ONE WEEK LATER
The lights of hundreds of candles were flickering, glistening off the shell-lined walls and reflecting off the pool at the center of the Haines Court grotto. Water spilled into the pool in dual streams, the ceiling overhead was a domed temple of corals and clams and quartz. Conch shells adorned the arches and the full effect was nothing short of majestic, as if they were dwelling in another world presided over by twin waterfalls and a statue of Poseidon. But despite the undeniable glory of the Georgian grotto, there was one sight that rivaled and far eclipsed the natural beauty on display.
In the center of the shallow pool, dark hair cascading down her back in an inky curtain, stood his beloved wife. Her creamy shoulders peeped from beneath, and below the water line, her perfectly heart-shaped derriere was a pale temptation, along with her curvy legs.
He was damned fortunate to have her here with him. To be her husband.
For a moment, the unspeakable horror of Beatrice’s madness made his heart squeeze hard inside his chest as it all came rushing back to him. From speaking with Robert Ridgely after her death, Zachary had learned that Beatrice had been the one responsible for the shot that had wounded Izzy, and that Ridgely had attempted to pass the blame on to Potter, who was a convenient scapegoat given his advanced age and bouts of confusion. Instead of leaving for Anglesey as Zachary had demanded, she had gone to the train station and from there, had met her lover, who had taken her in secret back to the steward’s home at Barlowe Park where she had remained.
The sordid truth had been revealed in full by a repentant Ridgely. The fifth daughter born to a viscount who was already struggling to keep his estate from penury, Beatrice had fallen in love with her father’s steward, and he with her. The match had, naturally, been impossible. Not only would her father not have countenanced a match, he would have cut off Beatrice and sacked Ridgely. Instead, Beatrice had gone to the marriage mart and thrown herself at the first green victim she could find. In Zachary’s case, that had been him.
But she had not stopped at him; when Horatio, the heir, had shown an interest in her, she had swiftly become his betrothed instead, knowing her power to help her lover would only be increased if she were the countess rather than the wife of a mere third son. During the course of her marriage to Horatio, Beatrice had continued to meet her lover regularly, and together, they had schemed for him to be taken on at Barlowe Park.
That had just been the beginning of her machinations. According to Ridgely, she had then encouraged him to begin a gradual, steady diversion of funds from the estate into his private coffers. Beatrice had become accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle as the Countess of Anglesey, and having been born to a family of meager wealth, she had determined she would need thousands of pounds if she and Ridgely were to run away together to America, as they had planned. The thefts had occurred slowly, in small amounts that would go undetected. Their plan had required time.
The abrupt deaths of Horatio and Philip had left Beatrice with more problems, however. When Zachary had inherited and had begun showing an interest in Barlowe Park, Beatrice had panicked and warned Ridgely. They had decided to leave within the year instead of waiting for additional time and funds to build. However, Zachary had once more foiled their plans when he had decided to marry Izzy at Barlowe Park. Beatrice had then turned her mind to a campaign against his marriage to Izzy, ultimately trying to kill her.
Twice.
“Zachary?”
His wife’s soft, worried voice returned him to the present with a jolt. The heated water lapped at his skin as he waded to join her, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her against him. She settled into his chest with a sigh of happy contentment, nestling her bottom against his quickly waking prick. Gratitude, love, and desire hit him in equal measure as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her silken throat.
“I am here, love.”
“It is unbelievably beautiful, is it not?” she asked, her voice hushed, as if she feared she would wake the stern Poseidon hovering over them and cast them both to the bottom of the sea.
“It is not nearly as beautiful as you,cariad.” He nuzzled her throat. “Nothing can compare to my goddess of a wife.”
She turned in his arms until she faced him, her arms looped around his neck. “I am hardly a goddess. All too mortal.”
He suppressed a shudder at her words, for they inevitably brought with them the reminder of how true they were. He had come perilously close to losing her forever at the little falls. If he had been a few minutes later in finding her, if he had not distracted Beatrice by calling out to Izzy, if she had not fallen and struck her head, if she had not tarried in her vengeance by boasting to Izzy about what she had done… The possibilities were endless. And with any one of them, they were the difference between Izzy having been taken away from him that day or being here with him now.
He bowed his head, overwhelmed by a surge of gratitude that she was here. That she was safe and loved in the circle of his arms. That Beatrice could never again do her harm.
“Forgive me, my love,” Izzy said softly, cupping his cheek, her mossy gaze glittering up at him. “I did not mean to remind you of what happened.”
The fault was not hers. There was not an hour that passed without him thinking of what had almost happened. Of everything he had almost lost.
“I suspect everything will remind me of what happened for some time to come,” he said grimly. “But I do not mind, for it heightens my appreciation of you. I never want to take you or our love for granted.”
“I feel the same way. When I think of what might have happened, how we could have been the ones to die that day instead of her…” A shiver ran through Izzy’s form as she allowed her words to trail off.
“Do not think of it,” he urged gently, pressing his lips to hers for a slow, achingly sweet kiss.
With his lips, he told her how damned lucky he was to be alive, here in this pool, her husband, with her in his arms. Life could be unfair and laden with struggles, with liars and manipulators and cruel people who used and abused those around them. It could be filled with danger and disease and pain and death. But life was also a gift. A promise. And love…
Well, love was worth facing—and defeating—the miseries of all the rest.
He broke the kiss, still holding her close, this embrace not even about desire as much as it was about affection. A celebration of their lives and loves, their triumph over evil. “Think only of the good,” he said. “Of this night. Ofus.”
“Us,” Izzy repeated softly, giving him the sort of smile that never failed to hit him directly in the heart. “I like the sound of that.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose against hers. “As do I,cariad.”
“We are fortunate indeed to have family and friends who love us as well,” she murmured. “The way Greymoor, Wycombe, and my siblings and parents descended upon us at Barlowe Park was heartening.”
He kissed her again, more lingeringly this time. “I suspect Grey was more lured to spend time with Mrs. Beasley than any other reason.”
