Chapter Fourteen

While Dr. Carter went in search of Helen, Evie huddled in one of the fireside chairs, listening only intermittently as Alex explained the situation to his cousin.

A strange one, this Mr. Ellis. She focused on his strangeness because she couldn't bring herself to think about what had happened. The most disturbing part was not knowing what had gone wrong.

Why had Captain reacted as he had? What hidden vulnerability had she stumbled upon? She wanted to be free of him. Instead she had made him her enemy. The thought both terrified her and filled her with a peculiar guilt.

So, Mr. Ellis then… What to make of him . Adjectives like bland and gentlemanly sprang to mind. The sort of man of whom nobody ever said a bad word, but probably because no one remembered him once he was out of their sight. Evie knew that trick. The person able to move about without drawing notice could get away with virtually anything. So, what was Mr. Ellis getting away with?

Alex had mentioned a wife, another distant Harcastle relation, but where was she? Why did she choose to live apart from her husband? Something about the man bothered her, as though, like her, he played a role. He happened to glance past Alex to where she sat, and in the moment their eyes met, she glimpsed recognition. I see you , her look said. I have your measure , and though he made no acknowledgment— neither would she in his place—he understood her.

The door opened to readmit Helen and Dr. Carter. The first thing they'd done after Captain's departure had been to relight all the gas lamps, and the luminous paint coating Helen's white gown looked ridiculous in the brighter light. She had removed the veil and her face looked pale and pinched.

"Are you well?" Alex asked her, abandoning his conversation with Ellis mid-sentence.

"Of course I am. He didn't even touch me." Helen reached for her husband's hand. He took it and squeezed. The tiny exchange made Evie's heart hurt. "I do have something to say that might shed light on this evening's events."

"Nightingale looked as if he knew you," Alex said.

"Yes and we have met, though I don't think he recognized me."

"I don't understand," Evie started to say but Alex spoke over her.

"You've met him? Christ, Helen, why didn't you say something?"

Helen spoke calmly. "I had no idea until now. Remember that tonight is the first time I laid eyes on your Mr. Nightingale. The man I met was called Higgins. I had no way of knowing they were the same man and I didn't recognize him until he made a fuss." She sank onto one of the chairs left over from the séance. "As most of you know, my mother was an actress. She was…wonderful." Helen smiled wistfully. "And, like many in her profession, she had many friends over the years, most notably my and Alex's father, the duke.

"Another friend, though I think not in this case a lover, was Mr. Higgins. He was a great deal younger then which is why I didn't immediately recognize him. I was only a child but I remember that he was…possessive of her, even controlling at times. He spoke in disparaging terms of my father, though I don't think they'd met or that he even knew his identity. The duke didn't acknowledge me, you see," she explained, directing the words at Evie.

Things began to make sense. Captain had been an actor once but he'd never spoken to Evie about the people he'd known in those days. "Do you think it was your mother he took you for?" she asked.

Helen nodded. "People say I resemble her. He was wild with grief when she died and so furious when the duke came to fetch me away. I think he felt that, as my mother's true friend, he ought to have the raising of me, though he'd barely looked at me before that day."

"So he'll have no trouble deducing who was really under that veil," Alex said, his expression grim.

He was right of course. Captain must have taken Helen's appearance as a deliberate attempt to frighten him with a dead woman's ghost. No wonder he'd been furious.

"You need to get her away from London." Alex spoke directly to Carter.

Helen bristled at his tone and the fact that he addressed her husband instead of her, but she said nothing. She was a judge granting latitude to a lawyer, but Evie could tell Alex was on thin ice.

"Don't go back to Hertfordshire," he went on. "Go to the estate in North Yorkshire. Take the sleeper train." Carter looked at Helen. "I think it's a good idea."

She nodded. "And what about you, Alex? And Evie?

Aren't you coming with us?"

"We'll follow tomorrow."

"But—"

"Evie will be leaving England soon. She may never see London again and she… She'll need to say her goodbyes." He turned to Evie. "To Miss Carmichael and the boy."

His thoughtfulness touched her. She didn't even mind his highhandedness since he'd chosen precisely the plan she'd have settled on herself.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Ellis, will you accompany Dr. and Mrs. Carter? I may have need of you in the next few days and I'd like an extra man with them."

Mr. Ellis nodded. Evie made a mental note to talk to Alex about his cousin. She didn't think there was anything truly sinister hidden beneath the reserve, but it felt wrong to stay silent. The three of them made plans to meet at the train station within the hour. In the meantime, they all needed to pack. Helen hugged her brother tightly before she left. Evie was glad. He looked exhausted and in dire need of comfort.

The room was too quiet when they'd gone. Poor Alex. He was in need of solace and all he had was her. Unused to sympathy or even tenderness herself, she was at a loss and gazed into the fire instead of at him. "Alone at last." "Yes," he said, from across the room.

"I understand you want to protect your sister but I wonder if it's occurred to you that she might not be Captain's intended target."

"Of course it's occurred to me. Do you think I liked hearing him threaten you?"

"I don't mean me, either."

"You speak as if Nightingale's motives made any kind of sense. None of us has hurt him."

And suddenly, without knowing why, she was angry. "That's a child's logic." She rose and crossed the room to where he stood near the door. "Captain taught me to read, you know. From Shakespeare. From spiritualist periodicals. And from the Bible. His favorite Bible passage, the one he quoted endlessly, was Numbers 14:18. ‘The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression, but he will by no means clear the guilty, visiting—'"

"‘Visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, to the third and the fourth generation,'" he finished.

"There are numerous passages that say precisely the opposite, but needless to say he didn't bother much with those."

He regarded her with no expression.

"Are you beginning to see? It sounds like he was obsessed with Helen's mother. Come to think of it, in all the time I've known him he's had no woman except a whore now and again at Miss Rose's. Each and every one of them had long red hair like Helen's. You are being punished for your father's sins."

He smiled, a joyless curve that didn't light his eyes. "Someone ought to be."

His anger matched hers, a tangible presence. If there were real ghosts, and unlike Alex she hadn't ruled them out, perhaps they were caused by extremes of emotion. By people's pain and trauma. She didn't know what had transpired between him and his father but she'd begun to understand that a parent who failed to love and nurture their child was as good as an enemy. The love between Alex and Helen was plain to see. What must he have felt when he found her in that asylum?

Her voice trembled. "What he did to Helen was—"

"Unforgivable."

"Yes. Yes, it was. But you didn't do anything wrong. Not to Helen and not to Captain. You don't deserve this."

"But, as you said, that's child's logic."

"And what about what your father did to you?"

"Nothing," he snapped. "It was nothing compared with the nightmare he put Helen through."

He always pretended his pain was unimportant. Perhaps she was partly to blame. She had once lectured him about how little he had to complain of here in his palace. But being raised by the man who had incarcerated his own daughter in a lunatic asylum? She couldn't begin to image what that had been like.

"Let's concede then that other people have it worse. Let's set that aside. Now, tell me what happened to you."

"I barely saw him. There was little enough time for him to abuse me. It was nothing."

"It was not nothing."

"He never had a kind word to say. He destroyed the things I loved, dismissed the servants of whom I grew too fond, and when I displeased him…" He hesitated, looking shocked that he was actually saying these things out loud.

"Yes?"

"When I displeased him, he locked me in a dark cupboard. That's all. He didn't beat me. It was—"

"Don't say it was nothing. You were a child . He sounds like a monster. I—"

He seized hold of her forearms and kissed her, his lips harsh and punishing, his beard scraping her cheek. If he meant to frighten her, he would be disappointed because she kissed him back with equal violence, telling him without words that she was right. That what he'd been through mattered. That he mattered.

The kiss wasn't perfect. Rough hands in each other's hair, they were clumsy and unsteady on their feet. There was pain as well as pleasure but it was real. Elemental and necessary, like breathing.

"Come to bed with me," he said, his breaths ragged. "Because I need it. Because you're leaving and we both need this before you go." He kissed her again before she could answer and it was different, slow and sensual. Persuasive though she didn't need persuading.

She couldn't remember why she'd resisted for so long. She had to leave him, but first they had this chance. One chance to be together and she couldn't turn her back on it.

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

∞∞∞

They should have stayed in the Blue Room but instead Alex summoned a servant to show Evie to a bedroom while he made arrangements for tomorrow. The way his demeanor altered, apparently desperate for her one moment, all business the next, disturbed her. Where had all that passion gone?

She shivered, hugging herself as she stared at the monstrous four-poster bed with its ancient-looking red hangings. The mahogany headboard boasted the Harcastle coat of arms, a ram on a field of silver beneath a ducal coronet. The bed, more than anything else she'd seen in the house, made her feel small and unwelcome. This was the bed in which the dukes of Harcastle had been born and died. This was a bed for a duchess to lie down in. Alex had probably been conceived on it. By rights, Evie shouldn't be anywhere near it. Impossible to imagine spending even a single night here.

Alex was somewhere downstairs, giving orders, making things safe. He was right to do so of course but it meant he wasn't here to calm her fears.

She turned her back on the bed and found herself looking at a huge mirror. It too had ram's heads carved into its frame. Like the ones in the Blue Room, they leered, somehow sexual and contemptuous at the same time. She transferred her attention to her reflection and examined herself critically. A pale, thin-lipped creature stared back at her. She couldn't imagine what Alex found so compelling, but she didn't doubt that he wanted her. He spoke of deeper feeling and she believed him sincere, though he was probably wrong that he would never forget her. Or if he did remember, he would think how strange it was that he had felt so strongly. In old age, he would dismiss it as youthful folly.

Something inside her rebelled at the thought. She would never be able to forget him. Every man she met would pale in comparison. She didn't want Alex to suffer forever when she left, but she didn't want forgetting her to be easy.

She removed her prim black dress, her shoes, everything but her final layer of undergarments. Her combination was simple, fairly new, and almost pretty. She unbuttoned the front until she'd revealed a hint of bosom, and left her stockings on. Men liked stockings. The lights needed turning down, so she experimented until she had them the way she wanted—dim enough that they deepened the shadows but bright enough that her exposed flesh showed to best advantage.

Almost , she thought, assessing her reflection again. But her hair was far too severe. She removed some of the pins, so that loose waves hung about her shoulders. Yes, almost the same. Sally Harper, the girl who had posed for a naughty picture before she knew her true purpose in this world, gazed back at Evie, her eyes filled with new knowledge. As worldly as she had been back then, she'd gained decades worth of experience in the few short years since.

The doorknob rattled a moment before it turned. She was as ready as she'd ever be as Alex entered, his mouth opening as if he'd been about to speak. Perhaps he'd intended to tell her about the arrangements he'd made for tomorrow, but the sight of her robbed him of speech.

His gaze immediately dipped to her breasts.

"I…" His voice was little more than a croak, so he stopped and simply stared, roaming every inch of her with his eyes.

His obvious admiration made her feel powerful. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes. God, yes." He had a voice like velvet when he was aroused, and her body responded as though he'd caressed her.

"What else? What else do you want?"

His eyes locked with hers. "You."

"How?" She kept any trace of uncertainty out of her voice. Sally Harper knew what she was doing. She was an experienced woman asking a new lover for direction, that was all. If he knew how very far from the truth that was, he would change. He would become far too tender, and Evie would break.

"You," he repeated. "On my bed. On your knees."

He'd taken her cue. He sounded more like her now, cold and uncompromising. Her skin tingled as she took a step toward him.

"Wait. Take the combination off."

Yes, she liked this. He was remote and difficult. A little dangerous.

Slowly, defiantly, she undid the remaining buttons of the combination and let the garment slide down her body. It clung to her breasts a moment before making its final descent to the floor. His hand clenched at his side, but he remained where he was, his gaze on her rapidly hardening nipples, then drifting lower to that place he'd almost touched when he searched her. His desire then had been undeniable. Just as it was now.

When he spoke, she heard the rasp of lust in his voice.

"On the bed."

She felt the words in the pulse beating between her legs. Obedient, she knelt on the mattress, facing him across its width.

He shook his head. "With your back to me."

She didn't like that; she wanted to see him. But she did as he asked. It seemed a fair exchange for what he'd given her in the carriage. He had done everything she asked that day. Now they were evening the score. She curled forward until her forehead touched the counterpane.

"You have the roundest arse I've ever seen."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and listened to the rustle of fabric as he undressed. Cool air tickled her back. She inhaled the faint scent of wood smoke from the fire. Anticipation built within her as he fell silent. Where was he? Then the bed dipped as he knelt behind her. She waited, her heartbeat fast in her ears. She was afraid but in a shivery, excited way.

At long last, she felt the gentle pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades. She whimpered a little as his other arm encircled her and he pulled her up against his chest. They were both on their knees, her back pressing against his warmth. Reflected in the huge mirror, she watched mesmerized as his left hand, the light brown skin dark against her too pale flesh, slid across her body to cup her right breast.

He stroked and fondled, all his considerable attention focused on her small, dark nipple. The sensation was pleasant but she remained curiously detached from it. What quickened her breathing was the sight of him doing it, his dark head bent over her shoulder, those clever fingers twisting and pinching in a way that should have been painful, yet somehow wasn't. He was so much bigger than her. With his arm across her body, his other large hand covering her belly, she was surrounded by heat and strength.

Then his fingers began to drift down from her abdomen, down, down until they found that place at last. The one the girls at Rose's claimed the men could hardly ever find. He followed his hand's progress in the mirror as he stroked first gently, then as she began to pant and push against his hand, with increasing firmness. She arched against him, breasts jutting up and forward, her head falling back against him.

Before she could finish, he shoved her facedown on the bed. His grip turned hard and brutal as he positioned her beneath him. Desperate for release, she parted her legs in instinctive welcome.

He hesitated. She felt the question forming in the air over her head, but she didn't want to answer.

"Don't you dare be gentle," she told him.

His grip on her shoulder tightened deliciously. He used his other arm to steady himself and his knee to push her legs further apart. She was soft and wet from her near-climax, so she felt only mild discomfort as he thrust into her. He was deep and he groaned as she pushed back against him.

She expected him to move. This was it, wasn't it? The part men fixated on. But instead he rested his forehead on her shoulder and breathed. It was the strangest thing, to lie locked together but not move.

"Look," he said. And she knew he meant the mirror.

She started to shake her head, but he had already begun to lift. To pull away, she thought, but he brought her with him, pulling her upright against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside her.

"Look," he said again. "I want you to watch me fuck you."

With one hand, he cupped her breast. With the other, he spread her open so that she could see every detail. It was depraved. It was more than she could bear. But she looked, and the moment she did, he began to move. Together they watched each thrust, and when he knew she wouldn't look away, his hand fell away from her breast and found her clitoris again. She gasped, her hands grappling with his, urging him on, harder, faster.

"Look at you," he whispered. "Where did you go, Evangeline Jones? There's nothing left of you."

It was true. She didn't recognize the woman writhing in his arms. She cried out, the tremors taking her so violently that she couldn't think, only feel as her body shuddered with pleasure. For that one moment, he'd defeated her.

He held her tight, tender until the shaking stopped, and then he began again. He thrust wildly with relentless selfishness until he cried out in turn.

And she knew she'd defeated him, too.