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

by Claremont, Maire

  She couldn’t draw breath. His words moved her so powerfully. “You truly find me beautiful?” she whispered.

  He leaned forward, the power of him urging her back against the bed. It was easy to follow his lead. As she lowered herself back to the bed, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along her neck, nipping ever so slightly at the hollow of her throat.

  “Ian?” she said when he didn’t answer.

  He paused. “Beautiful?”

  Eva glanced down at him. Confused.

  He lingered over her heart. His dark hair hiding his face. Slowly, he pressed a kiss to the soft flesh. “I feel it beating,” he murmured. “Your heart. It beats fast and strong and free. Your beauty begins here.”

  He pressed another kiss to the spot just above her heart.

  Gently, Eva slid her hands to his back, wanting to offer him so much comfort. The kind of comfort he was miraculously giving her.

  “But your beauty,” he said, “doesn’t stop there. It is in every part of you.”

  She arched toward him, her breasts taut now with need. The tenderness of his touch more erotic than anything she had ever known. His hands caressed her ribs, curving to rest along her sides, teasing at the marred flesh. He stared down at what she’d considered to be so ugly. Pure worship shone on his face. “It is here.”

  “And it is here,” he whispered before he kissed her breasts, then took a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

  Eva gasped, shocked he would do such a thing. She dug her fingers into his back, desperate for more. Without even thinking, she curled her legs around his waist. The hardness of him pressed against her core. Eva closed her eyes, no fear, just need.

  Ian’s careful touch became more insistent, rougher, and then his fingers were working at her breeches. He eased them down, then pulled away from her as he worked his own trousers off.

  Completely naked, Eva savored the feel of warm skin on warm skin. She had not been this close to anyone, this loved—

  She blinked back tears. This was making love. She knew it with utter certainty. And she had not been loved in so long.

  This time, Ian eased himself down farther along the bed. His slightly rough hands caressed her calves. He lifted his eyes to her as he kissed the inside of her thigh. “I want you to look at me.” Nodding, Eva bit down on her lower lip, completely alive with sweet anticipation. He massaged her calves as he kissed and nipped his way up her thighs.

  It was so tempting to close her eyes. To lose herself in the feeling. Though he had not said it, Eva knew he wanted her to lose herself in him. So she kept her eyes on him. When he pressed her thighs ever so slightly farther apart and lowered his mouth to her, she tensed. Stunned. And then a cry of pure pleasure flew past her lips.

  Ripples of shock and hunger rushed through her. As if he couldn’t get enough of her, Ian took her hips in hand and kept her in place. His lips and tongue teasing her until she couldn’t bear it.

  She twisted her hands into the sheets with all her might as pleasure stole through her body. Any moment, she would shatter and disappear.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Now.”

  Ian lifted himself and rested his cock between her thighs. Eva’s breath hitched and grabbed his shoulders. She felt the need to anchor herself. He pressed his head against her and a moment of alarm swept through. It had been so long. Perhaps she would be too tight. Perhaps it would be pain, not pleasure.

  Ian gently rubbed himself along her slick core until she arched against him with hunger. At last, he began to rock against her, not inside, but easing against her tight passage.

  Eased with the renewed pleasure he’d created, Eva locked her legs around him, pulling him forward. One smooth thrust and he filled her. The fullness of it, the tantalizing pressure stole her breath away. As he thrust into her body, intense pleasure coiled in her abdomen. With each sure stroke, she climbed higher and higher.

  His mouth claimed hers.

  Eva gasped, her fingers digging into his back. Somehow. Somehow she wanted to climb inside him. In response, he pulled her torso up off the bed, his arms circling her. The pressure and speed of his tempo increased.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please, yes.”

  “I never want to let you go.”

  Eva looked into his eyes, her heart so full she didn’t know how she could survive it. “Then don’t.”

  A growl tore from Ian’s throat and he lowered her back down. He gripped her hips and thrust long and hard. Eva bit her fist, unable to hold back her cries of pleasure.

  Finally, Ian circled his fingers over her folds as he simultaneously circled his hips against her.

  What was happening to her? The intensity of it threw her from height to height toward something she didn’t understand but desperately wanted. She panted, holding on tight to Ian, trusting him. And at last, she couldn’t fight the moan of sheer ecstasy as her world spun into perfect joy. Ripple after ripple of pleasure hummed through her.

  “Oh, God, yes.” He moved faster against her, tilting her hips up toward him. “Yes, Eva.” Ian tensed, a harsh groan ripping from his chest as he climaxed.

  She stared up at him in wonder. Never had she experienced anything like what had happened between them. She’d never even known such a sensation was possible for a woman. Her heart beat fast and hard with delight that it was Ian who she’d shared such a thing with. It was always meant to be him.

  He tried to roll to the side. Eva grabbed on to him, holding his weight to her. It seemed impossible, but happiness washed over her. Pure happiness, as she held him.

  It had taken her years to find it. Now she had it in her arms. She smiled into the darkness. Nothing would ever take it from her again.

  Chapter 23

  The most ridiculous feeling of peace had come over him. For the first time in years. Ian stared into the darkness, trying to understand how the hell it had happened. He flung one arm over his head, the other keeping Eva close to his body. Her cheek rested against his chest. One of her legs was flung over his, possessively.

  The way she had touched his scars. It had been shocking and soothing at once. She had no idea how he’d gotten those scars. But what echoed most in his mind was how he had not fought against the men who’d come to kill Hamilton. He’d watched in silence, in understanding as they’d violated Hamilton with a blade the same way Hamilton had violated his soldiers’ trust with brutal punishments and dangerous commands, sending them with too few men against untenable odds into the borderlands. But it had been the way Hamilton had harassed young soldiers, driving them half mad with drills that went all hours and verbal abuse that would have broken the hardest dockside tough, that had been his friend’s death sentence.

  A murdering officer, that’s what they’d called Hamilton. Ian had tried to have Hamilton removed from his post, tried to convince him to return to England, but such things were next to impossible in the British Army. It wouldn’t have mattered if Hamilton had whipped a man to death, he would have maintained his post. And Hamilton had refused to go home, finding his only power in being an officer of Her Majesty’s Army.

  Justice over friendship. That was what Ian had chosen, and he would never shake from his mind the look of horror upon his friend’s face. Even if Hamilton had deserved what had been done to him.

  All he wanted was to keep this feeling of stillness he’d found with Eva. Of wonder. She had given him peace. Eva, who had seen destruction as great as any slaughter. But the thought that Hamilton’s wife lay beside him couldn’t quite escape him.

  What they had done was undeniable. Like the rain that comes in the fall or the sun that insists on rising.

  Wasn’t it?

  He closed his eyes, trying to block out the ugly thoughts. Trying to block out that it had been duty that had driven them apart. He should have told Hamilton’s father of his love for Eva. He should have had the courage. Instead, he’d wasted years desperate to make sense of how someone like Hamilton, who had been Ian’s closest friend�
�who had dueled him with sticks and shared his first glass of brandy—could descend to such darkness. He’d wasted those years trying to change his friend.

  What a fool he’d been.

  Ian swallowed back his disappointment. He’d followed Hamilton halfway around the world to bring him back to goodness. But it hadn’t been goodness that he’d discovered in the back of beyond. Rather, he’d found that most men held the canker of destruction within their hearts. Quite simply, he never should have left Eva. Never. Not for any reason. Certainly not to save a man who didn’t wish to be saved.

  Ian shook the past away and concentrated on the slender form tucked against him. At long last, she was his. For him alone, her eyes had lit up in surprise and wonder as she reached her pleasure. He could make up for the past. He could make up for all his mistakes.

  “Ian?”

  “Yes?” he asked, apprehension tightening his chest.

  “I think . . . I think it will all be well. Perhaps we can find a way to accept the past. Accept what happened to . . . to them.”

  “Eva.” Pain and a touch of regret instantly lashed him. Christ, she still couldn’t really speak either of their names. Adam. Hamilton.

  The past that would never let them go.

  How he wished he could agree with her, that they might find acceptance. It would be so easy to lie. To open his mouth and ease her with platitudes.

  He couldn’t do it.

  She didn’t understand him. She couldn’t. He could never explain that her husband had died an ignominious death. And that he had played his own part in it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “We can’t.” He shifted ever so slightly, the feel of her soft skin rubbing against him. “We can’t talk about him.”

  “But don’t you think he would want—?”

  “I know exactly what he would want.” His throat closed, unable to form the words. Hamilton would be furious, riddled with hate and jealousy, at Ian and Eva’s lovemaking.

  “Ian, I think we need—”

  “Eva, I cannot.” Ian swallowed against the sudden burn clawing at his chest. An image of blood and torn flesh flashing before his eyes. “Do you understand?” If he allowed himself, he’d feel the ripped flesh under his hands, those accusing eyes staring up at him, and feel the traitorous knowledge that Hamilton had met the end he’d asked for. “I cannot talk about him.”

  She nodded against his chest. “I suppose I understand.”

  A slow sigh of relief escaped his lips. Of course she did. She knew better than anyone what it was to keep silent.

  Her chest rose on a long indrawn breath. She started to pull away. Instantly he held harder. “Please don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Eva, we need each other.” He needed her. He needed her so much. It was a terrifying realization. On this wild journey she had become a part of him. Integral to his existence.

  She remained silent. Nothing broke that awful sound of quietude. No clocks, no voices. Not even the fire that had burned down to a low red glow. After a few moments, she relaxed. The silence stretched on. Finally, she nestled against him, her hand gentle and light against his chest.

  It was done, then. They’d both agreed. They could continue on like this. Not a word of the past would pass their lips. The unspeakable would remain unspoken.

  An ironic laugh escaped Mrs. Palmer’s lips. She clapped a quick hand over her mouth. It would not do to lose her composure. Not the proprietress of a madhouse. She set the missive down. Hesitated, then crumpled it until the sheet was nothing but a twisted ball of parchment.

  Her carefully orchestrated world was bursting into chaos.

  She laughed again, brittle this time; her hand could not silence the sound. As soon as it died in her throat, her stomach churned so hard with fury, vomit threatened to choke her. She swallowed quickly, pressing her trembling fingers even tighter to her lips.

  One of her men was dead. Killed by that bastard. If he’d been anyone else, she would have exacted revenge in a moment’s notice, buying off magistrates. Men of his standing in society, however, were not so easily handled. Nor so easily disposed of.

  No, there was only one way to receive vengeance against him, and it wasn’t his quick death. Destroying that which he most cared about was the sure path to revenge. By destroying Eva, she would have all the vengeance she could ever desire.

  Now that she knew the extent that man was willing to go to, she would have to take a new tack to achieve her aims. But at this moment, there was no denying it. Eva Carin had slipped through her fingers. The girl was on the fast road to London. If Eva proved she was sane, it would only be a matter of time before questions started being asked about the asylum. She couldn’t have that.

  Mrs. Palmer leaned over and grabbed the sides of her perfectly polished walnut desk, clenching it so hard that the pain in her flesh brought a sense of calm over her.

  Pain. Her own or others’, always helped to give her perspective. Soon it wouldn’t be hers that set her world to rights. Oh, no. It was that damned woman who would pay for every moment of suffering she and that bastard cousin had inflicted.

  Mrs. Palmer stared at the blank cream-colored sheets of writing paper stacked neatly on her desk. There was only one thing left to do.

  It was time for Lord Carin to play his part in this game to get back his ward. And once they had her, she’d take Eva Carin apart. Piece by bloody piece.

  “Chancery can bugger itself.” Ian’s unbridled disgust for the British legal system rang ripe even to his own ears. Several silvered heads, peers all, turned to throw warning glances, shocked that he should so puncture the revered morning silence of the club. Giving a solid tug at his waistcoat, Ian tempered his growing frustration and demanded in a far more appropriate—though still incredulous—tone, “It takes how long before a case is brought to a judge?”

  Lord Byron Cartwright, Earl of Wyndham, laughed. A rich baritone that shook the room, once again catching several glances and harrumphs from the more staid members of the club. The man was a barrel-chested devil. He barely came up to Ian’s shoulder, but one cross word and the man was as dangerous as a giant.

  Wyndham rolled his cheroot between his calloused fingers and leaned back in the leather and brass-studded chair. “Weeks, months. Who knows, old boy? But no time soon.”

  “Sodding solicitors.”

  “And barristers.” The cheroot crackled slightly as Wyndham lifted a match and lit the tightly rolled tobacco, its tip burning demon red. “Don’t forget them.”

  Ian snorted.

  Wyndham arched a russet brow, his impenetrable gaze sparking with amusement. “Someone steal your sheep? Surely the overseer could manage—”

  Ian forced himself to lean back in his own wingback, matching Wyndham’s easy posture. “The entire world is populated by sheep as far as I can discern.”

  “Hmm.” Wyndham looked up, catching the eye of a passing steward. The man nodded, knowing exactly what the earl wanted. Wyndham waited patiently, blowing small puffs on his cheroot. Within moments, the steward had a bottle of whiskey and two crystal glasses on a tray. As soon as two glasses had been poured out, Wyndham braced an elbow on the leather armrest and twirled his cigar. “Would you care to divulge the truth of your dilemma?”

  Ian gazed about the room. It was early in the day and only a few men were about the room. All reading papers and smoking. “No.”

  Wyndham blew out a deeper plume of dark blue-gray smoke. “Then there’s nothing I can do but drink with you.”

  Ian eyed Wyndham, determining whether the man could actually be trusted with the details of Eva’s situation. It would have been easier if the earl had pushed and prodded, but spies had a damnable way of simply sitting back and waiting for men to spill their guts. Even retired spies like Wyndham. “I’ve a problem.”

  Wyndham contemplated his whiskey with great seriousness, then said suddenly, “Baden-Baden.”

  Ian scowled
. “Have you tossed your brains?”

  “Hardly.” Wyndham shrugged. “Since I can only guess at the problem, I’ve deduced you can’t decide on a vacation spot. Baden-Baden is all the riot these days. Water bathing. Bavarian hausfraus. Can’t stand the smell of kraut myself, but they say the pastries are quite—”

  “Wyndham, do you really wish me to rip out your throat?”

  The earl raised two brows as if completely innocent. “My. And here I am trying to bestow my wisdom upon a fellow soldier in arms. A gentleman. A—”

  “A man with a very short fuse.”

  Wyndham smirked. “I had no idea.”

  Ian looked down at the whiskey, tempted to toss the damn lot back—or at Wyndham—but a dousing in the old brew wouldn’t likely induce cooperation. “Do you recall the former Lord Carin?”

  “Hamilton? Of course. Damn bad card player. A bit old guard for my tastes and heard he played butcher with more than one poor chap in India. Could drink a fellow under the table, though.”

  Ian nodded, trying not to think about how easily Wyndham could recite Hamilton’s qualities. Like a laundry list of attributes. How easily he could state Hamilton’s ability to send his men to needless deaths in skirmishes or through torment. “Lord Carin had developed . . . a certain taste for discipline,” he said carefully. “It was unpleasant to see.”

  A dry smile played at Wyndham’s lips. “Indeed. Some officers can’t get it through their heads that dead men don’t fight. Carin died most suddenly, as I recall.”

  Ian locked gazes with Wyndham. “Mmm. Terribly unfortunate.”

  Wyndham glanced away before nodding. “Yes, yes. Not for the Indians, of course. He was your dear friend, no?”

  “All my life.” The words felt hollow. Each day in India, Ian’s hope had died a little more that they would be able to return to the closeness they had once known. That Hamilton would finally become the man Ian had always hoped he would be.

  Wyndham drew in another puff of smoke, the haze leaving a veil between them. “Remarkable how certain traits do reveal themselves most unexpectedly.”