The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance))

by Claremont, Maire

  Eva tried to grab her, but Mary wouldn’t stop.

  Not allowing himself to regret the use of force, Ian seized Mary’s shoulders, pulled her away, and shoved her into Eva’s waiting arms. He raised one booted foot and slammed with all his might. The hinges screamed and then the cheap wood shredded, the panel giving way and swinging open drunkenly. “Go!”

  If they could just reach his carriage, they would be away from this place.

  They tumbled out into the frigid air, the wind tearing up the walled yard. In the distance, the arched gateway onto the moors beckoned, open. Snow swirled fiercely, blurring the air.

  His carriage sat not twenty feet away, his coachman shivering in the blistering wind. “Make ready!” Ian shouted.

  The coachman shook himself, his movements slow before he realized what was happening. He yanked up the reins, his whip coming to attention.

  When they were mere inches from the carriage door, a pistol shot cracked through the air.

  Ian stopped and looked back to their pursuers. As he turned to face Palmer’s men, he pushed the two girls behind him and slowly inched backward, the door to his coach so close they could reach out and touch it.

  Four keepers stood at the ready. Their big bodies were a shapeless mass of mindless aggression. In their hamlike hands they held ropes and cudgels.

  Mary leaned forward, her teeth bared. “Come on, then, bastards. I’ll eat your damn hearts out!”

  Ian’s innards shook at the promise in her rough voice. What a powerful young woman she was. He couldn’t help hating the audacity of men for locking her up.

  Indeed, her words seemed to shake the keepers. They shifted on their mud-caked boots, glancing at one another.

  One of them, russet haired with a pinkish scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. “Step away, my lord. You cannot escape and we must put them back in their cell until this matter can be sorted.”

  Ian willed Mary and Eva to slowly move to the coach door as he stared the piece of filth down. The keeper, sensing the head of a pack challenging his weak authority, retreated slightly. Ian stood stock-still, his eyes narrowing as he said very quietly, his voice as hard as iron, “You touch either of them, and you’ll be no more than a wet spot on the snow. I’m taking them. Both.”

  “No, you are not.” Mrs. Palmer pushed her way through her keepers. The full length of her wine red skirts, dark as blood amid the pristine snow, swished as she tucked them around her to avoid the trousers of her men. In the dark night, she stood powerfully, unafraid and livid.

  “I will take them both,” Ian repeated, praying that his sheer presence and a strong bluff would get them out of this.

  Mrs. Palmer snapped up a finger and pointed it at Mary, her gaze piercing through the night. “She is mine and she is a murderess.”

  “She belongs to no one.” Ian locked gazes with the woman, quickly trying to calculate a plan of escape. Mrs. Palmer had her brute squad ready to charge and he had two small women to protect. It was an impossible position. “It was self-defense.”

  Unflinching as a battle-hardened general, Mrs. Palmer countered, “She has no self to defend. Quite simply, she is owned by others.”

  A small growl came from Eva. Ian reached out, curling his fingers around hers. “Well, I own this one, do I not?” His guts twisted. Negotiating for human life was all too familiar. Then he nodded to Mary. “I will give you another hundred guineas from your bank on the morrow for this one. Something for something, yes?”

  Mrs. Palmer lifted her brows and a muscle twitched in her smooth cheek as strands of hair flickered about her face. “A tempting offer, my lord, but I must refuse. She is a secret far too valuable to part with. She stays. But don’t concern yourself. Murderess though she may be, she won’t be harmed. She’s the daughter of someone far too important for that, no matter how mad she is, no matter if she happened to slay one of my fellows.” Mrs. Palmer slipped a pistol easily from her skirts, triumphant. “You see, I am a woman prepared. Now, no matter what you say or do, I swear Mary stays.”

  “Fine,” he said flatly, swiftly plotting how to get Mary out without them all being shot. “We’ll go. And quietly.”

  “Mary?” Eva questioned, her eyes luminous and large as twin stars in her pale face.

  Ian tore his gaze from Eva’s. But Mary’s was worse. With her pale skin and short black hair, she might have been Eva’s sister. In her pale visage was a grim resignation that she would now never be freed. ’Twas a look for an old woman. “Get in the coach,” he mouthed. “Do it now.”

  Mary’s eyes flared, but she needed no second telling.

  Ian jerked his own pistol free, ready to shoot. He spun back toward the pack of disgusting inhumanity. He would gladly kill Mrs. Palmer, woman or no.

  Eva yanked the door open and sprang in, Mary fast behind her.

  Mrs. Palmer’s eyes flashed with fury. “Close the gate doors!” And just as Ian vaulted toward his coach, another pistol shot cracked and wood splinters exploded from the swinging, still open door.

  He didn’t waste a second glance back, but threw himself into the vehicle as his coachman struck up the horses. They were too slow. He knew it in his gut. Yet they had to make it. The fear of losing Eva to this nightmare of a place uncoiled in his innards. He would do whatever it took to protect her.

  The cool steel of the pistol weighed heavily in his palm, a familiar companion. He’d use it if necessary. And, damn it, it was about to be necessary. He swung his gaze to the door, but before he could start for it, he caught sight of Mary.

  Mary held herself rigid in the darkness of the rattling coach, her gaze traveling from Eva to Ian, then briefly back toward the asylum. She’d found some mysterious calm. Her delicate features were serene as she smiled slightly. God, she couldn’t be more than eighteen.

  “No matter what, Eva,” Mary whispered, “remember, I’m free now. I’m free.”

  “Mary?” Eva demanded, her voice twisted with confusion.

  Mary shoved the coach door open. As she threw herself forward, Ian grabbed wildly for her. His guts dropped as she tumbled back out into the yard, his hand grasping at empty air.

  “Mary!” Eva screamed.

  As the coach raced forward, Mary’s slight body rolled along the snow-covered earth before she was up again, her little feet planted on the frozen ground. “Come on, then, you bastards!”

  And she ran . . . in the opposite direction of the gate.

  The keepers, all of them, sensing the most important prize was within reach, turned and bolted for her. Mary’s body flickered across the yard, her little shift as fragile as the snow falling about her. A wild creature desperately trying to break free of its trap.

  The sudden feeling that all the carnage of battle would never compete with this one moment of savagery swallowed Ian.

  He watched, horror-stricken and in awe, as Mary tore across the landscape.

  Eva’s arm tugged at the socket as Ian attempted to jerk her away from the swinging door. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the heavy hands of the keepers as they twitched, bearing their rope.

  “Don’t look,” Ian commanded, his voice raw.

  But she did.

  Mary darted back and forth, a cornered animal, her feet sliding over the icy patches, a wild and defiant figure. “Mary!” Eva’s heart splintered at the sight before her, though she knew her friend couldn’t hear her scream.

  One animal grabbed Mary’s arms. Another seized her feet and in an instant they had her on the ground. The third yanked out a rope.

  And on the faint wind, she heard Mary cry, “Go!”

  The world exploded around Eva in pain. She couldn’t leave her friend. She couldn’t. Not after they’d survived so much together. She couldn’t look away, or draw breath.

  Suddenly she was in the air, yanked up by strong arms.

  Her body jostled as she met contact with Ian’s hard chest.

  “I’ll come back!” Eva shouted over the din o
f carriage wheels flying onto the rough road. She screamed with all her force, though Mary would never hear her proclamation. “I will!”

  The door slammed shut so hard, she thought it might suddenly drop from its hinges.

  With Ian cradling her tight against his unyielding chest, the coach raced off into the night. Away from hell, away from Mary, and back into the world.

  A world full of memory.

  Chapter 6

  Eva couldn’t speak as they flew over the Yorkshire moors. The moon hung like Matthew’s lantern, throwing its rays down on the snow. The cold white surface glittered hard as diamonds and rolled on for miles.

  The little iron charcoal burner tucked in the corner on the floor couldn’t penetrate the cold. It couldn’t penetrate the veil she’d woven so thoroughly over her past.

  And the sway of the coach. Oh, God. The sway of the coach made her sick.

  If she closed her eyes for a moment, she’d feel the rain. The panic. The mud sucking her down. The curricle in the mire . . . and the feeling of flying before she crashed down hard to the earth . . . lifted her eyes and saw.

  She gulped back sickness and her eyes snapped open. “We have to stop.” She panted.

  “We can’t.” Ian gazed fixedly out the other window. Every muscle in his face was hard, his lips a rigid line.

  “Yes.” She gulped again, saliva filling her mouth.

  “No, Eva.” Each word bit out of his mouth. “We must go—as far as possible.”

  Her stomach rolled with each bob of the vehicle over the rough terrain and the thought of the little white bundle. The little white bundle so far from her grasp. Unmoving, soaked by cold, lifeless rain. She lurched forward and twisted the brass door handle.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” He slammed his fist to the ceiling and they came to a jerking halt.

  She shoved the door open. Without even climbing down, she pushed her face out into the cold air and vomited. Her body heaved and her arms could barely keep her from falling face forward into the snow.

  “Damn it,” Ian hissed behind her, grabbing her and trapping her against his strong body.

  She groaned, her mouth acrid and her body clammy despite the sudden ice cold circling her.

  His large hand caressed her back and his other hand came to support her head, brushing back her feathery hair from her face. “There you go, love. There you go.”

  Eva leaned out the coach a little farther, her hands braced on the door ledge, and savored the cleansing sensation of the bitter cold. White flakes piled up in the banks before her. She let her eyes trail to the miles of it stretching out forever. It was so frozen, so perfect. So unlike the pain and wild unhappiness flooding her.

  Why had she been so stupid? So foolish? That reckless stupidity of hers had ruined her life . . . and her baby’s. Pain racked her heart and her face twisted into a grimace before she shook the hideous thoughts out of her head.

  Ian slipped a handkerchief before her face and she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured as she dabbed it at her mouth. She pressed the square of linen to her lips, then leaned back into the coach. His hands helped ease her back onto the soft seat.

  “Forgive me,” he said softly.

  She blinked at his words, hardly understanding how he could speak them. “Why? You’ve saved me.”

  “It wasn’t enough. I should have come sooner.”

  She could have sworn the words I never should have left passed his lips. They hadn’t. It was only a phantom. A wish, made by her wrecked brain.

  She stared back, finally capable of truly seeing him. On the last edges of her medicine, her mind was almost fully sharp. His black hair teased his forehead. The only boyish thing about him now. Slightly almond-shaped green eyes probed her. There was nothing soft about his face. His cheekbones were two hard slashes and his jaw looked as if it dared one to punch it. A slight shadowing of black beard dusted his skin.

  His white linen shirt was mussed, as was his burgundy cravat. He’d opened his champagne-colored waistcoat and his black coat was unbuttoned and splayed about him like great wings. Muscles filled out those clothes. He was almost twice the size of the young man she recalled.

  This was not the wild and carefree youth she remembered. The boy she’d wished she could marry though duty forbade it. But it was still Ian. She could see it lingering in his eyes. He really did believe he hadn’t done enough.

  This was the new Ian. A man never content. A man driven to the edge—not unlike herself. Except he had kept his demons imprisoned. “You have done enough, Ian.”

  A grim resolution shadowed his visage. “I will not have done near enough until I have you entirely safe,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what I have to do.”

  Safe. The word mocked her. Once, she had known what it meant. “I don’t think I shall ever be safe.”

  His dark brows drew together. “Why would you say that?”

  “What I’ve done. Tonight. And before . . .” Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew why she would always be in danger, but she couldn’t recall it. An image of Thomas, his envious face, white lipped and angry, hovered in her vision. She blinked and it vanished. “I don’t know. I just won’t be.”

  Ian hesitated for a long moment.

  Eva struggled not to shift under his unrelenting gaze. She knew what he was thinking. He loathed her. Loathed her for letting Adam die through utter foolishness. How could he not? Her stomach churned again. She swallowed back her pain and fear. It had been the one sacred charge in her life, the protection of her son. And was she responsible for his death?

  The answer was a resounding yes, though she could not give utterance to it. It was she who had insisted on taking the curricle out into the rain. On lashing the horse with the whip, to hand deliver a letter to the post, a letter that she could no longer recall. And it had been she who had tucked her son in his basket beside her. Despite the warnings, despite the roads, she had driven out and her son had not come back.

  Ian didn’t move, his body like a statue when he broke the silence. “I swear, as long I breathe, I will dedicate myself to your safety.”

  She opened her mouth slightly to protest and then she realized, with a stunned and selfish gratitude, that he was in absolute earnest. It burned in his eyes with a terrible brightness. It struck her he was just as mad as she. Perhaps his demons did indeed own him, too. “Thank you.”

  “It is an honor and my duty to you.”

  “Duty?” she echoed. Duty had destroyed them. Duty had married her to a man she didn’t love. Duty had sent Ian halfway around the world to protect an unworthy friend.

  Once, they had been friends and would have done anything for one another. She, Hamilton, and Ian . . . they’d been inseparable. The “Merry Band,” as Hamilton’s father had called them. But as they’d grown older, cracks had formed in their perfect friendship. And slowly, over time, Ian and Hamilton had begun to compete against each other for so many things. For marks at school, for Hamilton’s father’s affection. But Hamilton had never been quite as good as Ian.

  And because Hamilton had not been able to bear that, their unbreakable friendship had cracked amid lies, disappointment, and the desperate wish to recover that which could never be had again. She narrowed her eyes, wondering whether Ian would ever forget the night Lord Carin had admitted to loving him more than his eldest son. How that love had first twisted Thomas and then had driven Hamilton away from the path of right. It was that night Ian had promised to protect Hamilton in India and the night she had promised to uphold her arranged betrothal. A sharp wave of sadness crashed upon her at such memories, and she swallowed back the misery. “Why are you here?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, abruptly looking away. “I—I promised.”

  She drew in a slow breath, her limbs growing heavy. An unfortunate side effect of her medicine, even if it had been some time since her last dose. It wouldn’t be long till she hungered for more. “Promised who?”

  “Hamilton
, Eva.”

  She could have sworn he wasn’t telling her the full truth. But once again, perhaps it was just her imaginings. She nodded. Hamilton. She’d tried so hard to love her husband, even though her heart had always belonged to Ian. But Ian had not wanted her heart.

  He had abandoned it.

  Sweat broke out on her skin and she closed her eyes. God, she hated this part. The moment when she realized how much she needed her medicine. Especially at the mention of the past. “You make too many promises.”

  He blanched.

  It was a cruel thing for her to say and her heart cried out at the way she could wound him now. Her savior.

  “Do you wish to talk of him?” he asked, despite the tension marring his face.

  Eva licked her lips. Her hands were beginning to tremble. Not a propitious sign. “Who?”

  “Hamilton,” he bit out. “Do you wish—do you wish to know how he died?”

  “No,” she whispered, averting her eyes. “I have no wish to speak of him.” How she wished tears could sting her eyes. But she didn’t cry at the past anymore. She couldn’t think about it. Or she would drown. “Or anything else.”

  “Should I restrain my comments to the weather?”

  She opened her eyes, no mercy left in her soul, not even for her savior. Not when she was unraveling so quickly. “Do you wish to talk about the war? Do you wish to tell me about the people you killed?”

  His lips pressed into a hard line and then his hands balled into fists. “No, Eva.”

  “The weather,” she said evenly, forcing herself to form every word perfectly even though she longed to let her head loll back against the cushions, “is a very fine topic.”

  Then she closed her eyes against his questions.

  Against the past.

  She wasn’t mad. At least he prayed she was not.

  She certainly was unstable. Of course, even if she were as sane as Plato, that place would have addled her brain. She was definitely fading in and out of laudanum-induced thoughts.

  That would end. Never, absolutely never would he see that filth cross her lips again. It would be a long road through her withdrawals, which would not even begin until every last drop of laudanum was burned from her stomach. And then . . . then she would be driven wild with need for days, if not weeks.