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

by Claremont, Maire

  The door cracked open and Elizabeth’s bright voice cut off her words as did the pad of Falstaff’s paws. “Good morning, my dear—”

  Ian’s eyes snapped open. With the speed of a wet cat, he sprang from the bed.

  But not before Elizabeth had swished into the room, followed by her dog and a pert young maid. The older woman wrenched her attention from Ian to Eva’s barely covered form on the bed. She held up her ringed hand and waved brusquely at the maid. “Alice? Leave, now.”

  The young maid glanced down at the pile of bright fabric and crinoline in her arms. In a panic she simply set them down on the floor and scurried away, shutting the door with an abnormally loud bang.

  Falstaff, on the other hand, circled over by the window and lowered himself with a great harrumph.

  Elizabeth ignored the flurry of activity and stood with unapologetic authority as her verdant silk gown glinted emerald in the morning light. “Explain.”

  Eva smoothed down her shift as quickly as her hands would allow. She had no idea what to say. Even she recalled enough about the rules of decorum to know that what Ian and she had been doing was completely unacceptable.

  Ian turned his probing gaze on his aunt. “I am a gentleman, and that should be explanation enough.”

  Elizabeth’s face set to unmoving stone. “I see.” She took a bold step toward her nephew, her stance just as arrogant as his. “And how am I not to assume that you are taking advantage of a woman in a precarious situation? Ian, you are here alone with her! She’s in bed, undressed, for the sake of all the angels.”

  Eva squeezed her eyes shut against the simple yet ugly words. This was her doing. She was the one driving this wedge between aunt and nephew. Try as she might, she couldn’t recall Elizabeth once throwing angry words in Ian’s direction.

  “Please.” Eva forced her limbs, still aching with the unforgiving ride and withdrawal from her drug, to the edge of the bed. Slowly, determined, she stood. “Ian deserves more respect than that.”

  Ian’s rigid stance softened as he turned toward her. “Eva, you don’t have to—”

  “No.” Eva shook her head, her own distress dissipating under the conflict between him and Elizabeth. “He has risked everything for me.” Her throat tightened. With all the conviction she could muster, she swung her gaze to Elizabeth’s. “And he does not deserve your censure.”

  The anger slipped from Elizabeth’s eyes, replaced by something unreadable. “That may be so,” she said softly, “but you and he cannot carry on in such an intimate manner.”

  “And how should we carry on?” Ian demanded. “Should we be as strangers?”

  The words hung in the room. That he had seen her at far worse. That though they were in many ways strangers, a long-forged bond ran between them.

  Their eyes met and the whole world seemed to disappear. It was absolutely true. There was not a soul who could understand the way their lives had turned so furiously and cruelly. It mattered not that his dreams had died in India and hers in a small English village.

  Only together could they mourn.

  Eva took a step toward Ian. How she longed to place the past behind them. The terrible words of the last days. The memories of perfect summers with them all together. Ian. Hamilton. Eva. And the memories of their chance at happiness vanishing as each of them changed from innocent children to conflicted, disappointed adults. If she could, she would erase it all and start anew. In this moment.

  But before she could take another step, Ian turned away. The openness about him vanished, the vulnerability shored up behind a wall of resolve. “You are ever right, Aunt. I have overstepped the bounds of propriety. See to Eva’s dress.” He moved brusquely to the door. “I am—I am going out.”

  In a rush of boot steps, he was gone.

  Eva sucked back the desire to cry. So long ago she had learned that crying did nothing. Now her traitorous body longed for the release of hot tears. Standing by the bed, her feet bare, her white gown hanging loosely about her, she felt so small. So alone. Ian had rescued her. He had saved her from hell. But now she realized she had found another place of damnation.

  The one he had clearly chosen to dwell in.

  Oh, she and Ian were together in this fight. But there was someone else watching. Someone else making sure they remained strangers. Eva let out a harsh breath. Hamilton. Hamilton was compelling Ian down this path. Hamilton had been driving Ian away from her for years, and it seemed that even her husband’s death would not end his power over Ian.

  Lord knew she should also be driven by thoughts of Hamilton. A good woman—an honorable woman—would have been, even if her husband had not been the most honorable of men. But as she stood in the wake of Ian’s coldness, all she could think was that he needed saving as badly as she. And Hamilton was dead. Nothing could be done for him. Wasn’t life for the living?

  “Eva?”

  The soft voice penetrated her reverie. “You shouldn’t be so harsh. He has already suffered a great deal. I think he will suffer more on my account.”

  Elizabeth arched a silvering brow. “Indeed? If I am not harsh with him, dearest, who will be? You?”

  A smile pulled at Eva’s lips. If only Elizabeth knew the words that had passed between them. The way they had exposed each other’s weaknesses without the least bit of mercy. The way he admitted fearing for his aunt’s feelings. “Yes.”

  Elizabeth tsked as she bent, picking up white garments from the floor. “You two would defend each other to the devil.” She pushed her hand through the folds of a painstakingly embroidered chemise, bringing it to Eva. “It was always the case.”

  Falstaff lumbered to his feet, tail wagging, and he interjected himself between the two women, stretching his face out for an expected scratch.

  Instinctively, Eva reached out, tickling the mastiff behind his ear. Falstaff thumped his tail appreciatively. “Really? I don’t truly recall.”

  Elizabeth circled around the dog, rather than attempting to move him, and gestured for Eva to slip out of the thin gown that she’d slept in. As Eva pulled the fabric away and Elizabeth slipped the new garment over her head, the older woman rolled her eyes. “You two. Not even Hamilton could keep up with your antics.” She smoothed the white fabric down Eva’s form, just like the most detailed of lady’s maids. “And then, of course, you two thick as thieves would convince anyone you were as sinless as angels.”

  Eva kept silent, listening as Elizabeth handed her a pair of lace-edged pantalettes.

  “Remember the day Ian broke his arm?”

  Eva thought back and flushed. She had dared Ian to match her climbing up one of the great oaks on the outer boundaries of the estate. They’d sprinted to the top, but she, weighing considerably less, had danced out onto the thin whipping branches at the top. Unwilling to be left behind, Ian had followed and cracked a branch . . . plummeting to the ground. At first he’d tried to take the blame, but she’d insisted they tell everyone they’d gone after a wounded squirrel. Ian had been put to bed, and she’d been denied sweets for a month for the fib. Falstaff licked at her fingers, a silly tickle. “I remember,” she said softly.

  “I think that bond between you never died.” Elizabeth smoothed her hands down the front of her blue silk gown, her eyes growing distant, lost in memory. “But then Ian needed a girl like you, especially after his mother died.”

  Swallowing, Eva stepped into the smalls. “I never thought about it.”

  “Well, of course not.” Elizabeth blinked and turned her gaze back to Eva. “You were children. What with his parents dying so suddenly . . . he always needed you. It is no surprise he needs you still. In fact, even though it had been settled between you and Hamilton as children, for many years I was sure it would be you and Ian that marr—”

  “Ian doesn’t need me,” Eva said quickly, unwilling to hear more. Unwilling to confirm that she, too, had once wished for something other than what duty had dictated. Duty had kept her away from the boy she’d loved. Hamilton had b
een her intended since she was five years old. It had been an unbreakable match. At least in her eyes. She’d owed the Carins so much.

  Hamilton should have felt like a catch.

  So many other young women found Hamilton to be the perfect ideal, and she had cared for him greatly. But she’d never loved him. Never understood what it was about Hamilton that had made her hold her heart back.

  When she’d learned about the race and its aftermath from a groom, she’d known why Hamilton’s father had voiced such fears on his deathbed. Why the old man had begged her and Ian to save Hamilton from himself. Hamilton had gone to India to prove himself a man, and Ian had followed to protect him.

  She had stayed behind. Nine months after Hamilton’s departure, she’d become a mother. Alone.

  If only they had faced who Hamilton truly was before the marriage or before the two young men had departed, things could have been different. She blinked away the sudden burn lining her lids. No, the very idea of her and Ian was absurd. He would never love her. Not like that. He could not need a woman so . . . “He can’t.”

  Pausing, Elizabeth lifted a beautiful pink brocade corset from the fabric on the floor. At last, she asked gently, “Why ever not?”

  Eva turned her gaze toward the window. Gray light shone through the window as heavy clouds raced in from the sea. The dimming light spilled along the floor, barely touching her toes. Maybe once. Years ago, if things had been different, she could have been his wife. When she was still innocent. She would have given the world for that place. But now, neither of them was immune from the ravages of deceit and broken trust. He needed someone good and whole. Someone who would not drag him down deeper into darkness. “Simply because.”

  Elizabeth said nothing for a moment. Then she said plainly, “We must get this corset on you.”

  Eva took in the older woman, surprised she had not remarked or insisted that she explain. So she held her arms up and Elizabeth slid the partially laced corset down her frame. It drooped about her slender waist. The beautiful material shimmered and Eva resisted the urge to touch it lightly. It must have been Elizabeth’s. It was a corset meant to please the eye, but Elizabeth’s husband had long since departed the world. Eva’s heart ached for Ian’s aunt. How many years had she battled the loneliness of solitude in a castle on the sea? Well, not entirely alone. She’d had Falstaff, which as far as Eva could tell was better and more loyal company than most people.

  “Bend down,” Elizabeth said firmly.

  Eva blanched. She had not worn a corset, or a gown for that matter, in nigh two years. “Couldn’t we start a little less—?”

  “No. We will do all this properly. You must become used to looking like Lady Eva Carin again.”

  Lady Eva Carin.

  “My darling girl.” Lady Elizabeth’s blue eyes were shadowed. “I have been down a similar path as yours, and I will not leave you to it alone.”

  The tears that had but a moment ago threatened to overrun Eva’s defenses returned with such a vengeance, it was all she could do to keep them at bay. Falstaff pushed himself upward, straining his neck and licking his lips as if he might ease her tears.

  “He’s such a sweet dog and he’s been my loyal companion these many years,” Elizabeth said, stroking Falstaff’s muzzle. “If you need to cry, my dear, he makes an excellent pillow . . . as do I.”

  Elizabeth’s kindness overwhelmed Eva. With each moment that passed in silence, her heart swelled with gratitude toward the older woman. Perhaps she needn’t be alone any longer.

  Could she find herself with some help from Ian and his aunt? A little at a time? Was it possible that she might be whole again?

  She bent, Falstaff licking at her face. She pushed the dog down and rubbed his back as Elizabeth laced the corset tightly.

  If she thought back, Eva could recall the woman who was unafraid of anything, who had charged into London society, winning it over with her love for fun. Today she was unsure of who exactly Eva Carin was.

  In truth, she had no idea how to find her again. She seemed unalterably lost. Distant. A ghost now to the world Eva had lived in.

  Eva gave Falstaff one last pat, then forced herself to stand upright, her body restricted by the metal corsetry. This was what Ian wanted. The return of a woman who no longer was. Somehow she would find a shadow of her. For Ian. For the memory of the woman she used to be.

  She swallowed back the growing nausea and waited, ready to accept the next garment that would lead her ever closer to the world of the sane.

  Chapter 20

  Eva stroked her hands along Dragon’s withers and drew in the earthy scent of stable and horseflesh. Elizabeth and Falstaff were on a long walk. One of the walks they took every day, and which Eva had taken with them over the recent days of her slow recovery.

  She’d been tempted to accompany them, but for some reason the stable had called to her. It had been years since she’d been close to horses one might actually ride, and she’d found herself desirous of their company.

  Underneath her hands, Dragon felt silky, muscled, and supple. A body well over a ton in weight. A body that could bear all her suffering without any thought.

  It would be so easy to give it to him. There was something peaceful and still about a horse. It might have been her imaginings, but she would have sworn a horse could see beyond this world and offer their wisdom to those quiet enough to listen.

  Dragon had always been strong and kind, even if he was a bit wild. He’d take her sadness and pain, then toss his head and stomp his hooves into the earth, passing those paralyzing emotions into something eternal and far more powerful than she.

  He tossed his head, then looked back at her with his liquid dark eyes, sensing her distress. “Oh, Dragon.” She sighed, tears stinging her eyes. “What am I to do?”

  The stallion let out a great sigh that shook his barrel chest, Eva’s hand moving with the shiver of his white coat.

  She laughed, even as a tear slipped down her cheek. And at the stallion’s suggestion, she drew in a long, slow breath, then blew it out. And she did feel better. Foolish or no, she allowed tears to flow down her cheeks, unchecked. They were silent, coursing tears. Dragon whickered softly, his eyes soft as he waited patiently under the torrent of her sorrow.

  Carefully, she rested her head along the stallion’s massive shoulder. Dragon leaned his massive shoulder in toward her, pressing lightly against her body.

  It felt like a gentle acceptance of her need. A pillar of strength that wouldn’t crack under her mourning.

  She stroked her hand along his neck, wishing she could give away all her pain to the beautiful horse that had been Ian’s for a decade. It didn’t surprise her that Ian had not taken Dragon with him to India. Most likely, Ian hadn’t been able to bear the idea of uprooting the horse that was the alpha of his stable, taking him to a land far away that bore no resemblance to the green fields of England.

  Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to go back. To envision riding Dragon with Ian. The way she had clasped her arms about Ian’s waist as they tore across the countryside. They had been at one with each other then. No worries. No fears. No idea of ever being parted.

  Dragon whinnied and shifted on his large hooves.

  Eva lifted her head as Dragon’s soft ears twitched toward the stable door.

  “Eva?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Ian. She’d thought to be alone, but the horses had always been a siren call to both of them. “Yes?”

  Ian walked carefully into the stable and Dragon immediately stretched out his beautiful face, nuzzling Ian. Ian laughed, a soft, gentle sound. “I missed you, too, boy.”

  Eva held her breath, feeling witness to a sacred moment as Ian leaned his own face toward his stallion. For one brief moment, their foreheads touched and all Ian’s cares slipped away from his face, leaving behind the gentle, carefree young man she had once loved.

  Her own heart twisted at the sight, wishing they could disappear back to that ti
me. Knowing they could not.

  Ian stroked his own hand along Dragon’s neck until his fingers slipped over Eva’s, entwining with them and Dragon’s mane. “Did you wish to ride?”

  Her breasts rose and fell in quick, short breaths at the touch of his hand. She tore her gaze away from his fingers over hers and glanced toward the stable door. Rain began pelting down, turning the earth a russet brown. “Now?”

  He smiled, a slow and boyish smile. “No. I suppose not. I’ve only just got back from walking the estate with Mr. Harrow.”

  “Your estate manager?”

  “Yes. He’s a good man.” Ian let out a strange bark of a laugh. “Knew more than I could ever know about cattle and sheep.”

  “He’s had a great deal more experience, I should think,” she teased.

  “True.” His laughter hadn’t added humor to his countenance. Quite the opposite. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to strain his features.

  Eva nibbled her lower lip. He seemed unsure in this moment. So unlike the confident man who’d stolen her out of the asylum. “You will be a wonderful lord.”

  He blinked. “I don’t know.”

  “There is something about you that inspires strength, Ian.” With her free hand, she stroked Dragon’s shoulder, focusing on the powerful muscle beneath her hand. “Your tenants will love you.”

  “I’ve no idea how to talk to them,” he said, his fingers slipping more firmly about hers and Dragon’s silken mane.

  A laugh bubbled from her throat. “You can talk to anyone.”

  He squeezed for a second, then let go, dropping his hand to his side. Defeated. “I—Not any longer.”

  She hated to see him so full of self-recrimination. It was so misplaced. Eva hesitated, then said quickly, “If you are in such doubt, I shall accompany you when you make your rounds. We can visit your tenants together, and if you feel awkward at all, I shall assist you in conversation.”