"What of him, Ian? What of this husband who may someday come for me?"
He flinched at her use of the word husband, and slowly turned his gaze down to hers. "I can't look at you without thinking of him."
"What if I am a virgin?"
A frown flicked across his brow. "Then you aren't married."
"See, Ian?" She breathed, smiling. "So simple."
He drew in a sharp breath, then appeared not to breathe at all. "What are you saying?"
"I want to know. This uncertainty is unacceptable to me."
He gave a laugh that sounded forced and looked away from her.
She leaned forward, slid between his bent legs and
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gazed up at him. "You know how to answer this uncertainty, do you not?"
"You don't know what you're asking."
"No. But you do, and I trust you completely."
"You are asking me to love you," he said quietly, and she heard the wonder in his voice, the hope, and it filled her heart with a painful, aching emotion.
"I believe you already do."
His gaze slid away from her face. He stared for a long, silent moment at the bed, his eyes narrowed and unreadable. "What would you do," he said at last, "if he came for you?"
The question hit her like a slap. She bit down on her lower lip and stared up at him, understanding why he didn't look at her, why he stared, unseeing, at the bed behind her. It had never actually occurred to her, this question, so stark and ugly and terrifying, but she saw in an instant that it should have. It was the truth she'd failed to understand. I feel like spun glass in your hands, Selena.
Yes, she understood it now. Understood his devastating fear. It was not merely that a husband was out there, it was not even that he would come for Selena. It was the choice that she would have to make.
She wished that she could lie. Slowly, feeling sick and uncertain, she looked up at Ian. Leaning closer, she touched a hand to his cheek and forced his gaze down to hers. "If I understand this word honor, and the word marriage, I would be forced to return to this husband."
Pain glazed his eyes, gave his strong mouth a twist. "Yes."
"But I do not believe I have a husband out there, Ian. My heart is too certain of itself. God would not test me in so cruel and unjust a way."
Ian laughed harshly. "Ha. Such sacrifices are God's raison d'etre."
"All right. Let us suppose I do own a husband, and he is searching for me even now."
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"Yes." It was a whisper of an answer.
She leaned closer, her mouth a heartbeat from his. She was so close, she could smell the bourbon on his breath, could feel the whisper of his breathing against her lips. "Then we should love each other as best we can now."
He slipped his arms around her, drew her tightly against him. "If we go to that bed over there, Selena, it will hurt even more if your husband comes for you."
She laughed quietly. For once, he was the innocent, and she saw the truth. "Not more," she whispered.
He leaned down to her, kissing her lightly at first, then more deeply, claiming her with his tongue. One hand slid up from her waist, curled around her neck, anchored her to him. His kisses trailed away from her lips, rained across her cheek, to her ear, down the sensitive curve of her neck. There he paused, rested his lips against her throat. "I love you, Selena. No matter what happens ... I love you."
She heard the thickness in his voice, the rusty tone of the words, and wondered if he'd ever said them before. She understood at last the power of language. How a simple trio of words could make you want to cry. "I love you, too, Ian," she whispered.
He stood up and swept her into his arms in a move so sudden, it left her breathless. A laugh slipped from her mouth, her head fell back. The crafted copper of the ceiling glowed like sunlight in the candle's glow.
He took her to the bed and laid her down. He was back in seconds with the candle, murmuring something about wanting to see her, but she wasn't sure, didn't care.
He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants and shirt. The garments slid away from his body, puddled on the floor at his feet. Impatiently he kicked them away, then strode toward her, his naked skin dark and glistening in the candlelight.
She felt a rustle of fear.
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"Don't be afraid," he murmured, crawling into bed beside her, drawing her close. Lowering his head, he kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss that stole her breath and made her whole body tremble, then he rained kisses down her throat, kissed her breasts through the sheer silk of her nightgown.
Before she knew what was happening, her gown was unbuttoned. Cool air brushed her nipples. Then she felt the heat of his breath on her skin, the moist touch of his tongue.
She touched him, tentatively at first, suprised by the moist heat of his skin.
"Yes," he breathed encouragingly, "touch me.. .."
Her hands slid down his body, exploring, feeling, caressing.
He bunched her nightdress in his hands and peeled it away. His hands swept down her body, touching her in a thousand unexpected ways, making her shiver with excitement and ache with need. Places she'd never touched herself exploded with sensation beneath his practiced fingers. It went on and on, his ardent exploration of her body, until she thought she couldn't possibly take another moment of such sweet, exquisite torture.
He rolled on top of her.
Their gazes locked. He lay above her, breathing hard, his hair a tangled curtain of gold against his unshaven cheek. She saw a desperation in his gaze she didn't understand, a fear that sliced through her budding desire like a cold breath. He was thinking of the husband and he was afraid.
"Ian-"
He silenced her with a kiss, and she was lost again. Gently his hand glided down her body, pulled one thigh to the side and slid between her legs. His intimate touch sparked a flood of hot, pulsing desire. A tiny gasp of pleasure fell from her mouth, her arms tightened around his slick, moist back.
He slipped inside her.
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The pain was instantaneous. She cried out with it, tried instinctively to push him away. "No!"
He froze, staring down at her through wide, disbelieving eyes. His brow was dampened with sweat, moist strands of hair stuck to his temples.
He was so quiet, he scared her.
She'd done something wrong, something bad. "What?" she whispered.
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, then drew back and gazed down at her. Tears filled his eyes. "You're a virgin."
Before she could ask how he knew, he pulled her into a crushing embrace and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She felt him tremble, heard the throaty catch of his voice. Warm, damp tears slid along her throat, tangled in her hair.
At the feel of his tears against her skin, she began kissing him, softly at first and then with a fevered need. She kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulder.
He groaned softly and slid his hands between her legs, touching her with a seductive intimacy, coaxing her body to life.
Very slowly, he slipped back inside her, stretching her, filling her. The pain was still there, still sharp, but her joy was so intense, she didn't care, barely noticed.
She clung to him, her hips moving instinctively against his, grinding, thrusting. Gentle and then not so gentle, sweeping her up in a tide of pure, electrifying sensations. She gave in to the emotions, the feelings. He knew the exact moment she couldn't stand it anymore. He knew what she needed more than she did, and he gave it to her, sinking deep, deep inside her.
Afterward, he clung to her, and wouldn't let her go, and that was what she wanted. He lay beside her, their hot, damp flesh pressed seamlessly together, sheets tangled between their legs. She could smell the sweet, new scent of their love.
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He turned to her suddenly, rolled over and pressed her deeper into the warm bed.
She glanced up at him, surprised by the look on his face. He was smiling broadly, a crooked, lopsided grin that melt
ed her heart. He had never looked so young, so carefree, so blindingly handsome. "There's no husband out there, Selena."
The words filled her with an indescribable happiness. This was her home now, truly. No one would come in the middle of the night and force her to make a heart-wrenching decision. "You are certain?"
"I'm sure."
"And you know this because of ... what we just did?"
"Oh, yes."
"I do not know." She gazed up at him, surprised to realize that she wanted him again. A smile crept across her face. "Perhaps we should do it again. Simply to be certain."
He leaned down to kiss her, whispering against her still-swollen lips, "Ah, goddess, I couldn't agree more."
Chapter Twenty
They didn't come out of the room for four days.
Ian lay sprawled in the bed, the covers tangled around his naked legs, the pillows piled behind his head. The candle beside him hissed and sent the acrid scent of smoke into the air. Beyond the bed lay shadows, heaps and heaps of shadows, with only the moonlight at the window to remind him that he was even in his house, in his own room.
He closed the book in his lap and gazed down at Selena, asleep beside him.
She lay snuggled beside him, naked, her hair glowing with red and gold highlights. He dragged a finger along the warm, velvety curl of her shoulder. She sighed and smiled in her sleep.
It was everything that Ian had ever been told that love could be, a universe of emotion in every look, every touch, every whispered word. Obsession, possession, conquest, defeat, joy, and pain. He felt them all, reveled in his ability to feel so deeply, to yearn so completely. Magic.
She made a quiet sound and rolled over. Her hand slipped through the hair on his chest and settled in the pit of his arm. He felt the warm heat of each finger against the sensitive flesh. Her leg crooked, slid over his in a smooth, erotic motion.
Jesus, she was beautiful, her cheeks flushed with 252
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sleep, a veil of hair tangled around her throat. He knew she was awake when she pressed a slow, hot kiss on his left nipple.
"Have we waited long enough?" she whispered, teasing him to hardness again with the husky bourbon of her voice.
He groaned. She could arouse him with only her voice.
The need for her came back, as strong and sharp as before. And before. And before.
He slid an arm beneath her and dragged her up to him, slanting his mouth on hers, savoring the softness of her lips, the humid, salty taste of her.
She pulled away with a throaty giggle. "I am hungry again."
He touched her chin, tilted her face up to his. "And for what this time?"
She smiled. "What does it matter to me?" His gaze flicked to the table beside the bed. It was heaped with empty dishes and glasses, piled with half-eaten fruit and bowls full of candy. "You're right. We ought to keep our strength up."
She reached blindly behind her and picked out a ripe peach. Bringing it between them, she took a big, moist bite, laughing as the pale juice slid down her chin and plopped on his chest. He leaned down, took a bite, then he kissed her deeply.
She flopped into the heap of pillows beside him. "I miss the sunlight on my face. Let us go for a walk."
Ian felt a stab of fear at the words. It came, hit him hard, then dissipated. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. She'd been a virgin-her maidenhead and her pain and the blood on the sheets had been all the proof he needed. There was no phantom husband lurking behind the door or beyond the gates. Nothing to be afraid of anymore.
It was an incredible feeling, this lack of fear, this sudden, exhilarating hope for the future. He had lived
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so long without it, maybe always, and to have it now, at thirty-five, was the most precious gift he could imagine.
"I'm not afraid." He said the words softly, wincing when he heard them spoken aloud. They sounded so silly and puerile. How could she know what they meant?
"What will you do now, with this fearlessness?"
He frowned. It was not what he'd expected her to say, although such a thing shouldn't surprise him. She never said what he expected. He stroked the silky hair from her face and smiled down at her. "What do you mean?"
She scrunched her face in the familiar expression of deep thought, chewed on her lower lip for a second. "You have lived here as people's . .. keeper for many years now, yes?"
"Yes."
"This has been because of fear."
"Yes."
"Then you should change your life now."
"I have changed it."
"How?"
He drew her close. "I've spent four days in bed with a woman I love."
She gave him a broad smile. "That is not what I mean. The dictionary defines change as transformation, alteration."
"I don't-"
"What is your dream?"
"Dream?" Like an idiot, he parroted the word. He shrugged. "I don't know, loving you until I die?"
"Silly. That is not a dream, that is a ... fact." She gazed up at him, very seriously. "I shall expect more of you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. I shall expect you to be more than a keeper here. You are a doctor. You could do much good in the world."
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"But my hands-"
She waved airily. "Do not be so selfish. I am braindamaged, Johann is dying of syphilis, Andrew is battling great demons of memory, and Maeve fights for a clear thought every day of her life. What are hands that know too much? You will learn to stop seeing the images."
"It's not that easy. The visions-"
"It is no different than ignoring Maeve when she is directly in front of you, and you have done that for years. It is no different than ignoring mealtime conversation to hear only one voice. It is a skill which you must teach yourself."
He started to argue, then stopped. What if it was possible? What if he could learn to tune out extraneous images as easily as he tuned out unwanted noise?
He could be a doctor again; if not a surgeon, then an alienist. As an alienist, he could use his curse to actually help people, so see the truth in their minds.
Good God, he could start over, could be a better man.
Selena stared up at him. A slow smile crept across her face, gave her eyes a sparkling light. "This is the change I was spouting of. Speaking of."
"I could be a doctor again."
"Now you speak with the voice of a dream. But your dream is too small."
He grinned. "Nothing on me is too small."
It took her a moment to understand his meaning. When she did, she smiled broadly. "I am not speaking of that-as you well know. I mean that there is more to your life than medicine. You need to be more than a doctor."
He breezed a finger down her naked belly. "I'm trying my damnedest to be a father. If you'd stop talking, we could try again."
She laughed. "Do not try to tell me that lie again about babies in bodies. I shall not believe it. Besides, you could practice to be a father right now."
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"I think it's too late for me to be your father."
Her voice softened. "Lara needs a father most desperately."
He felt an unexpected pain at the words. "So did I. Life isn't always so fair, goddess."
She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. "Your voice is ugly and angry. Try again."
Looking down at her, into her beautiful, liquid eyes, he felt the bitterness fade. Love rushed in to take its place. "My father died when I was ten," he said softly.
"You must have missed him very much."
He said what was in his heart, the first time he could ever remember doing such a thing. "Every day of my life."
"Do you not think Lara feels this loss?"
He sighed. "I'm sure she does, but what-"
"Ease her pain."
"But-"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Do not begin a sentence with this word. It is the beginning of no. I shall not accept a no."
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He stared at her, lost himself in the dark pools of her eyes. As always, she was asking the best of him, the most honorable, most honest, course of action.
So simple, Ian.
Slowly he felt himself begin to smile. "I suppose I could try with the kid. ..."
"Yes," she whispered.
At her quiet voice, so filled with love and certainty and honesty, he began to understand what it truly meant to love someone. Magic, he thought again, drawing her close for a kiss. "I love you," he murmured against her lips, tasting the sweet nectar of peaches.
She slipped on top of him and smiled down at him, her hair a reddish brown curtain that framed her face and tickled his arms. "Now I should like to have sex again," she said in a throaty whisper that sent a shiver rippling down his spine.
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"Oh, really?" He ran a hand along the naked curve of her back and cupped her fanny. "I can see I'll have to teach you how to talk like a lady."
"I know this already, Ian." She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled. "Please may I have more sex?"
He laughed. God, it felt good to be here, with her, to lie in bed with the woman of his dreams, with shadows and candlelight stacked around them, the sweet smell of peaches and sex in the air, and to dream. So good to dream.
"Do ye think they're all right in there?" Edith hissed, cupping her mouth with a fleshy hand.
Johann laughed softly. "Probably a damn sight better than any of us are."
Andrew frowned, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the closed door. "I don't think so. They haven't been out in days."
Lara started to cry. "I miss Selena."
The queen snorted. "That much screwin' couldn't be good for a body."
There was a moment of prolonged silence as they all stared at the door. This was the fourth time in as many days that they'd gathered outside Ian's bedroom door. They'd waited breathlessly for the first day, each one of them excited beyond measure to see what would be changed when Selena and Ian finally emerged from the room. On the second day, their excitement had lost its shiny glow. The first concern had been voiced. And now, by day four, only Johann remained calm.
Queen Victoria had voted three times to burn down the door.
Andrew wanted to knock.
Edith brought a glass to sharpen her eavesdropping.
And Maeve hadn't noticed until yesterday that either Selena or her son was missing.
But she noticed now, and she was determined to find out what had happened.
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She pushed through the crowd and strode up to the door. "Enough is enough." Lifting a pale fist, she rapped hard on the door.
There was a shouted curse from inside, then a giggle, then a loud crash.
Maeve wrenched open the door and went inside. Everyone squeezed in behind her.
They found Ian stark naked, lying on the floor, laughing. Selena, also naked, was sprawled on top of him. Peaches and apples were scattered across the hardwood floor. A dozen candles had burned down to the nub. Hazy tails of smoke wafted along the ceiling, clung to the corners.
Selena snapped to sit up on Ian's lap and waved brightly. "Hello!"
Ian snatched up a wrinkled bit of sheet and plastered it to her breasts.