A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “I will stop… if you ask me to, I will,” he promised.

  She gave a quick nod and then once again eased beneath him, letting him continue her introduction to passion. Malcolm didn’t allow his relief at her acquiescence to show. He would stop, of course, but the cost would be great.

  Skimming his hand once more over her soft curls, he traced the seam of her sex with the pads of his fingers, savoring the warmth and the wetness that greeted him. Sliding one finger inside her, he found the small bundle of nerves that would bring her the most pleasure and stroked it gently.

  She let out a startled cry, clearly stunned by the sensation, but made no move to stop him. Her hips arched upward, seeking more, inviting him to give and take freely. So he did. He stroked her flesh expertly, watching the tension build inside her, listening to her cries and moans as they grew more ardent, more primal. She was on the verge of forgetting herself entirely, of completely giving in to the demands of her body and his. Again and again, he circled that small bud until she was gasping and shivering beneath him.

  Once more pressing his mouth to her breasts, he toyed with one taut nipple and then the other, before finally closing his teeth over one. The bite was gentle, but effective. Her hips bucked against his hand as a keening cry as her body shuddered violently and then stilled. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes heavy lidded and her skin flushed from pleasure.

  Rather than give her time to think and once again put them at odds, Malcolm moved between her parted thighs and with one hand, freed the fall of his breeches. Levering himself onto his elbows, he guided himself to her entrance. When no protest came, he nudged forward, parting the slick folds and easing himself inside her. As her flesh clenched tightly around him, Malcolm closed his eyes and struggled for the control he prided himself on. But it was the small obstacle in his path and her sharp cry of pain that managed to break through the haze of desire.

  “Tell me again what happened with Ned Cavendish,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “It’s very important, Katherine. Tell me, please.”

  She frowned at him, her consternation obvious. “I don’t know precisely.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “He was tearing at my clothes, and I was attempting to fend him off… We fell to the ground on the terrace and I struck my head. It all becomes rather a jumble after that. Why is any of this important? You knew beforehand that I wasn’t a virgin!”

  “I believed you were not… as did you. It appears we were both very much mistaken,” he explained.

  Kit blinked at him in shock. “That can’t be. It cannot be!”

  “It is, Katherine,” he said firmly. “There are men who—hell and damnation, this is difficult to explain without you understanding it all more to begin with!”

  He didn’t need to explain. In the aftermath of her ruin, people, specifically the maids after she’d come to reside in her cousin’s home, had been far less careful with what they would say in front of her. Recalling the wetness she’d felt on her thighs after she’d managed to rouse herself from the terrace floor, it appeared that Ned had climaxed prematurely. One of the maids had been giggling about a young and inexperienced footman who had done the same. As for her own aches and pains in the aftermath, those could well have been the result of his rough handling of her.

  “I think I can guess,” she said. “So, what do we do now?”

  He didn’t answer her with words. Instead he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat, kissing her there softly, his tongue stroking her skin gently until the same languid heat she’d known earlier began to return. As the heat built, her body softened, opened for him, and welcomed him in. Every kiss, every caress, allowed him to sink deeper into her until it became impossible to tell where his body ended and hers began. It was an alien sensation, to be filled with him so, to have the now familiar tension coiling inside her. But while she recognized that tension, there was an edge to it now that had not been present before, a compulsive element that prompted her to move beneath him, to undulate her hips against his.

  It was then, in that precise moment, that she understood what he’d meant when he said there was pleasure to be had between them. He moved his hips counter to hers, driving even deeper, filling her more completely. As she closed her eyes at the exquisite sensation, she could see lights and sparks behind her eyelids.

  Instinct took over for her entirely, her mind lost to the magic he created. It swept her away as their bodied moved together, straining in the dimness of their bedchamber. She moaned, a sound so animalistic that it would have shocked her had she the wits to process it. His hands roamed her body as he continued to thrust into her. The hard, rigid length of him filled her again and again

  Her breathing became more ragged, punctuated by soft gasps and cries. The muscles of her thighs quivered and her belly trembled as the tension in her ratcheted ever higher. He dipped his head, closing his mouth over one nipple, sucking deeply as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. And then the tension within her simply snapped, shattered into a million glittering pieces as her body arched beneath his and she shuddered with the overwhelming sensation of release. Every rhythmic pulse of her inner muscles brought even more pleasure, drawing out the overwhelming sensation. And then she felt him stiffen against her, thrusting deep one last time, and then the hot rush as he spilled himself inside her.

  It wasn’t love. It wasn’t the romance she’d wanted as a girl. But she’d given her virginity, if not her innocence, to her husband and in turn he’d given her pleasure she hadn’t even known existed, much less hoped for. In so doing, he’d wiped away the lies and shame that Ned Cavendish had foisted upon her.

  The house was luxuriously appointed. Every objet d’art, every decorative urn or figurine, every piece of furniture had been chosen to impress, to preen. The house itself was like a peacock spreading its feathers for any who was lucky enough to be invited inside. But it was quiet that night, empty save for one servant and her mistress. All of the other servants were gone.

  Most assumed that when their mistress sent them away it was so that she could entertain a lover. Little did they know, the truth was infinitely more salacious and far more dangerous than any high society tryst.

  She stepped into the attic of the house, which was just as pristine as any other room. There was no dust to gather, no cobwebs to brush her hair. There was a table filled with jars and bottles, some of them housing things both grotesque and fascinating. Her trusted maidservant lit the candelabra and then moved to the center of the room where she immediately rolled back the carpet to reveal a large circle drawn on the floor, marked it various points with ancient symbols.

  When the mark was completely revealed, she loosened the ties of her silken robe and let it fall to the floor. Naked, her body perfect in every way, she stepped forward into the center of that wicked drawing and immediately moaned. It was infused with power, layers upon layers of magic had been wrought there and each had left a trace of energy behind. The maid moved quickly, bringing a large mirror over to the circle and placing it directly opposite her.

  Shivering at the sensation of power as it moved over her naked flesh, she sank to her knees and raised her hands in supplication. Behind her, the maid retrieved the tray of prepared items and placed them within reach before stepping well back from the spectacle that would unfold.

  From the tray, she took small cage holding a single bird and slipped her hand inside it. When she could feel its tiny heart beating against her palm, she lifted the intricately carved hat pin and pierced its small body, allowing the blood to drain out into the circle. It smeared over her skin, down her arm and onto the silver cuff she wore at her wrist, marked with the same symbols that marked the circle she commanded. The blood trickled down her arm to the floor. As those rivulets ran along the boards, they defied gravity and all reason. The natural sway of the wood had no force upon them. Those drops of ruby liquid were pulled by some unseen force to the black marks upon
the floor that formed the circle, and then along it towards the mirror that now danced and shimmered.

  “With this blood, I call upon the dark one… the dark one linked to my bloodline! Hear me!” she called out.

  The windows rattled as if a great wind blew from within the room. The flames flickered and danced, each one sparking higher rather than going out.

  “Come to me!” she cried. “Hear my call and heed my will!”

  The voice, when it answered came not from her or even from within the room, but from deep inside the mirror.

  “Who are you to command me?” the question was uttered in a soft growl, but one that sounded so far from human the maid crossed herself. Immediately, the dark spirit that bore her mistress’ reflection turned its head independently of the woman whose face it bore and hissed in her direction. “Be gone!”

  The maid scurried away, a soft keening wail echoing behind her.

  “I command you because I am part of your line,” she replied to the spirit. “I may not bear the name, but I have the blood and the gifts! How else would you be here?”

  Her own reflection smirked back at her, the features moving and shimmering in a way that could not possibly be human. “Any novice witch can conjure a demon!”

  “But you aren’t a demon,” she said. “You’re something else… something older than the infantile Christian faith and the devils and demons they preach of. You were born with time itself and your power has flowed through the veins of every man and woman in this family who had the courage to call upon you!”

  A sly smile curved the face in the mirror, but as the lips parted, they revealed black, sharpened teeth. “Aren’t you a clever little witch! What do you want of me? And be mindful, I’ve no need of you, child. The blood of your family is once again residing within my walls.”

  “But he lacks my power and he is willful. He will never do as you bid and will fight you every step of the way as you guide him! I will eagerly take you inside me,” she said. “I will give myself to you completely… all I ask is that the land and the wealth you’ve bestowed on those who bear the family name be mine to claim.”

  “Your laws prohibit it,” the dark one answered. “Not even I can sway that!”

  “You won’t have to,” she replied. “All you need to do is terrify him enough that he’ll leave… and terrify his bride enough that she will abandon him within those walls. I will take care of everything else. Then I will be yours.” She rose to her feet, displaying the perfect body, “And what a form you would have!”

  The dark one smiled again, and the eyes that looked so like her own became dense black pools with no light visible in them. “There is an easier way. Would you not be his wife in her stead? Would you not take all that she has?”

  The woman swayed into the seductive voice. “Yes! Yes!”

  “We will not get rid of him at all… not yet. But we will be rid of her! And your husband, as well. Will you mourn for him, my pet?” the spirit asked.

  She made a moue of distaste in response. “I never wanted him. I never loved him. And now, I no longer need him.”

  “Then you will gift him to me. Take him to the well and put him with the others.”

  “I cannot… not yet. When the snow clears, I will convince him to go back to Lofton again, and in Lofton he will stay,” she vowed.

  “Do not think to play me, child! If you are false with me, or if you fail to complete all that you vow, you will suffer for it!”

  She bowed her head. “I would never betray you. Not ever. Please!”

  “I will do as you ask… but if you fail me in anyway, or think to renege, I will wreak such pain upon you that you will pray for the release of death!”

  In an instant, the dark spirit had vanished from the mirror and she collapsed onto the floor, weak with the rush of magic that infused her.

  Chapter 17

  The room was completely dark when Malcolm awoke. It was also frigid. They’d slept so soundly that he’d allowed the fire to go out. Neither of them had eaten, either. Not at teatime or supper, so as he rose from the bed, his stomach rumbled with hunger.

  Crossing to the mantle, he fumbled for the tinder box before dropping to a crouch. He added several logs and kindling, but before he even struck the match, he knew something was terribly wrong. He felt it, the cold that went so much deeper than simply the chilled air in the room. This cold reached inside of him, digging into his flesh and bones. It burrowed in until he could feel it becoming a part of him.

  The darkness in the room seemed to grow, becoming impenetrable. Thick and swampy, it made it hard for him to breathe, hard to see, hard to do anything but give into it.

  You belong with us.

  The whisper was not audible. It hadn’t been spoken at all. Instead, it generated from that place inside himself where that cold blackness had taken root. Paralyzed with fear, paralyzed by the terror that those words induced and the bone deep conviction that they were true, he hovered on the verge of giving in to it. As the darkness swirled about him, thick and eddying in a way that muddled his senses and set him off balance, Malcolm was prepared to let it take him.

  “Malcolm?”

  The soft voice in the darkness, the questioning concern so evident in that single word, brought him back from that abyss. Sick from it as if he’d been tossed about on a pitching sea, he sank to his knees on the rug there and took in great shuddering breaths.

  “Malcolm, what is it? Are you ill?” she asked.

  He could hear the bed clothes rustling as she started to get up. “I’m fine, Katherine. Stay there, please. I’m only building up the fire.”

  “I would hardly classify your breathing as fine! You sound as if you just charged up a mountain!”

  “A tickle in my throat is all… the dust, I think,” he lied. “I am fine. I swear. Lie back and I’ll join you again momentarily.”

  “Let me help you,” she insisted.

  “No!” he snapped, his tone harsh. Striving for a more neutral tone, he added, “The fire has gone out and the floor is like ice. It’s senseless for us both to freeze. Stay in bed.”

  The truth was that he didn’t want her to see him. The gooseflesh on his skin had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, and everything to do with what he’d just felt. It wasn’t simply what he’d felt; it had been, for lack of a better word, an invasion. Whatever entity had taken up residence in Rosedale Hall had, in that moment, attempted to take up residence in him. As much as it pained him to admit such a thing, he’d been powerless against it. Had it not been for Katherine calling out to him, he couldn’t imagine what might have happened. With a sheen of cold sweat on his skin, and his hands shaking, he continued with the task of lighting the fire.

  “I’m going to the kitchen to get us something to eat,” he said, as he rose to his full height. He still didn’t look at her because he knew that nothing short of stark terror would be etched on his features. The last thing he wanted was to burden her with his fears or with the shaking, sweating aftermath of his most recent paranormal encounter. The errand of retrieving some form of sustenance for them would allow him the reprieve he needed to regain his composure.

  “I can come with you,” she offered.

  “I’d prefer you wait here… just as you are—naked and in my bed,” he added. “I’ll return in just a few moments.”

  Kit frowned into the darkness as he disappeared into the hallway. The curtains were drawn completely and there was no light at all in the room save for the dim glow from the hearth which seemed to only deepen the shadows that gathered in the corners of the room. Had it not been for squeaky hinges of the door, she might not have even known he’d gone to be honest. The room was unnaturally quiet. The entire house was. With the heavy snow piled up outside, the quiet was, in fact, absolute.

  Immediately, she missed his presence. It wasn’t attachment or clinginess, but self preservation. There in the darkness, in that impenetrable quiet that was as still as the grave, she felt incredib
ly vulnerable and exposed.

  The afternoon had been idyllic. He’d made love to her, and afterward, they had stayed in bed. She’d asked questions and he’d answered every one of them, telling her about his life in America, about growing up in such a wild and untamed place. He hadn’t shied away from displaying his faults either. All of his past had been laid bare, hers for the asking. In the entirety of her life, she’d never known anyone so willing to tell even the darkest of secrets or who would so willingly paint himself in an unflattering light for the sake of uttering truth. Yet he had. And for the first time, there in their darkened bedchamber just now, he’d lied to her and she could not fathom why.

  Kit shivered and rubbed her hands over her upper arms as she sat up in bed and awaited his return. He’d been afraid. She’d heard it in his voice, but the question remained of what?

  The air stirred around her. Dread welled up inside her. Compelled to do so even against her own will, Kit looked over her shoulder into the farthest corner of the room. It also happened to be the darkest. Black as pitch, she could see nothing. And yet, she was never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the fact that there was something there. Hiding, lurking in those shadowy recesses, watching and waiting for a chance to pounce.

  Fear blossomed, panic skirting the edges of her mind. She struggled not to let it take over. Her encounters with apparition in white had been frightening, but this was something else altogether. He’d warned her about it. Malcolm had told her just that morning of the other presence in the house. But of course, she’d already been aware of it. It was evident in her reluctance to be alone in the house, to carefully scan each and every room before she entered for fear that something would be waiting for her.

  Malcolm’s dressing gown was at the foot of the bed. Kit reached for it, shrugging into it while never taking her eyes off that darkened corner. There was a certainty within her that if she turned her back on whatever was there, she’d regret it. With the garment swallowing her, inches of it dragging along the floor, Kit eased from the bed and backed toward the door, never taking her eyes off the shifting shadows. The closer she moved toward the door, the thicker those shadows became, swirling and eddying like a living thing.