Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (27 page)

"And here we are," he mocked, "at an impasse which neither of us expected." "Where do we go from here?" Ianthe whispered.

"Anywhere. I don't— I'm as at sea as you are."

A hush fell between them.

"I... don't think I can." A brutal blush speared her cheeks.

Lucien absorbed the impact and graced her with a smile. It was not rejection, but a safeguard, a means of mitigating the risk.
That
he understood. His thumbs resumed their heated stroking. "Then let this just remain this. Uncomplicated."

"This was never uncomplicated." Ianthe said it with a faint laugh, but there was no humor there.

"Then we make it uncomplicated." Lucien leaned closer, his mouth hovering but a half-inch from her ear. "What do
you
want? Right now?"

"You," she whispered against the corner of his mouth, lips almost pressing to his, but not quite tasting them, "inside me." A decision had been made. She was brave now with his confession. Her face turned toward his, breath caressing his sensitive lips. "No more talk."

"Very well." Reaching past her, Lucien gently closed the lid on the grand piano. That dark curl sprang from behind her ear, and suddenly he could not bear to see it controlled anymore. Reaching behind her, he plucked first one pin, then another from her hair, and another... Until it cascaded down her back in a series of loose waves. Curling his fingers through her hair, he slowly fanned it out across her shoulders. A wave of midnight silk, gleaming in the candlelight. "There. That's better. Not perfect, but better."

"What would be perfect?"

"This." Sliding his hands up inside her robe, he pushed it off her shoulders, uncovering the thin-capped sleeves of her nightgown. The curve of her shoulder slipped loose from one sleeve, revealing the sharp etching of her collarbone. Lucien tugged at the ties on her robe, and Ianthe sucked in a sharp breath, but she surrendered it to him, leaning back on the piano.

"This," he said, drawing the tie free of its loops and discarding it behind him. Her robe sagged, falling open to reveal the hem of her nightgown riding up around her hips. Those thighs, like white satin... He slid his palm up one, absorbing every inch of soft skin, wanting it to be his mouth on her skin, not his hand...

"This?" With trembling hands, Ianthe watched his face as she began to undo the string that held her nightgown together. Rosy nipples darkened the fabric, and the cotton draped over them, caressing every one of her curves like a lover.

Lucien's breathing raced as she gave a willful shrug of her shoulders. Each sleeve slipped free, captured on her upper arms, as Ianthe stared at him with a dare in her eyes.

"Yes," he said, reaching out with one finger to brush the cotton from where it caught on the upper slope of her breast. Heat pulsed in his cock. Every touch of her skin sent electric shocks to his brain, which seemed to communicate themselves everywhere. He was heat and need and the fierce clench of anticipation.

But a part of him wanted this to be good for her, better than it had ever been before, which was incendiary. Before had always been about control, about slating his desire and she hers. It had been nothing more than physical want. This... This was different.

Lucien kissed her throat, her cheek, her ear... Everything but her mouth, that sweet, treacherous mouth that consumed his thoughts. Curling his fists in her hair, he dragged her head back and bit her chin. Every thought he owned was broken down to its base equation.

I need...

I want...

Her...

I want her...

"Lucien." His name was raw on her sweet tongue.

"What do you want?"

"This." Hands caught his, dragging them lower until they filled with soft flesh.

Her magnificent breasts. So lush and full... as if they'd been made for a man's attention. Cotton rumpled under his touch as he stroked her nightgown out of the way. Ianthe shuddered, and something that sounded almost animalistic burst from her throat. "Yes.
Please
, yes."

Lucien's mouth dipped, his deft hands parting the cotton. A darkened nipple sprang into view, taut and quivering with her hastened breath. His hot mouth closed over it.

Delicious
.

It was his turn to make that rough, raw sound in his throat. Tongue swirling in teasing little circles, he looked up at her flushed, abandoned expression. The sight of it made him bold. Grabbing hold of her nightgown, he tore it in two, halfway to her thighs.

Ianthe gasped, capturing his upper arms in surprise. Then her gaze softened, growing heavy-lidded, as she arched back, offering him her body. Passion filled her gaze as he ripped again with slow, heated jerks, until she lay revealed, the flush of candlelight painting her skin with a golden glow. A Botticelli in all its glory. Soft curves, ebony hair, and the faint shell-pink flush of sweetness gleaming wetly between her thighs.

Lucien traced trembling fingers down between her breasts and lower, trailing off as he reached the thatch of dark curls between her thighs. "You are... breathtakingly beautiful." On the return, his hands slid up her sides, parting the cotton, even as her faint, quivering breaths made her breasts lift and fall. "You feel like silk beneath my touch."

He lowered his face, tracing his tongue around her navel. "Like a feast for a starving man."

One that he ached to partake of. But first... her. Her pleasure. His ruin.

A tremor ran over her skin as he slowly tipped her backward until she lay on top of the piano. The leash of his control slipped away from him, his fingers sinking into her hips with slightly less care than he should have owned when touching something so precious.

Dragging her to the edge, he hooked her bare feet up on his shoulders and leaned over her. Glistening pink flesh teased him from behind those dark curls. He drank her in, breath teasing her.

"
Lucien
." It obviously unnerved her to be so on display before him.

"No shyness, love. Not between us." Thumbs spreading those tender pink folds, he took his time, licking her from end to end. A slow taunting movement. One to drive her out of her mind.

Ianthe arched her back, her heels digging into his shoulders. "Lucien!"

She tasted divine. Lucien nuzzled in again, tasting her and teasing her. Hands cupping her rounded bottom, he laid waste to her, drowning himself in that heated flesh until she was crying out softly, her fingers curling through his hair.

A strangled sound burst from her throat as he slid a finger deep inside her, curling it up to stroke her
there
. Then she was tensing around him, her head thrown back with a gasp, as sweet tension exploded within her.

"Yes.
Yes
, oh please, Lucien..." Ianthe writhed on the piano through her release. "Please. More."

Biting at the soft flesh of her breast, he fumbled with his trousers. His erection sprang to hand, hard and aching, and Lucien tore the packet of the sheath open with his teeth. Ianthe reached between them, tugging the oiled sheath from his hands and sliding it over his engorged length. That invisible tickle of touch explored the length of his hard shaft, earning a hiss from his throat. God. He groaned, his balls drawn up tight. It wasn't going to take much tonight.

"Now," she whispered, as he dragged his cock over her lush, wet opening. "Take me now."

"As you wish." Lucien sank forward, into her tight, wet, satiny heat. "Oh God." He made a strangled sound in his throat. This was bliss. Heaven on earth. Everything.

The first thrust spilled noise from the piano, but the storm drowned it out. Slow and steady, a soft sinking into of flesh. Ianthe was having none of that however.

"Faster," she whispered, her fingers closing in his hair and her legs wrapping around his hips. "More."

Lucien bit his lip as he thrust home. The room vanished as his attention turned inward. The storm, the noise of the piano, all gone as he fucked his way into her... All he could feel was her. This. Pressure danced its way up the base of his spine, and he curled his face into her throat as he lost himself to the sweet pleasure-pain of release.

"
Yes
," he hissed.

It was an eternity of bliss. No more concerns, no more fears. Just her hands slowly stroking up his back as he came back to himself. Every inch of his body felt more alive than it had ever felt; the intense rush of his blood through his veins, his racing heartbeat, the sweat slick on his skin, and his cock softening as he slid from her body...

But more than that, he could somehow sense her. It felt as though he existed in two skins. His ears rang with the beat of two hearts, both achingly in sync. Their bond. He would never be the same after this night, and it filled him with both dread and hope, which was something he hadn't thought he would ever find again.

Ianthe lifted her face, her hand pressing over his heart in wonder, as if she could feel the same thing he could. "The bond strengthens."

"Faster than expected." He nuzzled her forehead, kissing her there. Perspiration clung to them as he curled her into his arms. Uncomplicated, he had promised, and he knew the words now for a lie.

For, out of all the problems he faced, this was the greatest complication he knew.

But neither of them could admit it out loud.

CHAPTER 15

I 
F IANTHE had her time as a young girl again, she thought she'd have enjoyed growing up in a place like Cherry Tree Cottage.

Located in the small village of Tupnel Green, barely forty miles from London, it seemed like another world entirely. There was a pond in the center of the walled garden, with dozens of primroses surrounding it, rows of lavender, and herbs like rosemary and basil. Fuzzy bees hovered over the droopy heads of sunflowers, and shadows dappled the green lawn as oak trees swayed overhead. Within the secret garden, a blanket spread on the lawn with little cups and saucers set neatly there; several dolls and teddy bears were scattered around. It was perfect. Ianthe had thought that the first time she'd seen it, when she'd been wan and listless following the birth, cradling the tiny baby in her arms as Drake helped her down from the carriage.

A flash of dark curls glinted in the sunlight and a little girl raced across the grass in the garden.

"Tubby, give it back!" Louisa cried out in exasperation. "You know you're not allowed to have mama's slippers!"

Despite the brief pang in her chest, Ianthe stared hungrily as the girl scrambled under a hedge, careless of her skirts. They had that in common, a reckless yearning for adventure as a little girl. But where she would have earned the edge of her father's cane for such a romp, Louisa merely burrowed through the leaves without care nor fear of condemnation.

"Louisa! Come! You have a visitor!" Elsa called, catching sight of Ianthe at the garden gate. She waved her in and limped out onto the cobbled stones at the back of the house, her gout obviously having flared again.

"Aunt Ianthe!" There was genuine joy on Louisa's face, and she ran toward them, her bare feet slapping the grass and her pinafore stained. There was a ragged slipper in her hand.

Elsa sighed. "Louisa, where are your shoes?"

"Oh, I left them in the vegetable patch! I'll put them on in a moment, mama. I didn't realize we had visitors." She proffered a neat curtsy toward Ianthe, then seemed to realize she had the mangled slipper still in her hand and shoved it behind her back, smiling shyly. The fat puppy wandered after her, saw the slipper dangling, and launched itself up, teeth closing around the ruined shoe.

A game of tug-o-war ensued.

Elsa gasped. "Is that my—?"

The slipper tore, and both puppy and daughter spilled onto the grass at their feet. "Oh, no! Tubby, you naughty beast!" Louisa cried. "You've ruined it."

Elsa gave her
the look
, her hands on her ample hips. "What did I say about that dog?"

"He didn't mean it," Louisa said, dragging the offending puppy into her arms. "I'm sorry, mama. I know I have to keep him out of the house, but I was searching for Russell, and he must have gotten in, and—"

"You can do the dishes tonight then," Elsa said, "to help you remember to keep him out of the house in future, and Tubby is banished to the stables to sleep tonight."

"Yes, mama. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Elsa ruffled her hair. "I know. Now run along and show your aunt your tea party. I'm sure she would like to meet Russell, Sir Egmont, and Hilary. I'll bring out something for you to nibble upon." She aimed a critical eye at Ianthe's figure. "Your aunt looks far too thin. All that thick London air interfering with your diet, no doubt."

"Don't go to too much trouble." Ianthe hid her smile. Elsa had a great deal of opinions on London.

Following her daughter into the garden, she left Elsa to fetch them afternoon tea. She could hear Louisa giggling ahead of her and caught a flash of a white pinafore as she entered the hedgerow, but there was no sign of the little girl, just an abandoned tea party with three teddy bears, a doll, and a tin soldier.

"Louisa?" Ianthe spun in a slow circle. Sometimes they played hide and seek.

The garden was still. Lifeless. Even the wind dropped until only the drone of the honeybees broke the silence. Ianthe's smile faltered. Something was wrong. She could feel it. The buzz of the bees seemed to grow louder until it was almost vibrating in her ears.

Her stomach fell, just as clouds slid over the sun. "Louisa?"

A nearby shrub rustled, but there was no sign of the little girl. Ianthe hurried into the garden as the secret little glade darkened with shadow. "Louisa, where are you?"

That was when she glanced at the picnic rug again. The teacups were all knocked over and the rug had draped itself over a forlorn teddy bear, as if something had been dragged kicking and screaming away from it.

Ianthe's heart leaped into her throat. "Louisa?" she yelled, grabbing hold of her skirts and hurrying forward.

How had this happened? How had she lost her daughter in but the blink of an eye? Where was Louisa? What would Elsa say? She should never have come here. Elsa would have protected Louisa; Elsa wouldn't have lost her. What kind of mother could she call herself?