Her cheeks burned as his meaning became clear. “James, that is wicked.”
“I told you I was no prissy god.” His wolfish grin sent tingles up her spine. “And if you think that was wicked, wait until you see what is next.”
Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With trembling hands, she removed the packet of herbs she’d tucked into her bodice. The pot of tea was on the table before her, lidless and releasing wisps of steam. She had brewed it strong, the way he liked it. The smoky blend would hide the taste…until it was too late.
Hate filled her as she stared at the fancy, patterned teapot. His wife liked to surround herself with luxury—and was willing to turn a blind eye to enjoy a life of comforts. She hadn’t blinked when he’d sent her and their children off to London. He’d dismissed the servants for the night, knowing they, too, wouldn’t dare to whisper a word.
No one would stand up against him. He was too powerful. A bully masquerading as the village’s finest citizen. She alone knew the monster inside the fine clothes. She’d smelled the hot stink of his breath, felt the vicious groping of his hands, and the suffocating weight of his body pinning her down. Yet that knowledge, as heinous as it was, was not the worst pain he’d inflicted upon her. Grief surged, and she channeled it into rage.
She heard the menacing thump of boots downstairs and knew she didn’t have much time. She opened the packet of herbs, a lifetime of her mama’s teaching making her hesitate.
The first rule of any healer is to do no harm, my girl.
She shoved aside the memory of her mother’s warm face and gentle teachings. She was no healer; the talent of her womenfolk had skipped her. She’d failed in that as she had in so many things, yet she’d earned the love of a good man. A true gentleman, who’d given her his name… and his life. Heat pushed behind her eyes, and she blinked it back, drawing on the new force within, the part of her husband that would live on. Protecting this precious gift outweighed vengeance—outweighed everything.
Give me courage, beloved. To do what must be done. For you…and for our babe.
The footsteps grew louder. With shaking hands, she sprinkled the contents into the teapot and replaced the lid just before the door slammed open.
She spun around as the monster advanced.
“There’s my good little whore,” he sneered.
When she tried to escape, he grabbed her arm, twisting it until a whimper tore from her throat.
“Time to have ourselves some fun, Rose.”
“Evie, wake up. It’s just a dream.”
Gasping, Evie opened her eyes, her vision blurred by panic. She was paralyzed by the wrenching pain in her shoulder. An instant later, James’s face came into focus. He hung over her, a lock of hair dangling over his worried eyes. The phantom pain in her shoulder vanished, and she ran a confused gaze around the strange room.
“You had a nightmare.” His tone was soothing, the kind one might use with a skittish horse. “We are in the gamekeeper’s cottage—where we spent the night, remember?”
Everything came back to her. Last night, she’d told him everything…and he still loved her. They had spent the night celebrating that love in a variety of ways, from tender and slow to raw and wild and all the shades of passion in between.
“I remember. But my dream…” Her voice hitched. “It was more than a nightmare.”
“There, now. You’re shaking like a leaf. Whatever you dreamed, it wasn’t real?—”
“It was real,” she blurted. “A memory. It was Rosalinda’s memory.”
He stilled. “Rosalinda…from the legend of Bloody Thom? The supposed witch who turned out to be the lover and wife of Thomas Mulligan?”
She nodded.
“Well, then.”
His brows were drawn, but at least he didn’t look at her as if she were mad. She was grateful that Xenia and Gigi had paved the way by sharing their visions of Thomas and Rose and that her husband, while logical, was not narrow-minded.
“You had best tell me about it,” he said.
They settled side by side against the narrow headboard. Snuggled under James’s arm, Evie told him about her two dreams, starting with the one that took place in the hermit’s grotto.
“The grotto was Rose’s sanctuary. The place took her in when she had nowhere else to go,” she said softly. “She felt safe there, as if nothing could touch her.”
