Entwined (11 page)

“I…” He didn’t turn but took a deep breath. “I’ll leave you to get some rest, then.”

The words struck her in the center of her chest. She gaped at his broad back, too upset to say a word. Then somehow she found her pride. “Of course. Thank you.”

A considerate husband, her father had assured her, will not stay with you.
Husbands and wives keep their own rooms and their own lives.
She ought to be thankful that Eamon was extending her that courtesy. Instead, she wanted to toss her pillow at his head as she watched him walk away in quick, though unsteady, strides. Perhaps he felt her displeasure for he paused at the door, his hand clutching the frame like a lifeline. She waited, her heart pounding, but he merely turned his chin, his gaze not on hers but focusing somewhere in the vicinity of the bed.

“Good night, Lu.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and her pillow sailed through the air a moment later to land with an ineffective and muted thud upon the middle of the floor.

* * *

Eamon cursed viciously as he stumbled into his bathing chamber. God, he was still shaking, his throat raw from the force of his rapid breathing. Splashing cold water onto his face did not help.

Water ran down his neck to sneak beneath his nightshirt. God almighty, he hadn’t realized how good Lu would feel, or how much making love to her would unhinge him. Glancing down at his half-stiff cock, he frowned. He’d been inside her.
Lu.
And it had been transcendent. He wanted to do it all again, all night. Every night.

But what of her needs? Had he done well? No, he couldn’t have. He’d gone off like a caustic hitting water, all flaring heat and violent motion, ending far too soon. With another curse, he ripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. He was too bloody hot. Still. And his stomach churned.

The single, most perfect moment of his life had just occurred, and instead of elation, he felt ill. Afterward, it had taken all he had not to kiss her, not to tell her that he loved her with all that he was.

He’d wanted to stay, snuggle into her warmth, and hold her tight.

But she would be expecting him to leave. Proper husbands did not beg to stay in their wives’ beds, did they? No, they got up and left them in peace.

Oh, and there was the wee fact that he’d been pretending to be Aidan all these years. That revelation would have gone over quite well after having spent himself in her.

Eamon sagged against the wash table. Bollocks. He may very well have got her with child this night. Another wave of nausea washed over him. He had to tell her the truth.

Chapter Eleven

Lu expected awkwardness to reign when she next saw Eamon. And she was correct. They’d both blushed, him an angry shade of pink that clashed with his copper hair. She could only imagine with dread as to what shade her cheeks had turned. Eamon was nothing but polite and proper as he greeted her at breakfast, even jumping up to pull out her seat.

Save once they both sat and attended to their breakfast, the room was filled with oppressive silence and the odd sharp scrape of cutlery against china.

And how could they not be awkward with each other? What they’d done went beyond intimacy. It had also been raw and animalistic. The mere thought of which had Lu’s flesh heating and the tender space between her legs clenching tight.

She’d dropped her fork then. And Eamon had pushed back from the table as if pinched. He hadn’t let his gaze meet hers as he explained in stilted fashion that he was starting a new project and would be in his smithy for most of the day.

Well, good. That was a relief.

Save it wasn’t.

And it went on for a week. A week of nearly silent shared meals and Eamon running off to his smithy. A week of Eamon not returning to her bed. Had once been enough for him? Was she sinful and wrong for wanting more?

Oh, but she caught his looks, those heated, yearning looks. He was careful about it, waiting until her attention was turned to other things. But she was watching him too, aware of every movement he made, so she’d seen.

Desire was not the issue. Lu couldn’t help but think that the specter of Aidan, and her own guilt, had built a wall between them.

The rains had returned, so heavy and strong that the roads turned to muck and the house grew dark and gloomy. Given that she had no place to go, Lu took to roaming the endless corridors of the house. Evernight Hall certainly did not bore her. Room upon room opened up to her inquisitive gaze. The Evernights were collectors. Celadon bowls from China, alabaster figurines from Egypt, little brass elephants from India, her fingers trailed over treasures as she moved along.

Eventually she ended up back in the family wing. Upon their marriage, Eamon had taken up the master of the house’s room, with hers connecting. But she remembered the move and realized that she was now walking past the door of his old rooms, and next to his were Aidan’s.

Lu’s heart pounded as she stood before her door, her hand cold and heavy upon the handle. Part of her felt like a traitor to Eamon. She ought to let Aidan go. He was her past. But she couldn’t. She had to know… something. Any clue as to what he’d been thinking was better than being lost in the dark.

So, like a thief, she crept into Aidan’s room. Cool air and the smell of staleness enveloped her. Her heart was going like a rapid metronome. Fear of discovery—that somehow Aidan would pop out and yell “Ah-ha!”—heightened her senses. Every creak of her step upon the floor, every shallow breath she took, rang loud and clear in her ears.

The room was fairly sparse by way of decoration or even furnishings. A large bed took up one wall, and before the hearth there were two masculine armchairs. Between the two tall windows was a sideboard holding crystal decanters and glasses. No writing desk, no books, no sign of Aidan’s personality.

A hollow ache spread through her chest as she took in the room. She’d expected more.

Sinking into the nearest chair, she stared at the empty hearth. The Aidan she knew liked to read, he wrote her diligently, he had a sly sense of humor and hated horses. He was sensitive, and a disappointment to his father…

Pushing up from the chair, Lu hurried from the room, no longer worrying about discovery. Her steps thudded upon the floorboards as she went down the hall and into the next room.

* * *

Heat smothered Eamon in a heavy embrace. It filled his lungs and clung to his skin. And he reveled in it. Wiping away the sweat on his brow with his forearm, he readjusted his grip on the tongs and swung the hammer down. It connected with the glowing steel, and the impact hammered through his bones, rattled about in his skull. Clang. Clang. Clang. Sparks flew. Each hit shaping and strengthening the length of steel into his creation. His muscles ached. Sweat ran in rivulets along his chest and abdomen, cooling him even as the forge raged and heated his every breath.

And it was perfect.

Almost.

For he could not quite let go of Lu. She invaded his thoughts. Made him want.

Grunting, he swung again, and his tight body vibrated. He might have done this the easy way, but physical labor was better. Better than gritting his teeth and picturing himself slamming into Lu’s tight, wet…

“Bollocks!” He tossed the hammer down, where it bounced with a loud clatter. Leaning his weight on his forearms, Eamon hunched over his anvil. The steel was cooling wrong and would be ruined. Cursing again, he picked it up with his bare hand, and the hot metal hissed against his skin. As ever, there was no pain, no burning of his flesh.

The piece appeared very close to what a radius bone ought to be, save for the tip. That would take hours of finessing with his tools. Right now, he was impatient. Eamon walked over to the cleaned radius bone lying upon the work counter. Peering closely at it, he let his grip cover the steel. It was hot and smooth against his palm as he moved. Closing his eyes, he thought of the design and willed the steel to reshape.

Power, pure and clean and thrilling, coursed through his veins. The metal seemed to sigh, sing a song in his head:
Make of me what you will.
Beneath his grip the steel moved, writhing, changing. Eamon shuddered, the feeling so close to what he’d felt when he’d come inside Lu that his cock stirred.

Double bollocks.

He took a calming breath and opened his hands. A perfect steel replica of the radius bone lay there. Really, it felt like cheating using his power, but satisfaction lit within him just the same. He put the cooled section on the table and picked up the piece he’d created earlier.

Running the length of his palm and reaching five inches in height, it was a small figure of a horse and rider. The little rider sat astride but her long hair stretched out behind her like a banner in the wind.

Gently he touched the tiny face of the rider. Lu. Would she like it?

His fingers curled around the horse, as his breath grew short. He would soon know, for he was going to give it to her at dinner—and then tell her everything.

Chapter Twelve

Eamon dressed carefully, like a man going to face the firing squad. There ought to be some dignity in baring one’s darkest deed to his victim. His hand shook only a little as he wound the white cravat around his neck. His shoulders only tensed slightly as George helped him into the tight-fitting dinner jacket of midnight blue.

And his knees didn’t wobble at all as he went down the stairs and entered the dining room, where she waited. Why she felt the need to go on ahead of him, he did not know. Nor could he ask when he finally laid eyes upon her.

She would always be the brightest star in the room. Candlelight made her skin glow like the finest alabaster. The plump swells of her breasts all but spilled over the tight clasp of her violet bodice, and Eamon’s mouth went dry. He wanted to lick a path over those soft, little hills.

Clearing his throat, he came closer, and her dark eyes shone like polished onyx as they studied him. Heat flushed up his neck. She looked at him as if he were a tasty meal, and as if she was about to enjoy it.

“Lu.” He made a small bow. “Are you well this evening?” God, could he say anything less benign?

The sweet curve of her pink lips tilted with a small smile. “Quite. Husband.”

The word slashed like a lance, and Eamon peered more closely. She was holding herself too tight. Guilt swamped him anew. He’d been neglecting her. And she was angry.

He moved to take his customary seat when he realized that she’d placed his setting at the opposite end of the table. Frowning, he held her seat for her before retreating all the way down to the other end.

“Let me move my plate,” he began, picking up the china. “I’d rather sit closer to you.”

“No.” She smiled tightly. “Leave it be. I’d rather you sit there so that I may look at you.”

Eamon didn’t see how him being ten feet away was any better than being right next to her, but as he’d rather her be in an amicable mood, he sat. Unease pricked at his spine, intensifying the queasy feeling that had been boiling away within his gut for hours. Days really.

He cleared his throat yet again and tugged at his collar. “Lu—”

“Everything going well with your project?” she cut in.

“Yes. It’s fine. Lu—”

“I must say I’ve had enough of this rain.” She placed a linen across her lap. “I explored the house out of sheer boredom.”

“I’m certain the rains will ease soon. Lu—”

“You do have the most interesting artifacts lying about Evernight Hall.”

“We do.” Eamon braced his forearms upon the table. Sweat pebbled his brow and made his linen shirt stick heavily to his chest. His heart beat in his throat. If he didn’t say it now… “The thing is, Lu—”

“And so many books.” She laughed, high and trilling. “I must say—”

“I wrote the bloody letters!”

The words rang out between them. Eamon deflated in his chair. “It was me, not Aidan.”

She merely stared at him without expression.

The door to the room opened, making Eamon flinch, but he said nothing as the servants poured in, one after the other, carrying dish after dish hidden beneath silver domes. So many that he began to frown. What the devil? As if performing a dance, the servants placed the dishes upon the table and, with perfect timing, lifted the domes as one.

The scent of roasting meats, fish, and fowl filled the air. Crabs, three kinds of pigeon, sliced fish, hare, a jug of honey, a bulb of roasted fennel… Eamon’s head grew light, a strange buzzing sounding in his ears.

Dimly he heard Lu’s voice. “I drew the line at rotted shark’s head. It sounds revolting. Though, really, where would one procure that on such short notice?”

The buzzing grew louder, Eamon’s fingers growing cold as ice. Somehow, he made his mouth move. “My word challenge.”

Lopado-temacho-selacho-galeo-kranio-leipsano-drim-hypo-trimmato-silphio-parao-melito-katakechy-meno-kichl-epi-kossypho-phatto-perister-alektryon-opte-kephallio-kigklo-peleio-lagoio-siraio-baphe-tragano-pterygon.
He’d been so cocky.

Lu’s dark eyes narrowed, and small flags of color pinked her cheeks. “An obscure, ancient Greek word for sixteen dishes? Really, Eamon, that was low of you. Though I will admit, quite inspired.”

Despite the panic and terror, his lip twitched. “Yes, well.” He took a great breath. “You knew.”

She sat so very calm and composed, her expression giving nothing away. “Only just today.”

One domed platter sat at her side. She lifted the cover. Her letters to him, tied up with twine, lay upon the plate. Mocking him. She’d done a fine job of searching his room, that was certain.

Next to the bundle was another stack of letters wrapped in a violet silk ribbon. His letters to her.

“It occurred to me,” she said lightly, “that the man I fell in love with, the man in these letters”—her voice grew sharp as she pointed at the evidence—“could not possibly be the Aidan I met last week. Oh, no.” She laughed shortly. “No. What became even more glaringly obvious was that the man I was falling in love with this week was exactly like the man in my letters. My
E
.”