A complete cock-up.
“Cheer up, my boy. It’s not so bad, now is it?”
Eamon looked up from the scarred wooden table and glared at Nan, his sometime voice of reason. He did not want to hear that voice now.
“Not so bad?” Eamon laughed darkly. “I’ve become sorry seconds for Aidan’s bride.”
“Have you now?” Nan took the kettle off the fire and continued to prepare a tray of tea. Aside from being the housekeeper, she was also their cook. After all, Evernight Hall never entertained visitors, and she’d only had to look after the men. Until now.
Eamon grunted, ignoring his own long-cooled cup. “Likely she’s up there crying, distraught over Aidan’s defection, and hating the very idea of me.”
Nan merely made a noise that, to Eamon’s learned ear, meant he was feeling right sorry for himself. Which he was. Not that she needed to push the point in.
“Your father, God rest his soul, was an eejit to let his grief turn to hate.” She lifted a knobby finger and pointed at Eamon. “And you are an eejit to believe his mad ravings. You’re the best of men, Eamon. You only have to believe it.”
“Is that so?” Eamon retorted.
“It is.”
“So then when he told you that your currant biscuits tasted like plaster dust and were harder than a horseshoe, you naturally ignored that tripe and continued to bake them.” They both knew she’d never again made another biscuit, much to his and Aidan’s disappointment.
Nan’s lips thinned, and he snorted without mirth. “You see, Nanny, I know he was a mad bastard with a vicious tongue, but the heart has a tendency to ignore logic, no matter how hard we try to tell it differently. And each time I attempt to forge a new self, his words creep up and pound me back down.” But he was trying. By God, he wanted to be the man he knew he could be for Lu. He just hadn’t yet figured out how.
The sounds of the house grew loud around the silence in the kitchen, then a kind and cheerful smile crinkled Nan’s plump cheeks. “There now, boyo. If you can stand up to me, you can certainly buck up and take the young lady her tea.”
“What? Me?”
“Are there any other men in here? Cowering away like some frightened puss? Go.” She waved her hand when he scowled. “Let her get to know who you are.”
Eamon flushed, annoyed at her, Aidan, and himself most of all.
He grabbed the tray, tempering himself when the china rattled. “Fine. I’ll go.”
* * *
Lu sat in her room, crowding in front of the crackling fire. She was married now. To Eamon. How strange life was. Whenever she tried to plan it, her course shifted down unforeseen avenues, tugging away from all of her intentions.
Sighing, she curled her knees to her chest and cuddled farther down in the dainty settee that matched the rest of the room’s feminine furnishings. A soft knock at the door had her tensing. “Yes?” she called, hoping it was merely the maid coming to stoke the fire.
“Lu?” Eamon’s deep voice was muffled through the thick door. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Lu sat up and put her dressing gown to rights.
He came bearing gifts. The fragrance of hot tea and fresh buns hit her, and her stomach made a gurgle of impatience. One that Eamon unfortunately heard. A sly curl pulled at his mouth as he set the tray down on the little table before the fire. “So you won’t be saying no to tea, then?” He winked, a quick, sweet gesture that had her grinning.
“Tease,” she retorted as she reached for the pot.
“Only with you, Bit.” His massive frame had the delicate gilded armchair creaking, and he leaned his weight forward, bracing his arms upon his muscled thighs.
“I see I shall have to order new chairs for my sitting room.” Lu handed him a plate of hot buns. “How do you take your tea?”
“With milk.” Eamon frowned slightly. “Why should you do that?”
Lu paused, the cup of tea in her hand hovering between them. “So that you may sit comfortably when you visit me.” Her skin prickled. “That is, should you like to visit me. You needn’t if you’d rather not.”
Carefully, Eamon took the tea from her hand but his gaze stayed locked with hers. “Lu, I married you because I fancy your company.” That gentle smile of his, the one that crept up like the dawn, graced his face once more. “Keep your little chairs if they please you. I can manage.” He took a sip of tea. “Though I shall not stop you if you insist upon having a sturdy leather chair brought in.”
“Leather, eh? Duly noted, husband.”
Eamon ducked his head at that, a flush working across his cheeks as he bit down on a grin he could not hide. The action, combined with his big, strong frame and chiseled features, made him utterly appealing to her just then. And she had the mad urge to lean forward, kiss his cheek, perhaps crawl into his lap and nuzzle his throat so that he might blush some more.
“Well then, wife”—he grinned again—“once you’ve settled the issue of proper chairs, what shall you like to accomplish here at Evernight Hall?” He leaned in, tilting his head as he considered her. “Shall you improve our sadly lacking stables? Restock our aging library? What will make you happy, Bit?”
For a moment, she could only stare at him. No one had ever asked after her wants and desires. Deny joy, do as you are told, survive. Those had been her truths. But no longer.
She took a deep, easy breath. It felt so good that she did it again. Breathe. Let the past go.
“The stables,” she said. “I’ll see to them first.”
“And where shall you escape to when you ride?”
Eamon’s eyes were bright and happy, but his words made her heart skip a beat. She’d written to Aidan that riding was her means of escape. Had he told Eamon? Let him read her letters? Lu couldn’t bear that; it was too humiliating now.
Eamon noticed her disquiet for his expression sobered. “You must be tired. I shouldn’t be keeping you.” He moved to go.
“No.” Lu reached out and clutched his forearm. It was like stone beneath her fingers. “I want you here.”
When he reluctantly sat back, she let him go and forced a light smile. She was being suspicious and overthinking things. Eamon was a shy man and clearly trying to forge a path toward an amicable partnership.
“I am not sure where to ride,” she said. “Perhaps you can show me?”
His high-bridged nose wrinkled at the base. “I’m afraid I am not much of a rider.” He looked down at himself with dispassionate appraisal. “Horses tend to find me a mite too big for their comfort.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Yes, well, we simply have to find you a horse of the proper size.”
“Didn’t think they came that large,” he muttered.
She laughed at that. “And when I escape my cares on the back of a horse, shall you be in your smithy, creating something lovely?”
He stared at her for a moment, as if shocked.
“I lost all the animals you made for me,” she blurted out in the silence. “During the coaching accident.”
Eamon blinked, his skin going pale. “You…” He cleared his throat. “You brought those trinkets with you here?”
“Trinkets?” She scowled at him in mock outrage. “Do not dare call them that. They were works of art.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes as she confessed, “They were among my most treasured possessions.” Her letters being the most. Those she had carried on her person, the heavy weight of them in her pocket a comfort during her travels.
Lu took a fortifying breath. “I hope Aidan conveyed to you how very much I appreciated you making them for me.”
The fire snapped and hissed.
“He did.” Eamon’s voice was rough, and she glanced up to find him watching her with something that appeared to be yearning. But then he frowned. “I did not know they meant so much to you. I’m sorry that you lost them.”
“Not all was lost.” Lu slipped a hand beneath the collar of her dressing gown and pulled free her pendant.
As if drawn, Eamon leaned forward, and so did she. They met in the middle. His long, blunt-tipped finger cradled the tiny steel lilac as he inspected it. While he did, she inspected him, wondering how a man with such large hands could have forged something so small and delicate.
“I never take it off.” She felt the need to whisper and hold her body still, as if he might take flight and disappear. So close were they that she could feel the warmth coming off his skin and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. His thumb slid over a fragile petal, a slow hypnotic gesture that she followed with her eyes.
“How did you add the blue color into the steel?” she asked.
“Chemical reaction.” His soft reply was like a breath against her lips, and she found herself leaning in closer.
“I want to see you work,” she said in a hushed rush. His thumb stopped, and the pendant slipped away to fall with a thud upon her chest.
Pain, yearning, and regret tightened his expression. “I want nothing more than to please you, Bit. But my work… The smithy…” He scratched behind his neck and scowled. “I don’t do well with people watching me work.”
“I understand,” she said, even though a lump of disappointment lodged beneath her breastbone.
He didn’t look pleased but miserable, and Lu touched his wrist. “Honestly, Eamon. I do. Artists are a temperamental lot. Everyone knows that.”
Eamon snorted. “I’m hardly an artist.”
“Oh, but you are. I’ve never seen your equal.”
His mulish, ruddy expression did not abate. Stubborn man. Then he caught her eye, and a wry smile curled over his lips. The moment held, and slowly that smile turned into something quite different, something darker, hotter, and Lu’s breath caught as his deep voice slid smooth and warm over her skin. “Nor have I seen yours, Bit.”
Before she could answer, he stood abruptly and gave her a formal nod. “I’ve some house business to settle. I’ll see you tonight.” At that his face went violent red up to the tips of his flame-bright hair. Lu felt herself redden too, for she knew precisely what Eamon was thinking of now, and the knowledge filled her thoughts as well. Tonight, they’d consummate their marriage.
Chapter Eight
Night was far from falling, and Eamon’s nerves were swiftly rising. When he thought of what awaited him in just a few hours, his c**k grew hard and hot, and his stomach dipped down to his toes.
Shite, shite, shite.
Would he be able to please her? Would he make a fool of himself and spend at the first touch? Given how twitchy he was, he just might.
Pacing his room was of little help. Nor did he want to drink; that might make him sloppy, and he wanted his full faculties when he finally got to touch Lu. Ah, gods, but she was lovely. The mere sight of the graceful curve of her neck where it swooped down to meet her shoulder could hold him in thrall. She’d be soft there. Warm and fragrant. He imagined her breast would be soft too, soft and plump and waiting to be suckled.
A groan left him, and his hand drifted down to the ache in his trousers. He’d suckle the sweet pillow of her bottom lip first. Lick his way along her jaw and down to her collarbone. Perhaps she’d open her legs for him, and his hand would slide up her tender thighs.
Eamon gave himself a squeeze and shuddered. “Shite.”
The knock upon his door nearly had him jumping out of his skin, and his voice was not quite steady when he finally managed to say, “Enter.”
George entered. As usual, the man wore a frown of worry and disapproval.
“What is it now?” Eamon bit out.
“Two things.” George handed him a thick envelope. “This came for you. From London,” he added unnecessarily, as the postmark was apparent. It was from the family’s solicitor and the Evernight family trustee, Mr. Sawyer.
Eamon opened the missive and scanned through the documents inside. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he finished.
“Bad news?” As usual, George’s curiosity rivaled ten cats. And while Eamon kept his own counsel on many things, this wasn’t one such instance. Not when his head was reeling and he had the great urge to hunt Aidan down and throttle him.
“The little shite has given me Evernight Hall and over half of the family fortune.”
George’s thick white brows knitted. “And this is a bad thing, sir?”
“It’s his! Not mine.” Eamon ran a hand over his now-aching brow. “Father was quite clear on that.” It did not sit right with Eamon that Aidan had just given him the lion’s share of the Evernight funds.
George, however, looked at Eamon as if he were cracked. “Master Aidan was always of the mind that the estate was yours to share. It appears he’s finally done something about it. And not a moment too soon, now that you have Mrs. Evernight to care for.”
Eamon sighed. In truth, he wanted his brother back. This news felt ominous, as if Aidan would never return. And as thankful as Eamon was for the money, he did not want it in exchange for never seeing Aidan again.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eamon asked, “What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
“Young Sean went into town this morning. It appears there is a man asking questions about you and Mrs. Evernight.”
It took Eamon a moment to realize that George was referring to Lu. God, she was his wife. His.
“What sort of questions?”
“If anyone had seen her in the flesh. About the details of your wedding.”
“Cheer up, my boy. It’s not so bad, now is it?”
Eamon looked up from the scarred wooden table and glared at Nan, his sometime voice of reason. He did not want to hear that voice now.
“Not so bad?” Eamon laughed darkly. “I’ve become sorry seconds for Aidan’s bride.”
“Have you now?” Nan took the kettle off the fire and continued to prepare a tray of tea. Aside from being the housekeeper, she was also their cook. After all, Evernight Hall never entertained visitors, and she’d only had to look after the men. Until now.
Eamon grunted, ignoring his own long-cooled cup. “Likely she’s up there crying, distraught over Aidan’s defection, and hating the very idea of me.”
Nan merely made a noise that, to Eamon’s learned ear, meant he was feeling right sorry for himself. Which he was. Not that she needed to push the point in.
“Your father, God rest his soul, was an eejit to let his grief turn to hate.” She lifted a knobby finger and pointed at Eamon. “And you are an eejit to believe his mad ravings. You’re the best of men, Eamon. You only have to believe it.”
“Is that so?” Eamon retorted.
“It is.”
“So then when he told you that your currant biscuits tasted like plaster dust and were harder than a horseshoe, you naturally ignored that tripe and continued to bake them.” They both knew she’d never again made another biscuit, much to his and Aidan’s disappointment.
Nan’s lips thinned, and he snorted without mirth. “You see, Nanny, I know he was a mad bastard with a vicious tongue, but the heart has a tendency to ignore logic, no matter how hard we try to tell it differently. And each time I attempt to forge a new self, his words creep up and pound me back down.” But he was trying. By God, he wanted to be the man he knew he could be for Lu. He just hadn’t yet figured out how.
The sounds of the house grew loud around the silence in the kitchen, then a kind and cheerful smile crinkled Nan’s plump cheeks. “There now, boyo. If you can stand up to me, you can certainly buck up and take the young lady her tea.”
“What? Me?”
“Are there any other men in here? Cowering away like some frightened puss? Go.” She waved her hand when he scowled. “Let her get to know who you are.”
Eamon flushed, annoyed at her, Aidan, and himself most of all.
He grabbed the tray, tempering himself when the china rattled. “Fine. I’ll go.”
* * *
Lu sat in her room, crowding in front of the crackling fire. She was married now. To Eamon. How strange life was. Whenever she tried to plan it, her course shifted down unforeseen avenues, tugging away from all of her intentions.
Sighing, she curled her knees to her chest and cuddled farther down in the dainty settee that matched the rest of the room’s feminine furnishings. A soft knock at the door had her tensing. “Yes?” she called, hoping it was merely the maid coming to stoke the fire.
“Lu?” Eamon’s deep voice was muffled through the thick door. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Lu sat up and put her dressing gown to rights.
He came bearing gifts. The fragrance of hot tea and fresh buns hit her, and her stomach made a gurgle of impatience. One that Eamon unfortunately heard. A sly curl pulled at his mouth as he set the tray down on the little table before the fire. “So you won’t be saying no to tea, then?” He winked, a quick, sweet gesture that had her grinning.
“Tease,” she retorted as she reached for the pot.
“Only with you, Bit.” His massive frame had the delicate gilded armchair creaking, and he leaned his weight forward, bracing his arms upon his muscled thighs.
“I see I shall have to order new chairs for my sitting room.” Lu handed him a plate of hot buns. “How do you take your tea?”
“With milk.” Eamon frowned slightly. “Why should you do that?”
Lu paused, the cup of tea in her hand hovering between them. “So that you may sit comfortably when you visit me.” Her skin prickled. “That is, should you like to visit me. You needn’t if you’d rather not.”
Carefully, Eamon took the tea from her hand but his gaze stayed locked with hers. “Lu, I married you because I fancy your company.” That gentle smile of his, the one that crept up like the dawn, graced his face once more. “Keep your little chairs if they please you. I can manage.” He took a sip of tea. “Though I shall not stop you if you insist upon having a sturdy leather chair brought in.”
“Leather, eh? Duly noted, husband.”
Eamon ducked his head at that, a flush working across his cheeks as he bit down on a grin he could not hide. The action, combined with his big, strong frame and chiseled features, made him utterly appealing to her just then. And she had the mad urge to lean forward, kiss his cheek, perhaps crawl into his lap and nuzzle his throat so that he might blush some more.
“Well then, wife”—he grinned again—“once you’ve settled the issue of proper chairs, what shall you like to accomplish here at Evernight Hall?” He leaned in, tilting his head as he considered her. “Shall you improve our sadly lacking stables? Restock our aging library? What will make you happy, Bit?”
For a moment, she could only stare at him. No one had ever asked after her wants and desires. Deny joy, do as you are told, survive. Those had been her truths. But no longer.
She took a deep, easy breath. It felt so good that she did it again. Breathe. Let the past go.
“The stables,” she said. “I’ll see to them first.”
“And where shall you escape to when you ride?”
Eamon’s eyes were bright and happy, but his words made her heart skip a beat. She’d written to Aidan that riding was her means of escape. Had he told Eamon? Let him read her letters? Lu couldn’t bear that; it was too humiliating now.
Eamon noticed her disquiet for his expression sobered. “You must be tired. I shouldn’t be keeping you.” He moved to go.
“No.” Lu reached out and clutched his forearm. It was like stone beneath her fingers. “I want you here.”
When he reluctantly sat back, she let him go and forced a light smile. She was being suspicious and overthinking things. Eamon was a shy man and clearly trying to forge a path toward an amicable partnership.
“I am not sure where to ride,” she said. “Perhaps you can show me?”
His high-bridged nose wrinkled at the base. “I’m afraid I am not much of a rider.” He looked down at himself with dispassionate appraisal. “Horses tend to find me a mite too big for their comfort.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Yes, well, we simply have to find you a horse of the proper size.”
“Didn’t think they came that large,” he muttered.
She laughed at that. “And when I escape my cares on the back of a horse, shall you be in your smithy, creating something lovely?”
He stared at her for a moment, as if shocked.
“I lost all the animals you made for me,” she blurted out in the silence. “During the coaching accident.”
Eamon blinked, his skin going pale. “You…” He cleared his throat. “You brought those trinkets with you here?”
“Trinkets?” She scowled at him in mock outrage. “Do not dare call them that. They were works of art.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes as she confessed, “They were among my most treasured possessions.” Her letters being the most. Those she had carried on her person, the heavy weight of them in her pocket a comfort during her travels.
Lu took a fortifying breath. “I hope Aidan conveyed to you how very much I appreciated you making them for me.”
The fire snapped and hissed.
“He did.” Eamon’s voice was rough, and she glanced up to find him watching her with something that appeared to be yearning. But then he frowned. “I did not know they meant so much to you. I’m sorry that you lost them.”
“Not all was lost.” Lu slipped a hand beneath the collar of her dressing gown and pulled free her pendant.
As if drawn, Eamon leaned forward, and so did she. They met in the middle. His long, blunt-tipped finger cradled the tiny steel lilac as he inspected it. While he did, she inspected him, wondering how a man with such large hands could have forged something so small and delicate.
“I never take it off.” She felt the need to whisper and hold her body still, as if he might take flight and disappear. So close were they that she could feel the warmth coming off his skin and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. His thumb slid over a fragile petal, a slow hypnotic gesture that she followed with her eyes.
“How did you add the blue color into the steel?” she asked.
“Chemical reaction.” His soft reply was like a breath against her lips, and she found herself leaning in closer.
“I want to see you work,” she said in a hushed rush. His thumb stopped, and the pendant slipped away to fall with a thud upon her chest.
Pain, yearning, and regret tightened his expression. “I want nothing more than to please you, Bit. But my work… The smithy…” He scratched behind his neck and scowled. “I don’t do well with people watching me work.”
“I understand,” she said, even though a lump of disappointment lodged beneath her breastbone.
He didn’t look pleased but miserable, and Lu touched his wrist. “Honestly, Eamon. I do. Artists are a temperamental lot. Everyone knows that.”
Eamon snorted. “I’m hardly an artist.”
“Oh, but you are. I’ve never seen your equal.”
His mulish, ruddy expression did not abate. Stubborn man. Then he caught her eye, and a wry smile curled over his lips. The moment held, and slowly that smile turned into something quite different, something darker, hotter, and Lu’s breath caught as his deep voice slid smooth and warm over her skin. “Nor have I seen yours, Bit.”
Before she could answer, he stood abruptly and gave her a formal nod. “I’ve some house business to settle. I’ll see you tonight.” At that his face went violent red up to the tips of his flame-bright hair. Lu felt herself redden too, for she knew precisely what Eamon was thinking of now, and the knowledge filled her thoughts as well. Tonight, they’d consummate their marriage.
Chapter Eight
Night was far from falling, and Eamon’s nerves were swiftly rising. When he thought of what awaited him in just a few hours, his c**k grew hard and hot, and his stomach dipped down to his toes.
Shite, shite, shite.
Would he be able to please her? Would he make a fool of himself and spend at the first touch? Given how twitchy he was, he just might.
Pacing his room was of little help. Nor did he want to drink; that might make him sloppy, and he wanted his full faculties when he finally got to touch Lu. Ah, gods, but she was lovely. The mere sight of the graceful curve of her neck where it swooped down to meet her shoulder could hold him in thrall. She’d be soft there. Warm and fragrant. He imagined her breast would be soft too, soft and plump and waiting to be suckled.
A groan left him, and his hand drifted down to the ache in his trousers. He’d suckle the sweet pillow of her bottom lip first. Lick his way along her jaw and down to her collarbone. Perhaps she’d open her legs for him, and his hand would slide up her tender thighs.
Eamon gave himself a squeeze and shuddered. “Shite.”
The knock upon his door nearly had him jumping out of his skin, and his voice was not quite steady when he finally managed to say, “Enter.”
George entered. As usual, the man wore a frown of worry and disapproval.
“What is it now?” Eamon bit out.
“Two things.” George handed him a thick envelope. “This came for you. From London,” he added unnecessarily, as the postmark was apparent. It was from the family’s solicitor and the Evernight family trustee, Mr. Sawyer.
Eamon opened the missive and scanned through the documents inside. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he finished.
“Bad news?” As usual, George’s curiosity rivaled ten cats. And while Eamon kept his own counsel on many things, this wasn’t one such instance. Not when his head was reeling and he had the great urge to hunt Aidan down and throttle him.
“The little shite has given me Evernight Hall and over half of the family fortune.”
George’s thick white brows knitted. “And this is a bad thing, sir?”
“It’s his! Not mine.” Eamon ran a hand over his now-aching brow. “Father was quite clear on that.” It did not sit right with Eamon that Aidan had just given him the lion’s share of the Evernight funds.
George, however, looked at Eamon as if he were cracked. “Master Aidan was always of the mind that the estate was yours to share. It appears he’s finally done something about it. And not a moment too soon, now that you have Mrs. Evernight to care for.”
Eamon sighed. In truth, he wanted his brother back. This news felt ominous, as if Aidan would never return. And as thankful as Eamon was for the money, he did not want it in exchange for never seeing Aidan again.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eamon asked, “What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
“Young Sean went into town this morning. It appears there is a man asking questions about you and Mrs. Evernight.”
It took Eamon a moment to realize that George was referring to Lu. God, she was his wife. His.
“What sort of questions?”
“If anyone had seen her in the flesh. About the details of your wedding.”
