Obsession Wears Opals (26 page)

“I heard the carriage but then you didn’t come up.” She came toward him, apparently unaware of the picture she presented with her hair down and her sensual curves undisguised by the angelic white of her nightdress. “Are you all right?”

He started to nod and make light denials but something stopped him. She’d endured the worst and given him her trust. The least he could do was repay her with honesty.

“I’ve filled two notebooks with interviews of the most vile sexual deeds on this earth.” He tossed back the brandy in one swallow, savoring the heat of it and the soothing fire that coursed through his veins. “It’s a wonder some of the girls survived his patronage.”

“Is it enough?”

“No. It’s twisted and sick but . . . what proof do I have of any of it? I can threaten him with scandal, but without leverage, he’ll shake it off and I’ll be exposed for having far too much interest in his wife’s well-being for an ordinary outsider.”

Her hands were clasped so tightly she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. “It’s as he said. Hurting women is a sport. His friends will see nothing in it.”

“It isn’t a sport!”

“Isn’t it?” she stood, openly upset and trembling. “Th-there are clubs that cater to it! And you said the other night how busy the girls were kept. You said none of the gentlemen there seemed concerned! What if all his sins are ordinary? Abandon this course, Darius. There is nothing but the agony of facing the worst of nature and I don’t see his downfall—but yours!”

“I’m not at risk of finding anything appealing in this, Isabel. It evokes too many memories of my mother’s suffering and I loathe—”

“Don’t you see? It scars you. It has already wounded you. You’ve spent a lifetime separating yourself from the nightmares of your childhood. What will you do to erase the things that you’re exposing yourself to? How can I see you deliberately destroy your peace of mind all for me?” She began to pace frantically. “Even if you win, what victory is there if you cannot sleep at night?”

He stepped into her path, her momentum carrying her into his arms. “Isabel. Look at me.”

She tipped her head back, her cheeks streaked with tears. “I am not worth this.”

“No. You’re worth more.” He kissed her slowly and tenderly on her cheeks, tasting her tears. “I’ll go back out and interview every whore in London if I need to, and I won’t stop until I find the lever it takes to move this mountain.”

“Darius, I don’t know if I want to see you hurt in this way. This isn’t right.” She reached up to mold her palm to the strong curve of his jaw, caressing his face. “Would it not have been better for all those poor men on the battlefield if Helen had seen reason and sacrificed herself, returned to her husband and allowed Paris to live out his days?”

He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm, the contact of his lips to the indent of her hand sending sparks of desire up across her skin. “No. For one, they’d already burned their ships and gone too far, and more importantly . . .”

“Yes?” she whispered, leaning against him more heavily as her joints grew weak with wanting.

“Paris couldn’t live without her.”

“Oh.” She sighed.

Isabel’s heart ached at the sight of him, so handsome and hurting. She knew what it was like to carry wounds that others couldn’t see, and all she could remember was that when her world was overtaken by memories of her husband’s cruelties, Darius had taught her to play chess and made her see her own power.

“Darius?” she asked, quietly waiting until he finally looked into her eyes. “May I teach you something?”

She’d surprised him, she could tell, but she had his attention. “What lesson did you have in mind?”

“It’s a silly distraction, but I think . . . you should learn to dance.”

His mouth fell open slightly. “Pardon me?”

She smiled and did her best to imitate an old instructor she’d once had, playfully trying to divert his thoughts and draw him away from his pain. “Now, you may think it’s just a bit of social nonsense and all about footwork, but there is far more to dancing than meets the eye, Mr. Thorne.”

“Is there?” he asked.

“Oh yes. There is strategy in the movement and purpose, physical challenges and mental work to be done. But unlike games of battle”—she leaned in with a conspiratorial smile—“the goal is not conquest.”

“Are you sure?” he teased. “For the one or two times I’ve tried it, I swear my partner proclaimed that I had laid siege to her toes.”

She laughed. “If I had a fan, I would strike you playfully just
so
on your shoulder for being cheeky, Mr. Thorne.”

“I apologize. What were you saying about goals?” he asked contritely.

“The goal is harmony.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Dancing is an elegant reduction of life and love. It is the art of moving together as one, of accepting and trusting each other, and it betrays a man’s true nature to everyone who watches him.”

“That cannot be good,” he said firmly. “I’m not about to demonstrate that my nature is clumsy and hopeless to you, Isabel.”

She laughed. “No, nor will you.” She stepped closer and put his arm about her waist, setting his hand against her back, and then took hold of his free hand to guide him into position. “Shoulders straight. See? You will guide me with the lightest touch and I will mirror your steps. On the dance floor, you show your care of me by subtly seeing to my person and ensuring that you don’t steer me into a wall.”

It was his turn to laugh and she was glad to hear it again.

“Or the furniture,” he added.

“Or the furniture,” she agreed. “Ready?”

“Oh, God. I think so. Although, there is no music.”

“Is there not?” She smiled up at him, full of mischief. “There is one more reason you should learn to dance, Mr. Thorne.”

“And what reason is that, my Helen?”

“Because when you dance, the world falls away and it’s just us. Nothing else matters, Darius. Here in this framework, I am safe. Inside your arms, I am protected. And you are invincible, my dearest.”

She held her breath, watching the light rekindle in his eyes.

“Then we should dance.”

The first steps were clumsy but Isabel didn’t allow him to slow. She hummed softly and looked up at him as if dancing in sitting rooms in the middle of the night was as normal as porridge and far more fun.

Come, my love. Let the world fall away.

And then it was magic.

Darius’s body caught the rhythm of the waltz and slowly took command of the steps to steer her about the room, in and out of moonlight, in and out of firelight, until Isabel forgot the lesson.

He must have stopped dancing to kiss her, but she couldn’t remember stopping.

The kiss was an extension of the dance, and Isabel gave in to the dizzying spirals of electricity that coursed through her body. His tongue delved into the velvet warmth of her mouth, going deeper to taste her, and Isabel moaned at the echoing ache between her hips at the thought of him deep inside of her.

She tried to swim through it, determined to give more pleasure than she received, to heal his spirit and reassure him that what lay between them had nothing to do with the soulless acts he’d recorded in his notes.

She led him to their bedroom and gently guided him up onto the mattress, where she climbed in behind him.

“What are your intentions, Isabel?” he asked as she removed his glasses to tuck them safely onto the bedside table.

“Shhh. Tonight I am Helen.” She kissed the back of his neck and then the sensitive point between his shoulder blades.

“That feels wonderful,” he whispered.

“Then I shall apply myself to just that. To making you feel wonderful.” Isabel trailed kisses across his back, dragging her lips across his skin and using her tongue to make him moan. Then she blew against his moist flesh and smiled as his skin marbled at the unexpected sensation.

“This is torture.” He sighed.

“Shall I stop?”

“No. Never.”

She massaged his aching shoulders, soothing what hurt she could. She used the heel of her hands to press along the furrow of his spine, seeking out the knots of tension and manipulating his muscles until the smooth warmth beneath her hands was too powerful a lure. She untied her own nightgown and slipped it back from her shoulders to press her breasts against him, the friction and sweet contact instantly making her nipples harden.

He gasped in surprise but leaned against her in approval, seeking more of her touch. “I like this.”

She smiled and tried to gently drag her herself down his back to tease him further, but Darius turned as quick as a cat and pulled her beneath him on the feather-down mattress.

“Let me. Let me love you, Darius.”

“As you wish,” he said and released her to stretch out on the bed.

She straddled him playfully, exploring her new powers and continuing her lazy game of indolent worship as she kissed and tasted his body. She wished to seek out anything to please him, and at the unmistakable prodding of his erection against her bottom, Isabel wondered if she hadn’t overlooked an obvious choice.

On her hands and knees, she deliberately trailed her long hair across his chest on her way to the jutting column of his sex. She bent over, eager to taste him, mesmerized by the masculine beauty of his cock, so erect and beautiful, but he stopped her.

“Darius!” she protested but then forgot the argument as her small world turned into one of motion and the addictive work of his body against hers.

Her nightgown was bunched around her waist as he bared her legs and parted her thighs. Isabel looked into his face, unashamed of her need and aware that he could see how wet she’d become and how wanton.

“Middle game,” he whispered, and Isabel stretched her arms open wide to welcome it.

“Yes! A nice, long middle game, if you please. . . .”

He lowered himself onto her and Isabel sighed with happiness as her beloved Black King obliged his White Queen.

***

Darius held her until her breathing evened out and she was asleep in his arms. He stared up at the ceiling and did his best to follow her, but his thoughts hammered at his peace of mind.

Even his desires for Isabel had been affected by his grim education. When she’d started to try to kneel between his legs, he’d had a sudden flashback to Charlotte in the Velvet House calmly offering him a similar service in the same tone one expected to be offered tea.

She’s right. I’m taking on a bit more damage than I’d expected.

But his love for Isabel was inviolate.

She taught me to dance.

His eyes filled with tears and Darius did his best to blink them away.

No matter what happens, it’s a lesson I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life—please, God.

Chapter

23

“What is it?” Isabel found him the next morning sitting alone in the music salon. It was an odd location for a man who had no inclination toward music, but after a brief search, she finally spotted him sitting as still as a statue next to an ornately carved harp in the corner by the windows.

“It’s . . .” He held up a folded note. “A letter from Mrs. McFadden.”

“Is everything all right?” Isabel came into the room, her steps uncertain. There was something in Darius’s face that warned her that something unpleasant was coming.

“One of your husband’s agents came around and they recovered Samson.”

“No!”

Darius stood to deliver the rest of the news. “They almost charged Hamish with being a horse thief except the constable knew we’d found the horse and were making every effort to locate its owner. Hamish fought them like a lion and was nearly arrested for striking one of the men, but Mrs. McFadden said the locals weren’t about to take the agent’s side in the matter. Not after he’d accused one of their own without cause.”

“They t-took Samson?”

“By law, he is your husband’s property to recover.” He opened his arms. “Isabel, I’m so sorry.”

She ran to him, throwing herself against his chest, blindly sobbing at the loss. “H-he was m-my friend.”

He stroked her hair and enfolded her in his embrace. “I know. I would give the world to change it.”

“H-he’s gone!” she cried, her fingers entwined in his shirt, clinging to Darius as if he were the only thing tethering her to the earth. “Oh, God! And now Richard knows of you!”

“He knows almost nothing,” Darius said, his voice calm and steady in her ears. “Mrs. McFadden could stare down the devil if he asked her where she kept her house keys, so I don’t see her or Mr. MacQueen blinking and giving away a breath of your time there.”

“Yes.” She nodded, her tears slowing. “Mrs. McFadden isn’t afraid of anything.”

“Not with Hamish there. And since you’ve shown her how to wield a skillet properly . . .”

“Samson was all that I had in the world.”

“No. Never. Not so long as I draw breath.”

She managed a shaky smile. “Careful, Thorne. You’ll make one promise too many and—I keep waiting for you to say,
Enough!
”

“You’ll waste a lifetime, then.”

“Kiss me, Darius.”

It was easy to oblige her. He dipped his head to taste her lips, salty with tears and soft against his. He kissed her until the pleasure of it eclipsed her pain, each touch of his mouth another vow to keep her safe and find a way to restore her happiness.

***

“Will you be all right alone for a time? I promised Rutherford I’d attend him at the sports club for a fencing lesson. I think he’s determined to see all of us prepared for some kind of battle.”

“Darius. Swear to me that you won’t—enter into some duel or challenge with Richard. I don’t care about anything else. Swear you won’t risk your life in any of this plan—not for me!”

“Isabel, I—”

“On your honor, Darius Thorne, I need your word.”

“Then you have my word.”

“I hate this.”

“What do you hate?” he asked, an anxious edge to his voice.

“Being so helpless. I am nothing more than a spectator in all of this and I . . . hate it.” She reached up to press her fingertips against her temples. “I’m truly a ghost floating alongside the living but barely here.”

“Your coloring suits the image,” he teased, drawing her against his chest. “But I can assure you that you are very corporeal, Helen. Shall I demonstrate how much you are physically grounded to this world, my dearest?”

“N-not here!” she protested weakly. “Our hosts are very accommodating but—I’d rather not give Mr. Godwin a heart attack, Mr. Thorne.”

“Nonsense. He’s lived with Blackwell too long to be shocked by anything,” Darius countered, but he gently let her go. “Very well. A small reprieve but I warn you I may lock the dining room door and interrupt your breakfast with a wild and desperate tangle if you don’t object.”

“Will you be home tonight?”

He shook his head slowly. “If Michael doesn’t bruise me too badly, I’ll stay out and try to make the most of it.”

“How . . . many more on the list?” she asked.

“Two.”

“And if there’s nothing?”

“I can’t think of that now. I can’t allow myself to think of failing you.”

“But you’re staying safe? You’ve promised me.”

“I’m as safe as churches.” He kissed her again. “And so are you.”

***

After he’d left, she walked the salon alone, pacing through the slants of pale sunlight that cut across the room, an ivory sprite unaware of the dance of light and shadows that made her all the more striking as she moved in and out of the beams.

Every memory of Samson was a sharp pain in her body, and Isabel knew that she would grieve for a long time for the loss of her only true friend. But watching Darius go and once again being left to sit and wait . . . it was too much.

“You’ve a letter, madam.” Daisy greeted her as she crossed the room. “It came by a runner. And Mrs. Clark said to ask if you had any opinion on whether to expect Mr. Thorne this evening.”

“I . . . I don’t think he’ll be home tonight. I’ll take my dinner in my room alone unless Caroline wishes company.”

Daisy blushed. “Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell are having a private dinner this evening and are not to be disturbed.”

Isabel nodded, pleased for her friend and her happiness. “Very well. Thank you, Daisy.”

Daisy handed over the letter and curtsied before leaving Isabel with her thoughts.

Ashe Blackwell was one of the most attractive men Isabel had ever seen, but what made him even more remarkably handsome beyond his golden looks was his singular attention to and adoration of his young wife. It was as if he’d dedicated his life to pleasing her, and Isabel knew that his existence hinged on Caroline. No one had said anything overtly, but anxiety over her condition and the impending arrival of the child in the summer was impossible to miss. The household was holding its collective breath and it was easy to see why. Isabel prayed for her friend’s safe delivery and the health of her unborn child, out of love for Caroline and for Ashe.

Theirs is an example of what a marriage should be. I am privileged to have been invited into their home to see it for myself.

It’s what life would be like with Darius, I think.

She indulged in her recurring daydream of such a marriage with her beloved scholar. Their passion for each other hadn’t waned in the slightest, and she knew that as his wife, he would treasure and protect her like no other man.

But I am already married. . . .

Her attention returned to the letter, and Isabel instantly recognized her mother’s elegantly measured hand.

“Please, mother,” Isabel whispered as she broke the seal and opened the note. “Please.”

Isabel,

I was shocked to receive your letter and to learn of your situation.

As your husband has already written us of your scandalous behavior and inexcusable actions, along with his fears of your mental weakness, I can only conclude that your letter is proof of his fears. Lord Netherton has expressed his heartbreak at your callous choice to run off with another man and has assured us that, if you return to your senses, he will magnanimously forgive you and credit this folly to your youth and inexperience. All will be as it was.

So long as the scandal does not become public.

I am astonished at his generosity. Any other man would see you horsewhipped as a whore, Isabel. As your mother, I refuse to take any blame for this failure in your character and order you to see reason.

You were married before God and took a sacred oath to your husband.

You will return immediately to Netherton’s care and spend the rest of your life striving to be his dutiful and obedient wife or we shall never speak to you again.

In earnest,

M/P

I have given Lord Netherton your letter in the fervent hope that it will help him find you and bring you back from the pit of hell you seem content to wallow in.

Isabel’s knees gave out and she sat on the floor with her skirts fanned out around her. In one morning, she’d lost her Samson and the last hope of her parents’ love.

And Richard had her letter in his hands.

***

At the sports club, Rutherford’s fencing lesson was exactly the kind of distraction Darius craved. Physically and mentally demanding, when you stood across from an intimidating fighter like Michael, there was no room for any thought beyond survival.

“You’re improving. But you still get winded too quickly.” Michael stepped back, dropping his foil. “It’s the fire.”

“It’s nothing. Rowan said to give it time. Besides, if it does come down to a fight, I have the growing suspicion it will be a very short battle—so who needs stamina?” Darius jested, trying to divert Rutherford from the usual grave bent of his thoughts.

“You need to be ready for anything.” Michael gave a nod toward the bench next to the practice area, and the men retreated to catch their breath. “All right. Let’s have it. How goes the dark quest?”

“Michael. I’m nearly at the end of my short list of leads for houses that Netherton prefers. Three out of five have yielded nothing but horror stories to give me nightmares and make me sickened by the trade. What if I’ve sacrificed my peace of mind for nothing?”

“What are your other options?”

Darius tipped his head back in frustration and groaned. “None of them are very good.”

“Humor me and list them.”

Darius straightened himself, unwilling to look weak in front of Rutherford. “We can leave the country. Disappear with new identities into the wilds of North America.”

“From Caroline’s descriptions, you might like Boston,” Michael offered calmly.

“Or we could take up residence somewhere in Europe.”

“The Mediterranean is very nice. A villa on the sea perhaps?”

Darius dropped the towel from his neck, scowling, and leapt to his feet. “Are you having a bit of fun at my expense? This isn’t a jest, Michael! If I take her out the country, it’s tantamount to kidnapping. I’d be stealing another man’s wife, and while it’s the right thing to do to protect her, it doesn’t feel very honorable to slink off under false names and live half a life where I might be hired to tutor someone’s children and she spends her days hiding inside a house like a phantom! We’d live in fear every day of our lives, and if her husband’s agents ever found us, he could make every immoral claim imaginable and she’d have no grounds to fight him! If we’re discovered at any point, I’m either dead or imprisoned and—it’s worse for her!”

“So don’t run,” Michael said softly, his expression calm.

“You . . .” Darius stared at his friend with renewed respect. “You’re good.”

“I was just testing your resolve, Thorne. If you want to win this, then you’ll have to win it here. And until every last rotten stone he’s ever touched is overturned, you know what to do.”

Darius sat back down, his knees a bit unsteady. “Why did that make me feel better? It makes no sense that I should suddenly feel better.”

“Sometimes knowing that you have your back to the wall just gives you clarity and the will you need to keep fighting.” Rutherford shrugged and then stood to wipe his own face and put away the equipment. “It’s when you think you’ve overlooked a strategy or missed a clue that you’ll drive yourself in circles.”

“There’s a truth.” Darius moved to help him, retrieving their protective gear.

“Don’t forget to ask for help when you need it, Darius.” Michael took his mask from Darius’s hands. “We’re all holding back only because you asked us to stay clear.”

“I know,” Darius said. “I promise. I’ll ask. Soon.”

The men walked out of the exercise hall toward the changing rooms and Darius was unable to stop smiling.

“What?” Rutherford asked.

“You know, for a man who swears against the ills of being overeducated, I think you’d have made a hell of a teacher.”

Michael ducked his head, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I’d have been a great many things in another lifetime. But that’s done. I am what I am.” Rutherford picked up his bag and left without another word.

That touched a nerve!

Darius contemplated the puzzle of the self-appointed guardian of the Jaded for just a few seconds until his own fears for Isabel resurfaced and proved far too distracting.

My back is to the wall.

No retreat.

It’s clarifying to realize it, but why do I still have the feeling that I’m turning in circles?