Eliza nearly swooned, the memory of his strange words from that morning fading as desire replaced her doubts. His fevered mouth found her throat, where her pulse hammered against her flesh like a bird trapped in a room. “You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Do you know that? Mine.”
They fell together into the welcoming bed, soft and fragrant with lavender. Within moments he was driving her over the edge, and he knew it, damn him—his lips curving into a vulpine grin as he watched her with lamplit eyes. “Tremble for me, my darling,” he rasped. And as if he had command over her very body, Eliza came undone.
After he’d met his own crisis, he wrapped her in his arms. She turned to stroke the fine-boned planes of his face, her eyes closing and opening drowsily. As a deep, satisfied torpor crept into her every muscle, Malcolm gently took her forearm and ran his fingertip over the jagged scars that snaked across her inner wrist. “You’ve been clever—concealing this with your gloves and sleeves—but I saw this mark after that awful incident with the Cook boy. What happened?”
“It’s nothing, my love,” she said, turning from the searching look in his eyes. “An old injury. I scratched it while mending fences on our farm.”
“Eliza, please don’t lie to me. I’m your husband.”
“It’s shameful.”
Malcolm’s pupils darkened, growing large in the dim light. “Tell me, darling. Please.”
“It happened when I was eighteen. For years after Albert died, I had horrible fits of melancholia. My mother was too deep in her cups to comfort me, and Papa was always away because of her drinking. I had little to make me happy besides lessons with my harp teacher, Giselle. Maman thought I was becoming too close to her, so she sent her away. It was heartbreaking. Then Jacob came to work for my father. He was two years older and I was curious what it would be like to be with a man. We soon became lovers. With Jacob, I had some respite from my sadness.”
“Yet you did not marry him?”
Eliza shook her head. “We had talked about running away. When Maman found out about our trysts, she had Papa write his severance that very day. I hated her for that, but I hated myself more for not standing up to her. Without Giselle, then Jacob, I fell into my deepest hysteria, fraught with nightmares and wicked thoughts. I felt unwanted. A burden. One morning, I broke my hand mirror and used a shard to ...” Eliza ran her thumb over the old marks. “Well. By the time Lydia found me, I was barely conscious.”
“Promise me, my own heart, that you will never do such a thing again.”
“I won’t. I was young and in an awful state then.” Eliza smiled sadly. “If it hadn’t been for Lydia, I wouldn’t be here. I love her, not because we share blood, but because she is the truest of friends. She understands me in ways no one else ever has. She sees all of my flaws and loves me despite them.”
“I see now why she’s so protective of you.”
“And I of her. Which is why I couldn’t bear it if you ever put her out of Sherbourne House.”
Malcolm propped himself up on his elbow, his brows gathering. “Why would you ever think I would do such a thing?”
“We spoke about it at the solicitor’s today, remember? If Lydia marries, you said you’d let out Sherbourne House and she and her husband would need to find another home.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Well ... I’ve changed my mind. Lydia must stay on. I insist. I want our children to grow up surrounded by their cousins. A big, joyful family, spending Christmases and summer holidays together. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Malcolm pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Put every thought of being separated from your sister out of your mind. I’ll hear nothing of the sort.”
“You’ve made my heart light again,” Eliza said, her concerns from earlier in the day flying free. “You are the most beautiful and rarest ofcreatures I’ve ever laid eyes on, do you know that?” She reached out to trace the crisp line of his lips with her finger. “I could have chosen a man with feet of clay, but I reached high into the heavens and brought down an angel.”
Malcolm gave a sad smile. “I’m hardly that, my love.”
Eliza flew awake, gasping and sputtering. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. She disentangled herself from the circle of Malcolm’s arms and breathed in and out, counting in rhythm with the steadiness of his breathing. It had been weeks since she’d last had the nightmare. Weeks of restful, blissful sleep. Doubtless, their conversation the night before had revived her unbidden memories. Memories that would never fully leave her.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her shift clung to her body, soaked with sweat. She rose on unsteady feet and crossed to the dressing table, startling at her reflection in the glass—all haunted eyes and tangled hair. She rummaged through her drawerful of cosmetics until she found her tin of cigarettes. She went through to her sitting room. Moonlight spilled through the mullioned casement, dotting the floor with discs of prismatic light. Eliza cranked open the narrow window, the blast of cool air soothing to her fevered skin.
She lit a cigarette and drew in the rich tobacco, leaning her elbows upon the sill. Within moments, the tremor in her hands had quieted and her pulse had slowed. Downstairs, the clock chimed thrice. Three in the morning.The witching hour, Lydia always called it. The time when the veil between worlds was thinnest. Eliza wondered how her sister was faring, alone in that big house. She needed to visit soon. If for no other reason than to assure Lydia she was well.
A sudden quiver of movement drew Eliza’s eyes downward. Among the birches, a light bobbed between the slender trees, as if someone werewending their way through the woods, carrying a lantern. But who? And why at this hour? The light danced and jumped erratically, like a will-o’-the-wisp. She had often seen these sorts of illusions in the bayous around Lake Pontchartrain. There, it was merely swamp gas. But there was no swamp around Havenwood Manor.
Eliza pitched herself forward to get a closer look, stubbing out her cigarette and tossing it through the window. The lantern stilled, as if whomever was carrying it had seen her at the sash. Her impulse was to call out a greeting, but she didn’t dare wake Malcolm at this hour. Instead, she waved. The light moved nearer, and then stopped again. Eliza drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes strained in the darkness, trying to discern a form within the halo of light.
There was a stirring from the other room, followed by a yawn. “Eliza ... where are you? Come back to bed.”
Eliza turned at the sound of Malcolm’s voice. “In a moment, love. There’s someone in the forest.”
“What?”
“Yes, I just saw ...” Eliza turned back to the window, but the light had gone. All was dark. The trees stood tall and silent, keeping their secrets close.
CHAPTER 15
August came through in a rush, bringing a relentless, steaming heat that made the inner rooms of Havenwood Manor intolerable by noon. Eliza lingered long in her bed, shedding her nightgown as she had in New Orleans, stretching out on the sheets with the windows thrown wide. While she was as lustful as a courtesan at night, she remained as demure and well mannered as her husband had asked during the day.
