Chapter Six

A mbrose squeezed his eyes closed and knocked back a shot of scotch. Brandy hadn't drowned out the voices tonight. Perhaps something stronger would.

He sighed and looked into the dying coals of the fire. Eve was never far from his thoughts. Not since he kissed her. Learning what made her flee, unchaperoned, into a storm set his teeth on edge. What kind of man denied the wishes of his daughter to betroth her to a suitor she didn't want? Was money involved? Something else? What of Eve's other suitors?

He should never have kissed her. Ambrose knew it was wrong even as he lowered his head to taste her lips but couldn't stop himself. Her mouth was as sweet as he'd imagined and holding her close had changed something inside of him. The emotions he tried hard to keep at bay for fear of lashing out at the people he loved, fueled by the curse, chipped away at his defenses. Ambrose had stopped wishing for a wife the day he moved to Greyhaven, but if ever there were a woman he would have chosen, it was Eve.

It took strength to flee her home and family with nothing but her mount and a small pack of food and clothes. Few would have risked it and instead given themselves over to a future without hope.

As he had done.

Ambrose set his glass on the table beside him and stretched out his legs. The clock on the mantle said that it was well after midnight. The others had found their beds long ago. He'd avoided Eve for the rest of the day, both ashamed of himself for kissing her and desiring nothing more than to do so again.

Only the whisper of voices in his head held him back. Sometime after dark, they'd started again. First as a low murmur, then growing in volume until he could no longer hear the storm or the crackle of the fire. Drink had only quieted them enough to hear himself think, and still, they plagued him.

He pressed his hands over his ears and tried once more to block them out.

Suddenly the air shifted around him. Ice slid down his spine and quickened his heart. The voices grew louder, almost shouting in their intensity.

"No." He didn't know whether he whispered or yelled the word. All he could hear were the multitude of voices.

Ambrose lifted a shaking hand toward the scotch just as Eve's voice rang out.

"Stop!" she commanded.

He turned to find her in the doorway, wearing only a thin night rail, with Alfred at her feet.

"Stop yelling," she said.

"Eve?" She wasn't addressing him, he realized. Her gaze was on a spot near the fireplace.

"I will help if you would please stop shouting."

Suddenly the voices in his head fell silent. The fire crackled and Alfred purred as he selected a spot near the fire to curl up. The cold tingle across Ambrose's skin was gone and all that remained was a quiet study.

"Eve?"

She met his gaze, and he saw a mixture of sorrow and helplessness in her eyes.

He stood.

Eve closed the door behind her and slowly crossed the room to his side.

He ached to draw her into his arms, but though the voices had silenced, he knew he was and forever would be cursed.

She wasn't meeting his gaze again, which reminded him of earlier in the attic, when he thought he'd heard her speaking to someone.

"Who is shouting?" he asked.

Eve wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed her lips together. "I didn't want you to know."

"Know what?" When she didn't reply, he took hold of her upper arms and gently drew her closer. "What are you afraid to tell me, darling?" He hadn't meant to utter the endearment, but it felt right.

"Father is marrying me off because I have no other suitors. No one wishes to marry the addled woman who sometimes is found talking to an empty attic." She grimaced.

Ambrose thought back to the few things he'd heard her say. She had asked something like "What stopped you?". Not words people usually said to themselves. Or like moments ago, when she'd commanded someone to stop. "You weren't talking to yourself."

"No one believes me when I say so."

"I believe you, Eve."

She searched his face. Then she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him.

Ambrose smiled and pulled her closer. Here, in the darkness of his study, with Eve in his arms, he felt whole. Not like a man cursed or lonely. I want this always. I want her.

The moment the thought entered his mind, the voices began. He tensed.

Eve's eyes widened. "Ambrose?"

He pulled out of her arms and backed away. "Stay back. I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me? I don't understand."

The voices were louder now. He could almost understand the words and that terrified him. Ambrose pressed his hands over his ears.

"You hear him, don't you, Ambrose?" Eve tugged one of his hands away. "You hear him too."

"The voices. They're too loud." Pain sliced through his head and speared behind his eyes.

"Stop hurting him!" Eve was back in his arms then, holding him tightly. With her body against his, the voices lowered to a whisper.

"Who?" he managed in a ragged tone. Who was here that only Eve could see?

She looked toward the fireplace. "He says his name is Lucien. Lucien Grey. The man whose portrait is missing from the gallery."

All the air left his lungs in a rush. He dragged in another breath, feeling his heart begin to pound. "Lucien Grey is the man who cursed me."

Heaviness filled the room with a sadness that made his heart ache.

Eve pulled him over to a chaise and made him sit, then sank down on the cushion beside him. "You can hear him."

Ambrose shook his head. "Only indistinct voices. As if a dozen people are speaking all at once, none intelligibly. It's the curse. It's driven many of the male members of my family mad."

"Many. Not all?"

"Only those who lived at Greyhaven or visited it." He gave a short, hard laugh. "That was my mistake. When I inherited the title, I came to Greyhaven to take stock of the land and property. I'd heard stories of the curse my entire life. I didn't believe in it and wasn't concerned. I had no intention of staying the night."

Eve threaded her fingers with his, offering comfort.

He breathed in her lavender scent, soothed by her touch, and forced the words out. "It didn't matter. Not long after I entered the manor, the voices started. I knew then the grave mistake I'd made. Only madness waits for me now."

"No, Ambrose. You're like me." A tear slipped from her eye. She brushed it away. "The voices you hear are spirits speaking to you. If you quiet your mind, you'll hear him, like I do."

He looked down at her. In the short time he'd known her, she hadn't seemed addled, only sincere. "You see him." It seemed impossible, but then, so were curses.

"Yes."

"And others like him?"

"Not here," she said. "At home, there is a woman named Rose who was once a chambermaid. It was she who encouraged me to flee." Eve tucked a dark mahogany strand of hair behind her ear. "I must sound absurd, listening to a spirit for advice and running away. The viscount thought me mad. Everyone does. As much as I tried to be like other women of my station, spirits come to me. Too often, at a ball or a dinner party, someone would overhear me tell an empty space to go away. My father calls it a fanciful imagination, but my grandmama was the same. Like me." She met his gaze. "Like you."

The pain in her voice tugged at his heart. Eve was stronger than he realized. She'd accepted what she saw and heard, and continued to be part of society, despite its cutthroat nature. The gossips must have torn her to shreds. Yet here she was, offering him peace.

Ambrose reached for her. He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She fit perfectly against him. Holding her settled something inside him. All the raw edges dulled, and his mind quieted for the first time in two years.

Eve laid her head on his shoulder. "I thought no one would ever understand. Yet here you are."

Her words echoed what was in his heart. Could it truly be that he wasn't cursed to madness? He was afraid to hope.

Ambrose.

The whispered word startled him. "Lucien."

"He's so sad," Eve said. "He's tried to reach the men in your family for centuries, begging them not to make the same mistakes he made. They've heard him as you do."

"And thought themselves mad. Both my grandfather and great-grandfather died here before their thirty-ninth birthdays. They took their own lives."

Eve gasped.

"My great-grandfather killed two others before his death."

A dark, suffocating sadness blanketed the room, pressing heavily on his heart.

My fault , Lucien said.

Ambrose could hear him better now. As if all the voices merged into a solitary whisper that finally made sense.

"I don't believe he meant for anyone to get hurt," Eve said.

"The true curse on my family is hearing spirits?"

Eve toyed with the edge of his shirt. "I never thought of myself as cursed. Just that I had the same gift as my grandmama."

"And the men who came before me." If they'd had the same knowledge of spirits as Eve, would there have been any madness at all? Would his grandfather have lived to a merry old age, either ignoring the voices or communicating with them as Eve did?

He wasn't going mad. He could have a wife, children, and all the things he'd secretly dreamed of. Ambrose tightened his hold on the woman in his arms. He could have Eve, if she wanted him.

Relief, disbelief, gratitude, joy, and anger all tangled up in his heart. Too many emotions to name and yet, none of them as strong as his feelings for Eve. She'd shown him a different path for his life. Given him his first moments of happiness in years. He'd wanted her since she appeared on his doorstep. Now, nothing held him back.

Ambrose tipped her chin up and pressed his lips to hers.

Eve melted into his embrace, pressing her soft breasts against his chest, and met his kiss, humming with pleasure.

Their first kiss had been almost chaste. With this kiss, Ambrose ached for more. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips. When she gasped in surprise, he deepened the kiss. Their tongues brushed together as he explored her sweet mouth. Heat rushed through his body, burning away his fears. He broke the kiss and trailed his lips down her neck, savoring the scent and taste of her skin.

"I need you, Eve. Now. Forever," he whispered against her skin.

Eve speared her fingers through his hair and lifted his head up to meet her gaze. "Ambrose?"

He could see her uncertainty, her hope. "No one could ever understand me like you, Eve. I think perhaps no one could know you as I do. You've run from a marriage that you don't want. Would you ever want marriage at all? With me?"

She searched his eyes, then whispered, "Yes."

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Eve Langley? I swear you'll never want for anything."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged him tightly. "Yes! Yes, Ambrose. I will be your wife."

Ambrose kissed her again, savoring this moment. All he'd secretly yearned for was his.

The storm has stopped , Lucien said.