“Just a moment.”
She heard him add logs to the fire. Sparks popped and a dull glow grew, swelling on the air. Smiling, she settled back on the bed and waited, wondering if she had ever felt so contented, so safe.
In moments, he joined her again. Shivering, he pulled her close to his naked body. A body that had lost some of its decided warmth in his brief visit to the hearth. She squealed at his icy toes on her calves. “Stop!”
He laughed and hugged her tight.
Sobering, she murmured against his skin, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Stoke the embers.”
“You’re not afraid of the dark anymore?”
She didn’t bother questioning him on how he knew about her irrational fear: she’d failed to hide it well from him that night at the inn.
Rolling her fingers against his chest, she planted a kiss on his supple flesh, then answered, “I guess it was never the dark that frightened me.”
“No? What then?” His hand drew circles over her arm.
“The demons of my past, I suppose. They always seemed to find me in the dark.”
“What demons?”
She took a deep, bracing breath. “One night, long ago, a man broke into my bedroom and attacked me.”
His hand stilled on her arm; he went rigid as stone against her. She didn’t move, didn’t dare look at him, too afraid at what she might see in his face.
“He didn’t”—she broke off, moistening her dry lips—“succeed at his foul purpose, but I’ve never shaken the memory.”
“When did this happen? Where?”
Alarm trickled down her spine at his biting voice. She was afraid to give away too much, and rightly so. She had no idea what Ian had told him. He could easily start connecting pieces in her patchwork of lies if she mentioned an employer, if she mentioned Barbados.
She should have said nothing, should keep herself apart from him, but she couldn’t. She wanted him too much. Needed intimacy beyond the physical.
Tossing caution aside, she murmured, “This was before Nicholas, before Ian.” That much was true, at least.
“I’ll have this man’s name.” His voice rumbled dark and forbidding beneath her ear.
A shiver chased down her arms. She propped up on an elbow to look down at him, apprehension rushing through her blood. “Why?”
A muscle feathered his jaw as his mouth pressed into a hard line. His hand on her arm tightened. “I want his name, Evie.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bring this back for me. Please. Let it go.”
Something in his eyes flickered then. His hand on her arm loosened. “Have you?”
“It’s over. Done, Spencer.” She moistened her lips and slowly shook her head. “Something changed yesterday in the cellar. I stopped hiding from the dark. I finally faced it. And you came for me.” Her voice gained speed, conviction. “Then, I realized good things can happen in the dark, too.” Wonderful, splendid things. She spread her hand, splaying her fingers outward over his chest. The strong, steady thump of his heart pulsed against her palm.
Those bad memories didn’t plague her anymore. It was as though Spencer had exorcised her ghosts, buried them firmly in the past . . . given her something else, something better on which to focus.
“I still want the man’s name, so that I could pay him a visit. You’re my wife now. He needs to be held accountable.”
Sighing, she settled back against him. “Well, he’s far from here. You would have to cross an ocean to mete out your justice, and I’m not keen on you leaving me.”
He grunted and wrapped his arms around her. “I never want you hurt again. The thought of something happening to you . . .” He tugged at the ends of her hair draped across his chest.
An unfamiliar pang clenched her heart. She’d never thought a man would care for her this way, that she could find what Fallon had found with her husband. Spencer hadn’t declared his love for her, but she knew that he liked her, wanted her. They had affection. Wasn’t that enough?
Would it be enough if he learned her secret? If he learned that he hadn’t married Linnie? That she wasn’t the woman he had developed a tendre for through the battlefields of the Crimea? Would it matter to him? Was she brave enough to find out?
How long could she keep a lie from the man she loved? Her chest tightened at the idea of breaking free of the lies, confessing all to him. Could she bear to do it if it meant losing their newfound closeness? Losing him? Wild desperation burned through her at the prospect.
With her throat tightening, thickening with dread, she knew she had to risk it. She must. Because they could never have anything real, anything genuine otherwise.
“I want you happy, Evie. I would never want you hurt or frightened.”
A ragged breath shuddered up through her chest. “I am happy.” And that bit of truth frightened her. It didn’t seem wise to let herself feel happy. Happy with him. When it could all disappear with a few simple words. “Nothing scares you,” she teased, eager to change the topic. “You survived war.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Fear drove me to take the commission.”
She propped up on one elbow and looked down at him. “You became a soldier because you were scared? You’d rather risk a saber, a bullet, than”—she shook her head, bewildered—“than what?”
“Becoming my father. My brothers. Reprobates all, drowning themselves in vice until they were shells of men. I watched my father crush my mother, kill her with betrayals and lies and then not shed a tear at her grave.”
Lies. Her stomach heaved. Betrayals and lies colored his past—a past he’d entered war to avoid.
Lies and betrayals colored his present, too. He just didn’t know it.
He continued, “My father and brothers thought nothing of lying or cheating to get what they wanted in life.”
“Adara,” Evie couldn’t help suggest, too curious to hold her tongue.
“Yes. Adara. She was the catch of the season. A prize for Cullen to lord over all those vying for her hand. Myself included.” He caught a strand of her hair, rolled it between his fingers. “Only I’m glad he won her.”
“You’re not like them, Spencer.”
“Am I not?” His gaze ensnared her. “I didn’t give you much choice in marrying me. I manipulated the situation. I let Sheffield think I was Nicholas’s father. Because I wanted you.”
It hurt to hear him say that. He wanted Linnie—he thought he had her. There was never any escaping that in her mind.
She forced a smile and teased, “Well, yes. That was a bit manipulative. Perhaps you’re a little like them, then.”
Spencer smiled, only there was no levity behind it. “My father believed our birthright made us above everyone. The Winterses take what they want and the rest of the world be damned . . . he raised us to be that way.”
Her smile vanished, and she shook her head. “You’re not that way,” she insisted. “You’re considerate. Selfless. You married me for Nicholas, for Ian—”
“Did I?” he broke in, his eyes vivid, almost a silvery green. “Looking at you right now, feeling the way I do, it’s hard to imagine that.”
She swallowed.
Still holding her hair, he tugged her face closer. His lips singed hers as he spoke. “I’ll be honest.”
Because honesty was so important to him.
“I married you out of the basest, most selfish of impulses.”
And then he kissed her like a man denied food and water for far too long. Like a man returned from war, hungry for the woman of his heart. Anything else to say was lost in the hot press of his lips over hers.
He didn’t need to explain himself. She understood perfectly. Understood the slide of his tongue against hers . . . the hand tangling fiercely in her hair, the roll of his body over hers. As if he could never get enough of her. As if he wouldn’t be whole until he found a way to fuse their bodies together.
She understood
.
Just as she understood her desperate love for him swelling in her heart. Damn.
Chapter 24
Evie fidgeted in her seat as they clattered through Little Billings and neared home. Spencer watched her, warmth constantly glowing in his green gaze. The look made her feel warm, made her remember what he could do to her . . . what he had done all the previous day. And still, she longed for more. Longed for him again and again.
“You look like a little girl bouncing on your seat,” he teased, leaning forward to adjust the heavy blanket over her lap.
“I’ve never been apart from Nicholas this long before,” she replied.
Her heart raced as they stopped before the house. Spencer didn’t wait for the driver to open their door. He descended and helped her down. She surveyed with fresh eyes the whitewashed cottage that had been her solace during the last years.
The Harbour looked different. Smaller, not nearly so . . . essential to her existence. She missed the people within, but not the house, not the sanctuary she had clung to through the last five years. She slid a glance at the strong profile of her husband. He had done that. Had wrought change in her.
He offered his arm and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. The front door groaned open, and she turned her head at the familiar sound, smiling widely as Nicholas tore free from Amy and barreled down the snow-dusted steps. His small arms locked around her legs and nearly knocked her down.
Laughing frothy clouds of white, she disentangled his arms from around her and knelt down, nearly toppling over when he flung his sturdy little arms around her neck.
“See, Momma,” he cried, as if needing to assert something to her, “I knew you would return! I knew it!”
“Of course I would. Did you think I would not?”
“Grandmama told me you probably wouldn’t never come back now that you’re married.”
Her blood chilled in her veins. Grandmama.
Her stepmother was here?
Holding Nicholas firmly by the arms, Evie pulled him back to stare starkly into his face. “I will never leave you, Nicholas. Never. Wherever I go, you shall, too.”
A beatific smile broke out over his face. Her heart swelled at how easy he was to please . . . how easy to love.
“Are we going somewhere?” the boy asked.
She glanced at Spencer. He arched a brow. “Perhaps.” That was a topic better reserved for later. Right now, she needed to pursue this matter of Georgianna lurking about The Harbour.
“Evie! You’ve returned.” Apparently, she didn’t have long to wait.
Her stepmother crossed the threshold, nudging Amy aside. Papa stood just beyond her, looking a bit apologetic, but helpless. As customary. Other than supporting Evie’s decision to keep Nicholas, he rarely ever stepped out from his wife’s shadow.
Georgianna’s deeply set eyes rested on Spencer, narrowing until they disappeared to mere slits. Clearly, she wondered whether Evie had told him that she wasn’t Linnie.
“Mr. Lockhart, so nice to see you again. Imagine our surprise when we called upon our Evie here and learned you two had eloped to Scotland. How very . . . audacious.”
A trickle of unease ran down Evie’s neck. Georgianna and Papa had not visited The Harbour in all her time here. Whatever motivated this visit could not bode well.
“Yes,” Spencer murmured. “It must have come as a surprise.”
Georgianna rattled on, “I certainly did not expect for you to return to this little . . . cottage, Evie. Not after you’ve wed.”
She might as well have uttered the word hovel.
Evie flexed her hand around Nicholas’s chubby one. “Of course I would return. Would you expect me to leave my son?”
Georgianna angled her head to the side. “Your son?” Her gaze dropped to Nicholas. She stared at him flatly, nothing in her eyes. Nothing to show she even saw her grandchild when she looked at him.
“Did you think I would forget him now that I’ve wed? I am his mother.”
Georgianna fluttered a hand in the air and laughed gaily. “Who’s to say?” She looked back and forth between Evie and Spencer with great interest.
Evie narrowed her gaze, attempting to convey a warning for Georgianna to hold her tongue.
Georgianna continued blithely, “Then you still intend to live here? I was certain you would move into your husband’s residence . . . wherever that may be.”
Her tone indicated that she suspected Spencer to be a man of little to no means, without home or property. And she would just love that—would relish watching Evie’s husband squeeze into their already cramped dwelling. She would enjoy even more watching him join their struggle to subsist.
“It’s been a long day,” Evie said tightly. “Let us come out of this cold and warm ourselves by the fire.”
“Oh, of course, of course, silly me.” Georgianna stepped aside, following them into the tiny foyer. Evie pressed her chilled cheek to Papa’s in empty greeting.
“Evie.” He smiled wobbily.
“Hello, Papa,” she returned.
They once had a strong relationship. Before he married Georgianna. He’d at least been fond of her. But that had been a long time ago. She could scarcely remember those days.
“Come, Nicholas.” Amy took his hand and guided him from Evie. “You’ll visit with your mother and Mr. Lockhart more later. Let them settle in.”
“Thank you, Amy.”
“Yes,” Georgianna waved them away. “Off with you.” Turning, she motioned Evie and Spencer toward the parlor. “I’m sure you would like some refreshments. Tea. Biscuits. I’ll just send Mrs. Murdoch—”
“Actually, I would prefer a rest.” Spencer’s hand fell on the small of Evie’s back, gently pushing her toward the stairs.
“Yes,” she hastily agreed, eager to escape her parents. “I agree.”
Georgianna’s eyebrows winged high. “Indeed.” Her tone dripped disapproval.
At the top of the stairs, Evie glanced over her shoulder. A shiver skated down her spine at the undisguised animosity in her stepmother’s stare.
At every point in her life, Evie had suffered either her stepmother’s cold indifference or endured the sting of her viciousness. If not for her, Evie never would have been sent to Penwich. The idea would never have entered Papa’s head without his wife putting it there.
Upstairs, Spencer squared off in front of her. “What was that about?”
Rather than answer questions she wasn’t clear on how to answer, at least until she spoke to Georgianna and figured out her game, she circled her hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He hesitated only a heartbeat before kissing her back, lifting her so that the toes of her shoes skimmed the floor as he carried her toward the bed.
He broke their feverish kiss, pulling away only long enough to undress her. Then his mouth was back on hers, frenzied as his hands roamed her body.
Soon she forgot that she had begun this as a ploy, a distraction to keep him from asking difficult questions.
She forgot the sense of impending doom that had washed over her the moment she’d seen her stepmother standing in her house.
Lying back on the bed, she watched, her breath trapped in her chest as Spencer hurriedly cast off his clothes, revealing his beautifully sculpted body to her hungry gaze.
After all, what could Georgianna possibly do? Exposing Evie exposed herself as a wretched mother and grandmother. She was the one who’d effectively buried her daughter’s pregnancy and then married her off to a rich, unsuspecting old man. She wouldn’t want her role in that sordid business revealed. Image and position were everything to Georgianna. She wouldn’t risk what little she possessed to cause problems for Evie and her new husband.
Nor would Evie let her.
She had Spencer now. She wouldn’t let anything ruin that.
Evie dressed herself quietly as Spencer slept soundly on her bed, the fading rays of sunlight limning the beautiful expanse of his back. Stepping softly, she cr
ept from the room, determined to find Georgianna and Papa and learn the true purpose behind this visit.
Walking the upstairs corridor, she was struck again with the humbleness of her home. The passageway was dim and narrow.
Her lips curved in a smile at the thought of Nicholas tromping through Ashton Grange’s vast halls, exploring the large rooms full of light and interesting things. And perhaps, someday soon he would have playmates to run the halls with him.
Her hand curved against her stomach. Certainly it was a likelihood, given recent activities. Her smile slipped. All the more reason for her to confess the truth to Spencer. She closed her eyes in a pained blink. Now. Today. After she spoke with her parents.
She could put it off no longer.
Descending the worn steps, she spotted a harried-looking Mrs. Murdoch leaving the parlor pushing a service of cluttered, dirty dishes. Georgianna’s voice carried from within, calling out orders for the housekeeper to return posthaste with a stack of only the most current fashion plates.
Evie squeezed the housekeeper’s arm in gratitude. “You’re a saint, Mrs. Murdoch.”
She shook her graying head. “Aye, that’s for certain. Anyone else would have strangled her long ago.”
“Where’s Aunt Gertie?”
“Where she’s been the whole time since they arrived. Hiding in her room.”
Evie nodded. “Wise woman.”
Mrs. Murdoch snorted. “Coward, if you ask me.”
Evie’s lips twitched, but her smile quickly faded as she entered the parlor to find her stepmother pacing a hard line before the window and dressing down Papa with a waspish tone.
“Hello,” Evie flexed her hands at her sides and braced herself.
Georgianna swung around.
Papa looked relieved to have the attention shift from him.
“Oh, you’ve deigned to grace us with your presence, have you? Where is your husband?”
“Resting. I thought it better if we speak privately.”
“Indeed. Perhaps you would now care to explain how you possessed the temerity to marry this—this—” Her lip curled. “I don’t know what he is. But it’s clear he comes from poor stock if he’s any relation to the blackguard who misused Linnie so—”