing an examination by the surgeon Amelia had insisted upon.

  The doctor had proscribed travel by carriage for at least two weeks. He’d been prepared to disregard the medical edict, but Amelia hadn’t. By the time he could think clearly enough to argue with her, she’d organized the staff against him. The male servants were split into teams that guarded the house day and night. And the maids or Amelia herself attended to him at all hours, making sure he didn’t exert himself, while cook prepared tonics and enough fortifying dishes for an army.

  Amelia had also sent for Clarke. Lord Worthing had accompanied him. Despite the injury to his leg, the viscount had stoically endured hours of carriage travel to come to their side. His presence had comforted Amelia, so Gideon was grateful, but he was a little surprised Clarke had allowed it.

  Though social in ton terms, his old friend had few close confidantes. In fact, before Lord Worthing, Gideon had believed himself to be the only one. But in a short amount of time, Clarke and Worthing had become fast friends. Their ease with each other was like those who’d known each other from the cradle.

  He was still marveling over the change in Clarke’s usually reserved disposition when Amelia appeared around a tall library shelf with several books in her arms.

  “I’ve found it!” she exclaimed.

  She hurried to the central table and laid down the volumes, indicating a small dusty volume on top with a flourish.

  Lord Worthing glanced down. “The Maharal of Prague, a history and dissertation.” He frowned, squinting at the smaller text on the pocket-sized leather volume. “A rabbinic text? I thought we were meant to be searching for our monster in these occult volumes.”

  “And that’s where we—or more specifically I—went wrong.” She turned to Gideon. “You were correct, my lord, it is not a demon.”

  Gideon frowned and she cradled the book excitedly.

  “You called it a giant and in some respects, that is true,” she elaborated so quickly her words almost ran together. “I remembered something I had read, a legend about a rabbi creating a man made of earth to protect his people after the sitting pope ordered they be expelled or killed. I couldn’t recall the details, but fortunately for us, one of your predecessors was an ecclesiastical scholar with varied interests, for these were in your library.”

  Gideon nodded, leaning forward. “That would have been Edwin. He was earl a few decades ago—the Duchess of Marlboro’s particular friend.”

  “Edwin, bless his heart, may have saved us all,” Amelia said, sitting at the table. “This book details the story of the Golem of Prague.”

  “A golem? What is a golem?” Lord Worthing asked before Gideon could.

  “It’s a creature made of earth or clay, animated by magic. It’s a part of Hasidic folklore,” Clarke said.

  Heads turned to him in surprise. He shrugged. “A few of my informants are Jewish, though they don’t advertise the fact. I dined at the house of one once. He told his misbehaving children the golem would punish them if they did not stop making noise. But he didn’t mention Prague.”

  Amelia shoved another book toward them. “I found the pope I was thinking of in this one. It was Rudolf II, the Holy Roman emperor and the rabbi in question was named Loew. The rabbi brought the golem to life through rituals and secret incantations and kept it alive by placing holy words on a piece of paper either in its mouth or forehead. In some accounts, the holy words are written on the forehead.”

  “Our golem definitely does not have words on its forehead,” Gideon growled. “If this creature is meant for protection, why in the bloody hell is it bedeviling us—and why did it touch you?”

  Amelia blushed, but she had been the one to insist their friends know all the disturbing details so she didn’t prevaricate.

  “Protection was its purpose in Prague, but there are many tales where it was simply used for labor. These are usually framed as cautionary tales because the golem follows instruction letter by letter. For example, if it was supposed to dig a ditch, but never told to stop, it keeps digging endlessly.”

  “So it follows orders?”

  “Yes, and very literally. And they must be simple instructions. That is the salient feature of golems. There are many tales about them, some even outside the Jewish tradition. You tell a golem what to do and it obeys, even if your orders are nonsensical or…”

  “A perversion?” The flames in Gideon’s eyes could have set fire to the curtains. “I still say Sir Clarence is our chief suspect, especially considering the way it behaved the last time, but he is dead. I saw his body.”

  “You did?” Amelia asked.

  Gideon hadn’t told her that before, but after what had just occurred, there was little point in protecting her anymore.

  He nodded. “I was summoned as his next of kin. The body had been removed from his home by then. It was at the local icehouse, but I did see him and he is most assuredly deceased…so he can’t be controlling this monster.”

  Frustrated, he threw up his hands. “Where would he even learn about such a thing? There was never a bigger prig in the whole of England than Clarence. How would he know about rituals and witchcraft?”

  Amelia hummed and looked away. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What is
it?”

  “Er…Sir Clarence might have had occasion to learn about the occult. Not a golem per se, but he encountered magic long ago if my guess is right.”

  “When? And how?”

  “I can’t explain in too much detail because I’d be revealing the confidence of someone I love, but Sir Clarence witnessed a demonic possession and encountered a witch years ago.”

  He gaped at her. “It’s Isobel. Bloody hell, she’s a witch!”

  Amelia blinked and smacked him on the shoulder. “How did you guess?”

  Gideon stared at her incredulously. “The only other people you love are in this room.”

  “Oh.” Her abashed expression was so adorable he couldn’t stop himself from leaning close and stealing a kiss.

  His cousin Matteo’s wife was a witch. Imagine that. “Tell me everything,” he ordered.

  “Later,” she promised. “What’s relevant here is finding who is controlling the golem. Though he knew about witchcraft and spells, I don’t believe Sir Clarence could create them on his own. Isobel would have said if that was the case.”

  “That is reasonable,” Worthing said. “But who else could it be? Is it possible he commissioned it, the way you would have a builder make something? And now it’s running loose, out of control?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Amelia replied. “There are tales of golems breaking down and going on a murderous rampage. However, that doesn’t explain who created it in the first place…and to me, the answer is obvious.”

  She paused, flicking her eyes from him to the other two men.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Clarke said. “Who is it?

  “Mrs. Ellie Spencer.”

  The men stared at her. Each was wearing some variation of a frown, although she noticed Clarke’s was contemplative as if he was mulling over her idea.

  Gideon, she noticed, did not look convinced. “Are you certain? Ellie Spencer always struck me as…simply ornamental. A charming companion for Sir Clarence in his old age. I’ve never seen her do anything out of line.”