Coleen Kwan - Darke London

Her chest constricted. Was Julian riled because she was connected to his nemesis? Did the fact that she was Pip’s wife offend his sensibilities?

“I should have told you sooner,” she said. “I had no reason to hide it except reluctance. I’m sorry. I abused your hospitality, and…and I should probably make other arrangements.”

Julian snorted. “You’ll do no such thing or you’ll have Elijah haranguing me. You must stay for as long as you wish. I insist.”

A voice from within warned her to leave this house. She was too caught up with Julian Darke. He was clouding her judgement, stirring up wanton desires, threatening her emotions. She had been at Monksbane nine days. Her wounds were sufficiently healed, but she’d made no plans for the future. She’d been focusing only on taking one step at a time, but it was time to lift her head and decide which path to take into the future. She ought to leave and make contact with Pip, try to sort out this awful mess. But as she stared at Julian, she knew she couldn’t leave this house, this man. At least, not yet. Something was brewing between her and Julian, a storm of cyclonic proportions, and the vortex was drawing her in inexorably.

“Very well,” she murmured. “I shall stay. For a while longer.”

A rare camellia plant, the likes of which Nellie had never seen before, stood lost in the wilderness of the garden. Its soft pink flowers glowed like jewels against the wintery surrounds, destined to be appreciated only by a very few. Once upon a time, someone had lovingly tended this garden, filling it with rare species, but now it had been left to be reclaimed by nature.

The untamed confusion suited Nellie. Protected within the old stone walls, the garden was a tranquil oasis from the clamour outside. As she neared the far boundary of the south wall, her steps slowed. From here she could see the sludge-coloured fog hovering on the horizon which marked the city. Quiet fields and pockets of woodland kept the metropolis at bay, but for how much longer?

Turning west, she passed the path which led down to the old icehouse, its semi-submerged roof just visible through the thick shrubbery. Elijah Darke used the ancient structure to store his many specimens. She’d been curious to see them, but Elijah did not invite visitors down there, and the icehouse was out of bounds.

Elijah Darke was unfailingly courteous towards her, but she could not say his company was completely relaxing. Beneath his politeness he was a man of mystery, she’d decided. At his urging, she had appropriated more of his late wife’s wardrobe, altering them to better suit her figure. Though the dresses were decades old, they’d been lovingly cared for by Mrs. Tibbet and were made of expensive materials—wool, velvet, lawn, silk. Most of them were far too good to be worn for her day-to-day tasks, including the rich red frock she wore today, but she had little alternative. Elijah didn’t seem to mind, though his was a difficult expression to read. Indeed, at more than one occasion she’d sensed him studying her closely, weighing her up, as if he hadn’t yet finalised his opinion of her. Perhaps because he was chary of her impact on his son.

Sighing, she plucked a sprig off a nearby lavender bush. If only she could clear her muddled thoughts about Julian. Ever since she’d told him about Pip two days ago, he had treated her with cautious civility, and she was growing heartily sick of it. Yet she understood the root of his coolness. She was still married to Pip—regardless of his previous betrothal—and his involvement in his father’s diabolical plans remained in question. She wanted nothing more than to resolve the matter one way or another, but as yet she was too afraid to act. Time was not on her side, though; sooner rather than later she would have to decide a course of action.

Moving away from the icehouse, she headed for the rear of the house. As she neared the corner of the building, she heard scuffling noises and the sound of male voices jesting each other.

“Ha, is that the best you can deliver?” Julian’s voice sounded. “I’ve had a buss on the cheek harder than that fisticuff.”

“Well, you just ain’t courting the right sort of woman,” the other man drawled.

“And you’ve been courting too long, judging by your soft, pudgy body.”

“Soft, eh? We’ll see ’bout that.”

Nellie hesitated as she recognised the voice of Gareth Derringer, the family friend from whom she’d run away because of his startled reaction to her scars. Since then, he’d visited once more, and she’d been properly introduced to him. She’d been embarrassed by her earlier behaviour, and he’d been excessively polite, something not natural for him, she’d sensed. All in all, it had been an awkward encounter, and she had no wish to repeat it. But the sound of Julian’s voice drew her closer, and she couldn’t resist peering around the corner. An overgrown juniper bush shielded her from view as she edged forward to peek through the shrubbery.

Not far away Julian and Gareth circled each other, their bodies crouched in sparring positions. Both men had stripped off jackets, neckties, shirts and boots, and were clad in nothing more than their trousers which were rolled up to the knees. The sight of two seminaked men had Nellie riveted, but it was Julian who absorbed all her attention. Perspiration gleamed on his chest, highlighting the fine curvature of his muscles and the solidness of his shoulders. Dusky hairs tracked over chest and stomach before arrowing down past the waistband of his trousers. His calves were powerfully sinewed, his bare feet solid and strong. Wisps of ebony hair clung to his temples, and his face was flushed with his exertions.

Gareth shot out a punch towards Julian’s head. He ducked and counterpunched, chuckling beneath his breath. “Nice try, laddie.”

“We’ll see who’s the laddie.”

With a sudden lunge, Gareth grabbed him in a bear hug. Julian groaned as his friend squeezed him like a nut before he raised both arms and chopped down hard on Gareth’s neck with his hands. Gareth collapsed to the ground, dragging Julian with him.

Nellie watched on, spellbound, as the two men wrestled in the dirt. Any genteel woman would have been appalled at such barbarity, but she wasn’t appalled, far from it. The sight of Julian’s naked sweaty chest incited a hornets’ nest of illicit desire in her. Heat flared low and heavy in her abdomen. Dampness sprang out on the back of her neck, between her breasts, and even—heaven help her—beneath her drawers. As Julian wrestled with his friend, his trousers stretched tight around his thighs, drawing her attention to his flagrantly virile thews. Nellie swallowed hard as erotic sensations surged over her, followed quickly by hot, hedonistic and deeply disturbing imaginings of Julian gloriously naked and rampant, bending over an equally naked and impassioned woman—herself.

Dear heaven, how could she lust after a man with such a powerful and primitive hunger? What kind of wanton was she turning into? She stepped backwards, her hand to her throat, conscious of the rapid thumping of her heart and the heat writhing in her loins. The injuries she’d sustained must have affected her, she desperately reasoned. This voluptuous sensuality throbbing through her was not her, was someone else.

She’d been an innocent maiden on her wedding night. Being a doctor’s daughter, she was aware of the rudimentary facts of life, but she’d no inkling of what to expect in her marital bed. Pip had been tentative, apologetic, and after it was swiftly over, she concluded that she had conducted herself properly, and that to lie supine and not complain or whimper was how a good wife was supposed to behave. And so she’d done her duty the few times Pip had reached for her.