Epilogue
England
Six months later
Adam dashed straight into the shallow waves, the salt water soaking his short pants. A shriek of happiness rippled from him as he looked back, a smile dimpling his cheeks.
Eva waved at him, resting on a blanket stretched out on the sand. He was growing so fast. Soon he’d have to have a pony to ride upon at the seaside.
Ian rose from the blanket and sprinted toward Adam. The little boy’s mouth opened wide. He turned and darted onward on his short little legs, loving the game.
“I’m going to get you, lad!” Ian shouted, chasing after him. “Don’t you doubt it!”
Johnny and his wife, Emma, sat a few feet away from her on their own blanket. Their hands were entwined as they grinned and watched Adam and Ian dart about over the sand.
Eva couldn’t hide the smile that so often warmed her cheeks these days. It was a miracle really, the way Johnny and Emma had whisked her son away and raised him as their own. She’d not known what to expect when she saw Adam for the first time in years. But he was a happy boy. Chubby cheeked, and eyes alight with mischief. ’Twas clear as anything how much the couple loved him, and so they’d happily come with Adam into Eva and Ian’s new home, that the boy wouldn’t be parted from his loved ones ever again.
Gently Eva placed a hand on her growing middle, savoring the feel of new life. It had taken time, but they were a family now. All five of them. Adam was full of adventure and laughter, Johnny and Emma having raised him with a remarkable degree of care.
Now he was Ian’s son, too.
No one could have risen to the task with such zeal as her husband.
They’d both risen to it.
And soon they’d be six.
Sometimes, she still woke in the night with thoughts of Mary darkening her joy. But she knew her friend was out there somewhere and Wyndham would find her.
All Eva needed to shake off those rarer and rarer moments of fear was to touch her husband or to glance upon the innocent face of her son.
They’d faced the storm. Weathered it. Been tempered by it. Finally all the fear had been left behind. Eva drank in the sight of her husband and her son playing like two carefree creatures. When the fear had vanished, all that was left in its wake was love.
Perfect, enduring love.
Read on for a preview of Máire Claremont’s compelling new novel
LADY IN RED
“You can’t stay here, Mary.”
The breath withered from her chest, replaced by gripping panic. She desperately searched Yvonne’s face. Sincerity marked it. Yvonne didn’t jest in her declaration and that meant only one thing. The streets. And all the dangers it possessed. “Please,” she choked. “I’ll do whatever—”
“It is not that I wouldn’t protect you. But your father . . . This is one of the first places he will look.” Yvonne paused. “Am I right to think he will seek you?”
Mary’s knees buckled.
Regardless of the weakness in such a gesture, Mary crumpled to the floor. Sitting naked in a pool of sheets so soft she wanted to bury herself in them, she swallowed back the realization that she had traveled for days for nothing. Foolishly, she hadn’t even realized that her papa, the Duke of Duncliffe, would find her. Not when all she’d been concerned with was escape and coming to Yvonne.
How utterly stupid. How very, very stupid. Of course, he would pursue her here. The moment he learned of her disappearance, she would be hunted down like a base criminal. When he found her, he would send her back. Back to that place where each day had been a nightmare of pain.
“What is this plan of yours?” she whispered, though she couldn’t imagine any plan at this moment that would save her.
Yvonne crossed to a pink marble-topped table, laden with cut-crystal bottles of liquor. She poured out two stout matching glasses of amber liquid. Holding her counsel, she crossed her chamber. As she lowered herself before Mary, the folds of her gown and hoops whooshed over Mary’s legs.
“Take it.” Yvonne held out one of the glasses.
Mary clasped the cool crystal in her hand. “What do you propose?”
Studying her glass, Yvonne cleared her throat. “Mary, my dear, I know you have been through a great trial, but I must ask.” She took a long swallow of her drink, and once she had eased the snifter to her lap, she inquired bluntly, “Do you think you could bed a man?”
Mary flinched. An image of large fists hitting and yanking assailed her. Then searing pain. She forced the nauseating recollection back into the trunk in which she kept all such terrifying memories. Before they could come to full life.
“I can see that you have been forced into pleasuring others with your body.”
What on earth was she to say to that? That yes, she had been degraded and treated less than human? The words wouldn’t pass her lips. Not ever. If she didn’t speak them, perhaps one day she could truly pretend and come to believe they weren’t true.
Mary lifted her own glass and swallowed. Hard. Several swift gulps allowed her to savor the heat of the spicy brandy trailing down to her stomach. “It was horrid,” she said simply, then added, “It was punishment.”
“I am sorry. Though most likely not to the same level of hurt as yourself, I too have been forced.” Yvonne laughed hollowly, her eyes haunted with imprisoned memory. “In my profession one cannot go long without receiving . . . unwanted attentions. Especially when one is first starting out and must subjugate oneself to a pimp.”
Mary frowned at this revelation. If Yvonne had been . . . “How can you do what you do now, then?”
Yvonne raised a hand and brushed it gently over Mary’s lips, possibly ridding herself of the bad taste of unpleasant memories before she smoothed that hand along her softly curled hair. “I was fortunate. I found a gentleman who worshipped me, set me up, and then gave me this house.” The displeasure that had painted her features turned to a gentle fondness. “He was very kind. He taught me that I could enjoy my body again. He liberated me from fear and pain.”
Mary could not imagine such a thing. The best she hoped for was to never have to contemplate her body in relation to a man’s again. Perhaps then she could be happy.
Yvonne eyed her carefully. “I think the Duke of Fairleigh could be your liberator.”
Was Yvonne mad? She had no wish to be liberated from the fear that kept her in the constant and valid awareness of men’s dangerousness, brutality, and capability of the utmost trickery. “I do not think that likely.”
“You feel this way now, Mary. Of course you do—”
“I will always feel like this.” Her hand, still holding the sheet in place, dug through the silk until the bite of her nails pierced her palm. “Why do you think he can steal my fear away?”
“There is much scandal surrounding his family and his cold demeanor is his answer to the disdain of the world. But he is a duke, Mary.” She paused, letting the information take its full effect before adding, “And exceptionally wealthy. Such a man—”
“Could protect me from my father,” Mary finished, a dull acceptance seeping into her heart. And yet, Edward had made her feel something she’d never felt before . . . powerful, herself.
“If your father comes here, I will lose you within moments.” Yvonne allowed no kindness in her countenance to ease the painful truth. “But if you were to go to the Duke of Fairleigh as his mistress, he might be able to keep you hidden or, if it came to it, safe.”
Once again, she would be putting herself into a man’s power. The world was such an unjust place. Could she never save herself? Could she only throw herself from one man’s whim to the next?
Mary squeezed her eyes shut against the anger inside her. No matter how hard she wished it, this world didn’t belong to women, and she did indeed need a man’s help. Edward’s help. “But how can you be certain he’d wish to keep me?”
“Because I have not seen him so curious about a woman in the years that I have known him.”
“You will tell me what I must do?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know if I can”—she grimaced searching for words that would be acceptable to her ears—“couple with him.”
“When the time comes, I will ensure you will be able to. And he will not force you. He is not that kind of man. Quite the opposite in fact.”
“Fine, then.” Even as she spoke, Mary couldn’t quite hide her fear. He hadn’t hurt her. In fact, he had seemed fixated on assuring her she was safe, but he was still a man and a stranger. And despite the unfamiliar feelings he had evoked, she cared for neither.
But to keep herself away from that place . . . from her father, she would go to Edward. What choice had she?
Yvonne took her empty glass. “Good, then. I shall arrange it. I’m sure we can find you a pleasing frock somewhere. And in the meantime, let’s drink to the moon, eh? And your protection.” She leaned forward, her eyes full of hope. “I am so glad you shall be safe.”
But Mary no longer trusted hope. It was a fool’s emotion, and she was tired of being a fool.
The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance)) Page 28