* * *
She sensed him. She’d known he was there the instant he’d materialized from the astral realm and cloaked himself. Amazing. Seeing Eden as he had imagined so often, languid in a scented bath, aroused him to the degree of pain. Touching her was a mistake, he knew it the second his fingertips brushed against the slight curvature behind her ankle. Temptation, once realized only intensified. The throbbing fullness between his legs only ached more, not less.
He froze when he heard the door of his music room open. He waited, watching as Ethan walked into the circle of light.
“Dom?” His brother eyed the empty pianoforte, almost as if he expected a response. But how could he? His attention dotted along the black-lacquered surface following the tiny rainbows dancing in the light. “Dominic, I know you’re in this room somewhere.”
With a muffled curse, he uncloaked himself. “How the devil can you possibly know that?!”
Ethan stepped onto the raised area. Dom was seated on the bench with his head bowed over the keys, sans his spectacles. He did not look up.
“I know because you refract light when you’re invisible. The next time you have a mind to avoid me, hide in a hall of mirrors.”
“And where did you pick up that tidbit…Cael?”
The good doctor smiled, proud of himself. “He and I attended a lecture series a few months back. Physics is such a fascinating topic. I wonder now that I chose to study medicine.”
“Why is he so damned anxious to explain away my… abnormalities… with science and natural law?”
“Perhaps, because you still think of them as abnormalities, while he thinks of them as characteristics that make you unique. He and I are in complete agreement on that front.” His brother laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he spoke. “Do not isolate yourself so much and maybe you would see that you’re just another person, born no better and certainly no worse than any other.”
Frustrated and angry with himself, Dominic struck the keys with a fisted jab. The brief cacophony voiced the turmoil warring between his struggle for self-preservation and the new and overwhelming desire for intimate contact. “Tell me what you bloody well want and get out of here!”
“Is it such an annoyance conversing with your own brother?”
“Forgive me, Ethan.” Dominic sighed. “I am not used to stumbling over so many people. I prefer solitude. You know that.” His agitation had nothing to do with the doctor or his wife and everything to do with a certain blonde. How the bloody hell could she both see and recognize him? First her. Now Ethan, and probably Cael too. He was beginning to feel exposed, vulnerable to prying eyes…in his own sanctuary.
“It was not my intention to intrude but circumstances being what they were…” Ethan trailed off and began anew. “Actually, this might come as a relief. I came to tell you that I would be detained for several days in town. So, there will be one less person to despoil your peace.”
“Ethan, do not go.”
“You just said you were bothered by too many people milling around your house. I would be one less.”
“Take Kathleen and the woman with you and there would be three less.”
Ignoring Dominic’s almost comical spite, he continued. “Our patient is—”
“Your patient.”
“Our guest then.”
“Interloper works best, I think.” Dom said with an acid smile. “Now, what is this pressing matter in town?”
“House calls. Several of whom are long-standing patients.”
“Put them off.”
“I cannot put them off any longer. Plus, it might interest you to know that Cael is back in town with Stephan.”
He swiveled around, surprise etched on his face. “How do you know that?”
“If you ever bothered to stir from your hidey-hole, you would know it too. Cael sent a message this morning.”
Dominic had the decency to grimace before he snatched his face away. Ethan’s serene expression hadn’t changed in the brief moments when their eyes met. It never did. But then, Ethan was one of very few people whom he occasionally allowed to see him sans his spectacles.
“The boy is having a rough time of it, Dominic. Among the injured was a close friend. You might consider inviting him to stay.”
“Stephan is rash and too excitable. He could learn a thing or two from Cael. Certainly more than I can teach him.”
“He worships you. At least go see the lad.”
“Perhaps.” He made no promises. Dominic ran a clenched hand through his hair. He was on overload since the ‘bath’ earlier, and didn’t know if he could handle another incident. With Stephan, nothing ever transpired without incident.
Chapter 6
“Mr. Montgomery—”
“No sense puttin’ on airs. ‘Matthias’ will do just fine. That’s wot me friends call me.”
The other man cocked a brow. “Rather presumptuous.”
“Optimism is a necessity thing in me line of… work.” Matthias sized up his newest off-the-books client. Foreign, most like. The gentleman did his level best at concealing the accent, but no dice. French maybe. Moneyed. The ruddy blush reeked of a soft gentleman, who over-indulged in fine wines, rich foods, and classy whores. He guessed by the tailored lay of his waistcoat and high-kick boots that he could roll the gent right now for a couple of hundred pounds at least. The stiff posture, bespoke a certain haughtiness. Probably thought himself too good to have dealin’ with a lowborn proprietor of a paranormal asylum. The prig.
“An wot can I do for ya on this ‘ere fine evening.” In truth, it was an ungodly hour of the night. The sparse office area they occupied abutted a stone structure housing the inmates. A hum of activity, punctuated by the odd thump or bang, radiated from the asylum proper belying the hour. “I reckon you ain’t ‘ere to pay a penny and see the ‘freak show’.”
“Some other time perhaps.”
The gentleman offered a half-smile at the notion. Intrigued, not horrified, Matthias noticed. He retained total composure even with the knowledge that the only thing protecting him from a hundred lunatics, many with ‘abnormalities’, was a blotchy, paint-bare wall. Good. Matthias found that encouraging. The more amenable his clients were to the seedier side of life, the more willing they were to pay to distance themselves from it.
“I’ve come on a rather delicate…family matter.” He approached the subject with the same caution one might use if he were attempting to cross a bridge of questionable construction. “The problem is such that it requires an…impartial party, and your …services…well that is to say, I have reason to believe that my late brother’s heir…heirs, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Family affair, ha! Matthias knew his game; he saw it often enough. The sneaky bastard meant to poach his brother’s inheritance by having the legitimate heirs declared insane. Not original, but effective, in his experience. If their situations were reversed, he’d probably give it a go as well.
“Their mother was a certifiable lunatic, you understand. The woman broke every natural law in the Good Book: bigamy, adultery, sorcery, and eventually suicide. She died an inmate at Bedlam. One of the younger sons has been on the path to madness for years…but we had hoped. Ah well.”
“You wish my help shakin’ the family tree ‘til all the nuts fall out…that ‘bout it?” Get on with it. Matthias grew tired of his charlatan act.
“Yes, and no. The oldest…eh…legitimate son is a recluse. No one’s seen him for years. With my brother’s passing, the title plus all adjoining properties and monies…the family legacy is being laid at the feet of a trio of madmen. And I will not stand for it.”
His composure slipped, Matthias spied the twisted lip that revealed not concern for his nephews, but envy and hatred for their luck of birthright.
“That evil, lying…I will not stand idle while that bitch ruins the rest of the family the way she ruined my brother.”
“So, wot is it ya require me to do Mr…”
“
Ambrosi.”
“Ambrosi, then.” Ah, Italian.
“The younger two began exhibiting bizarre behaviors in early adulthood. They can wait. First, I want you to find my oldest nephew, Dominic Ambrosi, now Conte Ambrosi. He is here in England somewhere. Find him…he is stark raving mad at his advanced age. Find me the evidence first. And then I want him removed to a suitable facility in Italy, where he can be watched.”
Fool, Matthias concluded. To play such a dangerous game was folly. One heir could have an accident or be discredited with relative ease…but three? Folly. But, who was he to turn away an easy mark.
“As ya wish.” Matthias’ eyes twinkled with malevolent greed. “‘Tis the matter of—”
“No need to quibble. A handsome sum is yours upon the receipt of any damning evidence.”
“Then, I’m at yer service.”
Chapter 7
Seated alone at a table fit for a party of thirty, Eden went through the motions of eating dinner only because she could ill-afford to skip a meal. She was relieved at not being forced to keep up pretense in front of the all-too-intuitive Kathleen. The doctor had departed for London, so no probing questions from that direction either. Dominic abstained as usual. And there were no footmen because their host preferred not to have people leering about while he ate. Since he never seemed to darken the dinning hall, Eden wondered why he cared who occupied the room.
Dominic. He became a virus in her mind, spreading until all her thoughts were infected with him. Even the strange…Hallucinations? Visualizations? She knew not what to call the oft disturbing bend her conscious mind seemed to lead her these days. Whatever they were, they were saturated by shades of Dominic. Dominic straddled above her spread-eagled body on a circular bed of black satin. Dominic standing over her in the bath, gasping her leg high in the air, with parted lips hovering millimeters from her wiggling, pinkish toes. Dominic writhing in agony and shame as some unseen force rent deep slashes across his flesh.
The latter image distressed her even though she knew it to be just more bizarre evidence of her declining lucidity. The strangest thing was, outside of the fleeting images and the unnatural circumstances that had provoked them, she felt sane and rational. But what if she wasn’t? What if she were going soft in the head? How long before someone suspected, Dominic, the doctor, or both? Would they toddle her off to Newgate or worse yet, Bedlam?
* * *
Several days later…Determined to reclaim some measure of normalcy, Eden decided to take Kathleen’s advice and discard her mourning clothes. Sporting a bright-colored, if voluminous day dress, she wandered about the second floor halls looking for a worthy subject to sketch. She adjusted the parchments and tin of charcoal under her arm as she strolled past another dull oil portrait and about the fifth podium-ed vase. All were much too commonplace to warrant an artist’s attention. Twenty minutes later, lost and weary of banal art, lifeless tapestries and Spartan architecture, she headed for the third floor.
She stopped short when she rounded an unfamiliar corner. There stood a massive set of double doors, adorned with exquisite metal relief. A stained-wood plaque hung over the threshold. She couldn’t read whatever language the words were written in, but the stark, black inscription evoked a note of warning. Probably, a promise of doom to the travelers who failed to heed the warning, which could only mean one thing…Behind these doors lay Dominic’s private lair. She’d stake her life on it, and would probably have to if he caught her sneaking around the restricted wing. So then why did find herself pushing open the great doors.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the hinges creaked. The door itself seemed to protest her entering. Eden inhaled a courageous breath and skidded forward to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. The first thing that struck her was how different his domain was from the rest of the house. The room was large, but stark and empty. The walls bereft of art. The space naked of furniture. No rugs adorned the polished oak floors. No windows broke the monotony of walls. She deemed it ‘the music room’ because there was but one object present. A pianoforte.
Eden came closer to admire the instrument. The lacquered grand occupied a raised circular stage in the center of the room, hauntingly illuminated by a beveled glass window blinking down from the ceiling. Most of the rest of the room fell in shadow as the sun at the moment hung directly above. Eden envied the brilliantly contracting effect achieved by the light descending upon the ebony pianoforte in a perfect circle whilst leaving anything outside the central sphere chained in darkness. The scene was an artists’ wild fantasy. She longed to sketch it at dawn…hmm, maybe twilight…no midnight. Tempting but with her appetite so wetted, Satan himself could not stop her from exploring further.
Sliding her hands along the length of each wall, she located a knob-less door in the wainscoting. Beyond it, she gasped. Beautiful. Hundreds, thousands surely, of books lined the five…no six walls in the hexagonal room. A second and even third layer of jam-packed shelves ran upwards to an impossibly high ceiling. No blinking eye gazed down at her though. Instead, diagonal rectangles of paned glass spanned the perimeter so that the window appeared to be one long diagonal stair-step that ascended one level with each side of the hexagon. This allowed the bookcases to exist undisrupted on all six sides and afforded the central reading area a unique panoramic distribution of sunlight. Eden imagined spending hours, days lounging in the radiance, reading the classics atop the ottoman, sketching admit the luscious-looking throw pillows dotting the rug-ed floor, dosing in an armchair before the fireplace.
Awe-struck, Eden abandoned any notion of leaving the room. She bypassed a lamp table without thought and stepped onto the rotary ladder, her bundle of sketching paraphernalia still clutched under an arm. Excited, she climbed up one-armed, wanting to get a glimpse of what sorts of treasures lay in the wealth of bound volumes. Who knew when she’d ever have another chance to visit.
She almost reached the third level—stopping to skim a title or two—when disaster struck. The bundle under her free arm slipped. Had she let the items fall to the floor, she would have been fine. They were just paper and chalk, after all. The fall couldn’t have damaged them. But, she acted on reflex. She reached to ‘save’ them, upsetting her balance. Eden felt herself tilt backwards in slow motion, cognizant of impending disaster but unable to prevent it. A beat later, she knew the ominous weightlessness of freefall.
* * *
Dom stood in the dressing room adjoining his bedchamber, his hair still damp from the bath. Pants on but barefoot, he was buttoning his shirt. A stifled sound seized his attention. Like someone smothering a scream with a pillow, he thought. His body slid from corporeal to astral on instinct.
All other senses faded to naught, honing his mind-sight a hundredfold. He latched on to her at once. Distress morphed her usual rich purples and violets into a blinding shock of indigo. Dom melted his own lifeforce with hers just before he exited the astral realm.
* * *
“Umph!” Eden landed hard on her back, atop something soft…in comparison to the hardwood floor, anyway. She did not remember anything on the floor near where the ladder attached to the shelf-wall. Only temporarily winded, Eden let out a long sigh of relief and began to test each limb for injuries. She gasped anew when the thing she had landed on also began to stir beneath her…enfolding her in solid, sinewy arms dusted with wiry black hairs.
“Oh…” Realizing that she’d landed on a ‘who’ and not a ‘what’, Eden scrambled even harder to extricate herself. “I’m so sorry. Are you—”
“Keep still.” Dom ordered, shifting beneath her.
Dominic! She squirmed around to see for herself. She’d landed on the enigmatic host himself. Could her luck get any worse? Or better…she did not yet know which category to file their latest encounter under.
He made some adjustments to his position, removing her hindquarters from his groin. Plop! Her bottom slid ungracefully to the floor. He moved again, detangling their arms, flipping her forgotten
hem down. She was able for the first time to turn fully around. The bun atop her crown pick that instant to crumble and unleash a cascade of hair over her face, but not before she caught a glimpse of his gapping shirt and lack of spectacles.
A mangled noise escaped her throat at what she saw, sickening patches of ruined olive flesh and scar tissue marred his chest and extended above his collarbone. Just like in her hallucinations…only, the damage was done to his back and shoulder blades. It couldn’t be…real, could it? What happened? Who could have possibly done such a thing to him? Annoyed at having her view obstructed, Eden shoved at the blond mass, but in the few seconds it took to dislodge her hair he finished buttoning his shirt. Single-minded, she scooped forward, hands outstretched.
“Such terrible scars.” The whispered words slipped from her lips. “What happened?” She reached for the collar of his shirt.
Dom jerked away from her as if he thought she meant him harm. Eden lifted her gaze from his torso to his face wanting to see him…and gauge his expression. Blast! The spectacles were back in place. Did he never forget the damned things? Why hadn’t she thought to get a look at his eyes when they’d been unshielded? She frowned. Because she’d been too busy gaping at the heinous scars on his chest.
“Well-bred young ladies do not cavort alone with any man other than their husband.” This he said whilst he stood, offering her a hand up as well. Damp clumps of hair spilled across his forehead and cheeks.
“And, well-bred gentleman do not shun their house guests for days on end.” Eden ignored his hand and stood of her own accord…padding her dress and hair as best she could.
“Guest?” He mocked her. “Strange, I don’t recall extending an invitation to…eh, what did you say your name was again?”
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