Chapter 17

Elise stood very still as Prospero closed the door and slid the latch to seal them in. The message was clear: he did not want them to be disturbed. Her heart began to pound and throb against her eardrums as he came toward her. They were alone, as they had been many times before, but everything was different now. She was not here to explore his world—she was here as a part of his world. As his wife. It all felt too surreal.

I am married... and this is my wedding night.

Prospero gently raised her chin up to face him. His eyes were like the sea at night, with faint glimmers of moonlight. If she plunged beneath the surface of that gaze, she might never want to surface again.

"This is no different than any other night." His breath was warm upon her skin as he stroked her bottom lip. "Only this time, we finish what we started, and it will be even better than before."

She nodded, but damned if her body didn't betray her with a sudden shiver.

"Undress me." He clasped her hands, raising them up to his chest, then continued to stroke her hands with his fingers in reassurance.

That active movement somehow helped calm her. Removing his clothes gave her some control over the situation. She tugged the fold of his ascot and pulled it free of his neck, letting it drop to the ground. Then she unbuttoned his gray woolen waistcoat, taking care with each button as she slid it free.

"You're doing very well," he said.

Perhaps the old Elise would have scoffed at his praise, but this new Elise, the woman who had given herself over to this new life, felt like a newborn foal struggling to stand on shaky legs for the first time. She handled his shirt next, taking care to remove it, enjoying a secret thrill that made her blood hum in the most wonderful way. He had a light undershirt beneath that, and Prospero raised his arms so that she could remove that as well.

With his chest now bare, he placed her hands on his skin again. She moved in close, nuzzled the hollow of his throat, and ran her palms over his chest, marveling at his strength and the trail of dark hair that went from his naval down to below his waist. He held still, but she could feel the excitement upon his breath whenever she put her hands on him.

"I am yours, Elise. Yours in all ways. Touch me, whenever you wish, however you wish. It is your right now, as my wife." He held her hands to him for a long moment, letting her feel the beat of his heart. It was steady, calm, so unlike her own. And even that soothed her, that he was so calm, so at ease, that it made her start to feel the same.

"How are you so calm?" she breathed. "I feel like my heart is about to burst in my chest," she confessed.

Prospero's lips curved in a smile that held such affection, such sweet indulgence that something inside her changed forever in that moment as he replied.

"I am calm only by my force of will to be gentle with you, to be the man you deserve this night... and every night after. I am yours, my darling wife."

This man was hers. He belonged to her. How strange. She'd been quite happy alone. Quite satisfied. She'd felt no emptiness, nor any longing to have anyone in her life other than her father. But now that she had this beautiful, kind, compassionate, and attractive man to call her own, she would never give him up. In that moment, her life divided into two eras. The era before she loved Prospero and the era after. This realization calmed her own racing heart, and suddenly she was filled with not only excitement but an endless sense of peace.

She explored the light thatch of hair on the upper part of his chest with her fingertips and then traced his flat male nipples until they hardened slightly beneath her touch. He held his breath as she explored him, until she ran her fingers over the line of his waist where his trousers still hung on his hips. His breath hitched as she began to unfasten them.

She nibbled her bottom lip as his trousers dropped to the floor. He stepped out of them before he removed his shoes, stockings, and smallclothes. Though he was now completely naked, she remained fully clothed. His cock was an admirable size compared to what she'd seen carved in museums and her own scientific explorations.

"You may touch it," Prospero encouraged in a low, slightly rough voice.

She moved one hand along his lean, hard hip down to the V-shaped muscles that pointed down toward the most male part of him.

He nodded, and when she hesitantly touched his shaft, he let out a pent-up breath.

"Does it hurt when you are aroused?" she asked as his cock stiffened sharply at her touch. She'd always wondered about whether such a rush of blood to one area could be uncomfortable when touched.

"No, darling. You simply feel too good." He caught her wrist and gently guided her hand back to his shaft, showing her how best to stroke him.

Elise leaned against his chest as she touched him, curling her fingers around his shaft and holding him. His eyes closed and his lips curved up as she moved her hand up and down.

"That is one of the many ways you will conquer me, wife," he whispered huskily. "Touch me like this and I will do anything you ask."

Excitement heated her blood, and she leaned her body ever closer to his as she continued to stroke him. A deep, aching pulse started within her own body, one that she knew on an instinctive level could only be satisfied by this man. Feelings, sensations she'd never felt, never imagined, started to pour into her from all sides.

A cool breeze came in from the open windows that smelled of the sea and sky. She felt the warmth breath of her husband upon her neck as he leaned down to feather kisses along her jaw, the tickle of his hair upon her cheek and the feel of his satiny hardness in her hand as she continued to stroke him.

"Now it's your turn." He gently turned her to face away from him. She had to relinquish her hold on his cock and held still as he unfastened the laces of her dress and bustle. The elaborate day gown was removed quickly, and she gasped as he cupped her bottom through her petticoats. Then he gave her bottom a light smack.

She spun around. "Prospero!"

He caught her waist, laughing as he stole a kiss. It then turned into something slow and wonderfully languid as he cupped her bottom and held it, squeezing lightly. It drew a long sigh from her. His tongue teased her, making her moan. She was barely aware of his hands unfastening the ties of her petticoats and the laces of her corset. Chilling air kissed her skin as the last of her undergarments dropped to her feet.

"I finally get to see these beautiful breasts," Prospero said as he broke the kiss. His large hand cupped her left breast, gently kneading it and rubbing the nipple with the pad of his thumb. It peaked into a hard point at his touch, and she gasped at the heavy fullness that now made her breasts ache.

He slowly bent in front of her. Once he was level with her breasts, he sucked one nipple into his mouth while gently cupping the other.

Heat shot straight through to her core and her knees buckled. "Oh God...," she whimpered and dug her hands into his hair, holding on to him as he drew her breast deeper into his mouth, sucking harder.

The bond between them only grew stronger as his mouth and hands explored her in ways she'd never imagined. She was trembling as he moved to suck her other breast. The content look upon his face as he closed his eyes and flicked his tongue over the sensitive peak made her dizzy.

"Prospero, I..." She wasn't sure what she meant to say next, but she couldn't finish her sentence because he slid one hand between her legs and penetrated her with two of his fingers. Something exploded inside her so fast that she let out a shriek, only to silence herself by slapping a hand over her own mouth. Her fiendish husband only smiled as he continued to play with her and suckle at her breasts as she wavered on her feet while dizzying waves of pleasure moved through her in the wake of that first exciting rush.

Prospero released her nipple and stood so that he could catch her by the waist. She tried to speak again, but once more, words failed her.

He scooped her up and laid her on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs wide. She tried to close them out of instinct rather than intent, and her body flushed with heat at the vulnerable feeling of being left so open. She was still weak from the explosive pleasure she'd just experienced and couldn't resist him when he pressed her legs wide again.

"Lie back, darling." She did so, and he raised her legs up a little and tucked them around his hips.

Her breasts moved up and down as she breathed and gazed down the length of her body to where Prospero stood, right between her thighs. He stroked one hand down her belly while his other guided his cock toward her. She had the sudden panicked thought that he wouldn't fit, but logically, if his member could grow in such a way, then surely her?—

She gasped as he surged into her. There was a pinch of pain and a discomforting pressure. She didn't like that at all.

"Breathe," he said, but it was hard to do when she was so uncomfortable.

He leaned forward and pinched one of her nipples. The sharp pain made her both tense and then relax. The pressure in her womb began to ease as she drew in another calming breath.

"You pinched me."

Her husband grinned wickedly. "I had to distract you so your muscles would relax." She had to admit, his trick worked.

"What happens now?" she asked. "Are we done?" She stared at the place of their joining. She had seen animals mate: birds mostly, and a pair of cats once. She wasn't quite sure what to expect next.

He chuckled. "Not even close." He moved his hand to her mound and brushed his thumb over the small bud of her clitoris, and she clenched her inner muscles down around him in response. The action was instinctive, but she couldn't help but analyze it even in the midst of her rising passion. Her body was responding more on instinct to him than she'd ever imagined, given how little the illustrious men of science had claimed it would. Perhaps the society should pen a secret pamphlet and share it with the women of England, letting them know that there was so much to gain by asserting themselves in the act of love making and embracing their instincts. Before she could think further on this, her husband distracted her with his deep voice.

"That feels good," he growled. "Do it again, love."

She clenched her muscles down on him, and he continued to rub and tease her clit.

After a long moment, a heavy ache built down in her lower belly, and Prospero finally began to move. And when he did... It was like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life. The pulling out, leaving her empty, and the thrust in, making her gasp and rise on the bed. The sensations that sparked to life inside her now were wonderful and exciting. She wanted it to never stop, but at the same time she wanted to reach that pinnacle of something she could feel was so close.

"Fuck, you are beautiful, Elise." Prospero drove deep into her again, his pace quickening. His hair had fallen over his eyes, making him look younger, more boyish, as his face displayed a mix of determination and rapture.

She clawed at the bedding. "You're beautiful too..." And it was true. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him as the lamplight played across her husband's chest as his muscles moved. He gripped her thighs harder, his fingers digging in as he moved deeper, faster, each harsh pump of his hips sending him deeper into the well of her very body and soul.

He leaned over her, their gazes locked as he thrust over and over, lust illuminating his face, and yet something softer, deeper shone in his eyes. He captured her wrists with his hands and laced his fingers through hers.

"That's it, love," he whispered. "Take me, all of me, as deep as you can." He drove into her, leaving her only a bundle of feminine instincts as she frantically tried to lift her hips to meet each jerk of his.

"Prospero—" She'd once had a dream of flying, of racing toward a cliff and throwing her arms wide as she felt the air catch her, lifting her up high into the sky. The moment she breathed his name, she flew.

Glorious. Blinding. Breathtaking. The ground dropped out beneath her as the world shrank to just this moment, this bed, this man. Blissful heat rippled over the surface of her skin and her eyes closed as she surrendered to the feeling of truly being herself with Prospero.

When she finally came down, she was spinning wildly inside, until she landed gently back upon the bed, just as a seed from a great sycamore tree would land and nestle into the soil. She wondered what she would grow into over time. Would this feeling of belonging make her grow deep roots and yet still reach for the sun? She dearly hoped so. Tears blurred her eyes as she felt Prospero's lips upon her cheeks. Somehow he'd withdrawn from her body while she'd drifted down from the clouds. She hadn't wanted that sense of connection to him to end, not when she felt so adrift, so vulnerable and raw.

"Shhh..."

She realized she was weeping softly. She reached for him, curling her arms around him as he lifted her up, moved her deeper onto the bed, and then lay down with her still wrapped in his arms.

"Don't cry, darling." Prospero tightened his hold on her.

How could she explain how she felt? New, raw, vulnerable, different down to her very bones? Were there words strong enough, clear enough to describe all that? She doubted it. Nothing would ever be able to explain what she was feeling.

"I'm not crying," she lied, and buried her face against his neck.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head as she nuzzled against his chest.

He brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheeks. "Then tell me, what's the matter?"

"I didn't know..."

"Know what?"

"That being with you could feel so..." Again, the words that had always been her allies deserted her.

"Wonderful?" Prospero offered. "Wonderful was how it felt for me."

At this, she lifted her face to look up at him. "Truly?"

"Truly. I've been with many women, but nothing has ever felt like it did with you." A warm, lazy pleasure moved through her entire body. She could have stayed here forever, just as she would have lain upon a blanket beneath a brilliant summer sky and listened to the comforting drone of bees among the wildflowers.

"I rather think it's because we care for each other deeply, don't you?" The hesitancy in his tone suggested he was analyzing this change himself.

"You mean love?" she asked.

"I think so. Would you mind terribly if I fall madly in love with you?"

He'd said it as a tease, but she couldn't deny the serious look in his eyes.

"No. Would you mind if I fell madly in love with you as well?" She was so terrified to even speak the words, to put her deep desires and deeper fears in the same sentence.

"I wouldn't mind at all," Prospero replied, and he pulled her head toward his for a long kiss.

* * *

Prospero held his wife in his arms, letting her drift to sleep while his own thoughts wandered in his brain, preventing him from doing the same. If he hadn't been in love with his wife before, he certainly was now. And it wasn't because he had taken her to his bed. No, it was because she'd put her trust in him in a way no one ever had before. She'd bound her life and her freedom to his own, and with that, she had unknowingly given him her heart. How could he not offer her his own in return?

His wife was a brilliant, wonderful, compassionate person, and she was falling in love with him. Prospero held her close, feeling like it would never be close enough. His world orbited around a single brilliant star named Elise.

Today had been difficult for them both. He'd removed her from her father's care, taken her name away from her, taken half her fortune, her future as she'd once envisioned it, and all he could do was love her and swear that he would make her happy. His throat tightened as he imagined what might have been different about today if he'd never gone to that duel all those years ago. Would his parents have stood in attendance at his wedding? Would his mother have still had the March family jewels to gift to Elise? Would he have honeymooned at Marchlands and shown her his childhood haunts?

But no, it was foolish to imagine what might have been. The young Prospero had died at the moment Aaron Jackson perished. It was no use wishing things were different. That Prospero never would have met Elise.

"We are both so different, aren't we?" He stroked his fingers through Elise's golden hair and replayed the love he'd seen shining in her beautiful brown eyes tonight. He didn't deserve this woman, or a second chance, but he'd be damned if he turned away from her now that he held her in his arms.

I will be worthy of you, he vowed. No matter what.

* * *

Celine Perkins knocked on the door to the Hamblin townhouse. Her heart was caught in her throat and her hands were trembling. She felt as though she would toss her accounts at any moment, the way her stomach twisted inside her. She didn't want to be here.

The butler answered the door. "Yes?"

"I'm Mrs. Celine Perkins. I'm here to see Lord and Lady March. Are they at home?" She almost whispered the words. Adam wasn't here, but she swore she felt his eyes upon her. Her brother had that way about him. His dark, malignant presence seemed to follow her wherever she went.

Adam isn't here, she reminded herself. It was silly because she knew he was at home drinking himself into a violent temper. If only her husband hadn't died, she could have stayed free of her older brother, but fate hadn't been so kind.

Perhaps she deserved it, after what she'd done to Prospero, dragging him into a fight that was never his. This might be her only chance to save innocent lives, and she had to try.

"I am sorry, madam, but Lord and Lady March left for their honeymoon," the butler replied.

"Honeymoon? Thank God," she murmured to herself. But as the butler started to close the door, she held her gloved hand out, pressing it to keep it open. "Please, is Mr. Hamblin at home, then?"

"He is, but it's too late for visitors, madam."

"Please," Celine begged him. "It's a matter of life and death."

The butler stared at her a long moment, and whatever he saw in her face convinced him to listen.

"Just a minute. Please step inside while I inquire if the master will see you." The butler ushered her in and closed the door, then vanished down a corridor. When he returned, he indicated for her to follow him. "The master will see you."

He ushered her inside a study and closed the door behind her. Mr. Hamblin sat in his chair at his desk. He stood and waved for her to sit in one of the chairs facing him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray streaking the temples of his dark hair.

"Mrs. Perkins, my butler informed me that it was a matter of life and death? I pray that is an exaggeration."

Her throat was suddenly dry. "I fear not. My brother was Aaron Jackson, the man who died in a duel with Lord March."

"I recognize the name. What is this about, Mrs. Perkins?"

"It's my older brother, Adam. He is..." She swallowed as she knew only the truth would work. "He is mad. He still wants revenge against Prospero, even after all these years. My brother means to kill your daughter and frame Prospero for it."

"What?" Hamblin growled the word dangerously. "He wants to kill my child?"

"He sent me here tonight to see if they were home. He expects me to return and tell him what I've discovered. He doesn't know that I planned to warn you instead. He is dangerous, and he means to do what he says. I knew I had to warn you."

"Why didn't you go to the authorities with this information?" Hamblin demanded.

"Mr. Hamblin, my brother is a brutal but powerful man. If he thought for a moment I would go to the authorities, I would be dead already. I?—"

Crash! Something hard hit the closed door of the study, causing them both to gasp.

"You said your brother sent you here?" Mr. Hamblin whispered.

She gave a jerky nod, her body frozen in terror. Adam was here. He hadn't waited for her to return, but instead he'd followed her. Oh God!

"Get behind me!" John whispered as he opened the drawer to his desk, drawing out a revolver. He'd started to load the cylinder with bullets when the door crashed open. Celine flung herself behind the protective shield of Mr. Hamblin.

Adam stood in the doorway, a sick smile twisting his handsome face into a terrifying mask. At his feet was the footman, unconscious or dead, she could not tell. Adam's eyes were bright with madness, drink, and a lust for death.

"Celine, you've disappointed me," Adam said coolly, but his gaze was on Mr. Hamblin, whose hands shook as he tried to get the bullets into the gun.

"You won't be fast enough, old man," Adam said. He lunged toward them.

Hamblin tossed the gun aside and raised his fists, ready to fight. Celine screamed. The two men collided in an explosion of punching and bellowing. Furniture smashed, papers fluttered through the air, and bookshelves crumpled against the impact of the bodies of the men as they fought. Celine scrambled to grab the gun on the floor, but it was kicked under a shelf, out of her reach. For a moment it looked like her brother was losing, but after Hamblin connected with a hard right hook, the older man's face suddenly drained of color. He staggered back, one hand clutching his chest. He crashed into his chair and crumpled to the ground.

Her brother advanced on the fallen man, as if preparing to finish the job.

Celine did the only thing she could think to do and threw herself in front of Mr. Hamblin.

Adam moved to push her aside. "You traitorous little?—"

She stabbed him with a letter opener she found on the desk, but he batted it aside and backhanded her so hard that her head struck the edge of the desk. Everything vanished in an instant.

* * *

Adam panted like a wild animal as he stared at the two lifeless bodies on the floor of the study. They weren't the two he had planned for, but it didn't matter. The liquor in his veins made everything seem wonderfully possible. His bitch of a sister was dead, as was March's father-in-law. All Adam had to do now was find March and his bride. Then he would have the vengeance he so craved.

He kicked the old man's body, satisfied when the limp figure didn't react. He left the ruined study to get back into the corridor. One of the servants he'd attacked lay on the floor, slowly regaining consciousness. He grabbed the footman by the lapels and pulled him to his feet.

"Where did March go?"

The servant's face was swollen with the blows he'd taken, but he shook his head defiantly. Adam slammed the man's skull against the wall.

"Where!" he bellowed again.

"W—Wight... Isle... of Wight..." The footman's eyes closed and he slumped.

The Isle of Wight. Adam smiled and licked away a smear of blood on his lips.

"I'm coming for you, March."

* * *

"Really, Sherlock, this is highly unusual. You made enough of a mess at the wedding breakfast this morning. I don't think we should—" Watson tugged on Sherlock's arm. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm? What?" Sherlock had just reached the front door of the Hamblin home and hadn't been listening to Watson. He had the same focus he always had right before he solved a case, to the exclusion of all else. There was something he didn't see yet, some detail that was missing that would make everything become clear. He ran his gaze over the exterior of the house. It was quiet, but the front door was open... barely.

Holmes placed a hand on Watson's shoulder, halting his friend when the doctor reached for the door knocker.

"Watson, ready your pistol, if you please," Sherlock said as he unsheathed the short sword from his cane. Watson removed his pistol and gave a subtle nod.

Holmes pushed the door open and stepped inside, sword ready. The townhouse was silent... No... it wasn't. He heard a faint sobbing from nearby. He tracked the sound and found a young maid clutching an elderly man in her arms. They lay half-hidden behind a partially fallen tapestry. The butler was unconscious. The maid lifted a tearstained face up to Sherlock and cried out in alarm.

"It's all right, miss," Sherlock said, crouching close to the girl. "Tell me what happened."

In halting sobs, the girl relayed a story of a man bursting into the house, attacking the butler and one of the footmen. The other female servants and one of the younger footmen had fled, hoping to find help. But she had stayed behind to care for the butler.

Watson knelt and took charge of the butler, measuring his pulse and examining his condition.

"Where are Lord and Lady March?" Sherlock demanded.

"They left for the Isle of Wight for their honeymoon several hours ago." The maid wiped her eyes and looked at Watson. "Will he live?"

Watson nodded. He'd have a mighty sore head, but he should recover.

Sherlock's hand was still tensed on his sword. "And what of Mr. Hamblin?"

The maid raised a pale, trembling finger to point down the corridor across the entryway. "In there... I was too afraid to look. I'm sorry!" She burst into quiet sobs, and Watson patted her hand, reassuring her she'd been very brave to stay.

"Watson, behind me." Sherlock straightened and headed for the corridor. They found the injured footman the maid had mentioned lying near an open door. The fellow was still bleeding from the back of his skull.

"Christ, we need to take this man to the hospital at once," Watson muttered gravely.

Sherlock held a finger to his lips as he approached the open door of the study, where light still shone from the lamps inside. Watson joined him.

"My God," said Watson when he saw the destruction of the room.

Sherlock catalogued the damaged furniture, upended chairs, the ink from broken bottles that splattered in wild patterns over the room, showing quite clearly that someone had fought for their life. No, lives, he corrected as he noticed two bodies that lay behind the desk. One was a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, and the other was John Hamblin.

"Watson!" Holmes motioned his friend forward. Watson knelt and measured the pulse on the wrist of the girl.

"Barely alive," he said darkly. "Another ghastly head wound." He moved to Hamblin, and his face filled with the sorrow of a man who carried the lives of others upon his shoulders.

"Sherlock, who did all this?" Watson growled.

"I believe I know, but there's no time. You stay here and see that these people reach the hospital. I must go to the Isle of Wight at once. I can only pray I won't be too late. Watch for my telegram."

"But, Sherlock, the man who did this is a monster. You cannot go alone," Watson argued.

Sherlock gave a slight smile at his affection for the doctor with a soldier's heart who'd become one of his dearest friends. Watson was needed here. "I must, old friend. I set Miss Hamblin upon the path of this beast when I sent her to study Lord March. This is no one's fault but mine. If I can save two more lives, it still won't wash the blood off my hands, but I have to try."