Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (37 page)

Had he loved this woman? Instantly, her mind shied away from such a thought. This wasn't love that he spoke of. In his voice, only hatred lingered. She didn't understand any of it, or perhaps she didn't want to understand.

Cleo's mind raced. "Your mother makes you... entertain them, doesn't she?"

"I fuck them for her," he said in a hard voice. "At first, they liked hurting me. It's easy to do when she gives them the ring for the night, and I used to just submit to it, after I ran out of the strength to fight them. You would think a man could stop himself from... from reacting, but there are ways..."

"Then what happened?" she asked in a tortured whisper. "Why do you remember one face among many?"

He shifted on the sheets. "Cleo—"

"I have seen a great many things," she warned. "Horrible things you couldn't even imagine. I can bear this."

"Perhaps I could imagine," he said roughly. Then he added in a broken voice, "What if I
were
one of those horrible things?"

"I wouldn't believe it," Cleo said, sliding her hand across the sheets before remembering what he'd said about being touched. She curled her fingers into a helpless fist that trembled.

"Then you do not know me at all. The reason I remember that bitch's face is because she was the first one I turned upon. I made her hurt until she begged at my feet. I used everything they'd ever done to me against her until she was sobbing. And I didn't care. I wanted to destroy her."

It was ugly. Cleo dug her nails into her palms, feeling a little uncertain. "You are a victim of your own circumstances. This wasn't your fault—"

"You still don't understand, do you? She liked it. There she was, lying at my feet, begging me for more, and I wanted to hurt her so badly, that I did it to her again. It was the first time I've ever held any power. I liked it, Cleo. I liked hurting her, and I have done it again and again, to all of them."

There was nothing to say to that. She couldn't even breathe. Inside, she was choking.

"You are in bed with a monster," he whispered. "There is no hope for me. I cannot bear for you to touch me. I shouldn't have lain down with you." He shoved the covers back. "It was a stupid hope, but if you touched me, and I forgot where I was... All I can think about is what would happen to you. What if I hurt you? Could you ever smile at me again after such a betrayal? Could you ever again think of me as the man who met you in your gardens? Or would you only see the truth?" Sebastian slipped out of the bed. "Stay there. You're safe from me. I won't touch you."

"Bastian," Cleo whispered, sitting up and clutching the covers to her chest.

And he waited. He stood there in the dark intimacy of the room, with his secrets spilling all around him, and waited for her to make him a promise that she couldn't utter.

"You cannot stay in here again," he said, after too long a silence. "I'm sorry, you didn't realize what you had married. You won't have to see me again. I'll sleep on the trundle."

And then he was gone, and for the second time since she had met him, she was speechless.

CHAPTER 23

T  
HE WORLD lurched. Ianthe curled sleepily into strong arms, dreaming of endless gardens where she could never quite find what she was looking for. There was a moment of uncertainty as she blinked, then opened her eyes. Candlelight greeted her, along with a glimpse of the hallway in her home. She was in Lucien's arms, her cheek resting on the velvet lapel of his coat.

"Awake?" he murmured.

"Yes."

Lucien set her down gently, and Ianthe wobbled like a newborn lamb, her strength weakened by the toll of the night's exertions.

"Where is Louisa?" she asked.

"Safe," he replied in a hushed tone. "Upstairs in bed."

"I need to see her." Panic flared. She couldn't believe her daughter was truly
there
until she saw it with her own eyes.

"Ianthe—"

"Please," she whispered.

He seemed to read her mind with one glance. "This way," he said, without another word and led her upstairs.

"I have to fetch something first," she told him, swiftly disappearing into her own rooms and coming out moments later with something in her hand.

Lucien hesitated at the door to Louisa's room.

"Are you coming in?" she asked.

"Would I be welcome here?"

"Of course you'd be welcome—"

"I'm not her father, not to her. All she knows is another man. My own daughter doesn't know me, and whose..." Lucien broke off with a curse.

"Whose fault is that?" Ianthe whispered, the words tasting dry in her throat.

Lucien searched for the right words. "That's not what I meant to say."

"No?"

"We're both tired. This isn't a conversation we should be having in these circumstances. We'll discuss it in the morning," he murmured, then turned and strode away. "I need to have a bath."

Ianthe clung to the teddy bear in her hands, watching him go. She wouldn't cry. She would
not
. But those words had crushed a small piece of her.

You have earned his scorn
, something whispered in her mind.

"Well, what do you think?" Louisa's voice drew her attention, from inside the room.

"I think the bad lady and her friends had best consider fleeing for the Continent before your aunt decides to finish matters" –that was Remy– "as she's very angry with them."

"The bad lady said that Aunt Ianthe's not my aunt," Louisa whispered, and there she was, tucked up in bed, as Ianthe peered through the narrow crack. "They said that she's my mother. That she didn't want me and gave me away to Elsa and Jacob to raise me."

"What do you think?"

Louisa's voice grew small. "I know she's my mother. Elsa told me a year ago, but I don't think she didn't want me. She wouldn't have come for me if she didn't, would she?"

God bless Remington, but he leaned down, his elbows resting on the bed, and cupped Louisa's hands within his. "Your mother would have moved Heaven and Hell to get you back, because she loves you. I think she loved you enough to find some wonderful parents for you when she realized she couldn't look after you as well as they could, not when she was so young."

Ianthe had to clear her throat. That bitch. Of all the things that Morgana could have done, making Louisa feel that she was unloved was at the top of the list.

Remington's dark eyes raked over Ianthe as he heard the noise she made. "And now, if you'll excuse me, princess, I believe someone else wants a word with you."

Louisa's pale face turned toward her. Ianthe's heart both bloomed and sank within her chest. Remington patted Ianthe on the shoulder as he went out, but she barely saw him. Louisa filled her world.

"Hello," she whispered, taking one step toward the bed.

And then Louisa bolted out of the covers and threw herself at Ianthe, her thin arms wrapping around Ianthe's waist.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So sorry, Lou."

Louisa wiped away her tears. "I knew you'd come and save me. I waited every night for you."

A rush of heat crawled up her throat, and she dragged the little girl in tight, rocking her faintly. "I'll always come for you. If you believe nothing else, then believe that. I love you with all of my heart, Lou."

Louisa lifted her worried face. "What happened to mama? And papa? Mr. Cross wouldn't tell me."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, brushing the hair off her daughter's forehead. "There was nothing I could do for them when I found them. They had gone to Heaven, to live with the angels. I paid some men to have them both buried in the churchyard of St. Mary's—you know, the one with the roses that Elsa liked so much? And then I came looking for you."

The little girl rested her head on Ianthe's shoulder, looking like she was fresh out of tears. Those big blue eyes were red and swollen and brokenhearted. "What about Tubby?" she whispered.

Ianthe lay them both down on the bed, curling up beside her daughter. "He's safe. The O'Brien's are looking after him. Once this is all done, I'll take you home to fetch him." Reaching down, she pulled the gift from her pocket. "I do have something I've been keeping safe for you, however."

Louisa's eyes grew wide as she sighted the teddy bear. "Hilary!" she cried, and dragged the ragged bear to her chest as if it were the lifeline she so badly needed.

For the first time, Ianthe felt like she might not be so hopeless at this after all.

A
FTER
L
OUISA FELL ASLEEP
, Ianthe went looking for Lucien. Matters might be able to keep until morning, according to him, but she was certain she wouldn't sleep a wink. Not until she'd apologized.

She found him in the bathing chamber off his room and knocked lightly at the door. Lucien was shaving his jaw by the mirror, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his lean waist. Burns marked his back from the blast of sorcery earlier.

He paused.

"I know you don't want to speak to me just now," Ianthe said, shutting the door behind her, with a lump in her throat. "Just hear me out, please. I need to apologize.... for everything. For not telling you that you had a daughter, for not telling you... about the trouble I was in. I'm so sorry," she whispered, unable to look him in the eye anymore. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know—"

"If I were ally or enemy."

She nodded, her shoulders slumping. Lou was safe. But there were consequences to pay now. Tears made her vision blur. What was she going to tell Drake? How could she ever atone for this?

"I don't blame you for drugging me, or for not trusting me. All of the foolish things I've been saying these past few days... Why would you not believe them—that I meant to take my revenge upon you?" With a sigh, he stared down into the basin of water, his hands resting on the vanity. "I never meant any of them, you realize?" Finally, he looked up, the lance of his amber gaze burning through her. "That was my pride speaking. I was angry at you for your part in my incarceration—" he held up his hand as she moved to speak "—an incarceration which was duly earned. You were only doing what you were asked to do by your superior, and I was a danger to society at that stage. But my recent anger was merely a shield, an attempt to protect myself. Every day, every hour, I find myself yearning toward you. And I didn't like it one bit."

There was simply nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

Lucien dragged a towel over his face, patting his cheeks dry. "I also owe you an apology. I spoke rashly before in the hallway." His tone softened. "You did not deserve those words."

"I— What?" Of all the things she'd expected, this was not one of them. "I don't quite follow you."

Lucien raked his hands through his hair as he turned to survey the room. Each movement was brusque, like a caged bull suddenly released, aware of its close confines and trying desperately not to destroy all of the dainty furniture. "Yes, I'm angry. I won't deny that, but I have been thinking of what it would have been like for a young, unmarried woman of seventeen to find herself with child. From the little you've spoken of your father, I can't imagine he would have been pleased, and..." Lucien let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ianthe. You dealt as best you could with circumstances no young woman should ever have to deal with. I cannot judge you. I have no right to judge you. Please accept my humble apologies for my earlier words. I allowed my own feelings of abandonment, perhaps, to speak. It was wrong of me."

The entire world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"Thank you." The words were but a whisper. The truth of it, however, blazed across her heart, pouring pure sunshine through her veins.

If she dared believe it...

"I keep thinking of my father," he admitted, sinking down onto the edge of the bath and folding his hands in his lap. He looked down, dark hair falling forward across his face. "Of how I have hated him for what he did to me. I blamed him for not being there, and I told myself he could have tried harder. If he'd wanted me, he could have used his power to take me from Lord Rathbourne and raise me as his own. The entire time I was in Bedlam, I felt like an animal, poked and prodded by its keepers, and shunned as mad. And he put me there! He put me there, Ianthe. What other proof did I need? I hated him. Or maybe... Maybe I hated myself? Because I felt, deep in my heart, that I wasn't good enough for him." His head bowed. "All I could think of was Louisa looking at me and feeling exactly how I felt—that her father didn't want her."

"No, no it's not like that. She would never feel like that." Ianthe stepped forward, into the vee of his thighs, one hand sinking into his hair. He pressed his face against her middle, clasping her roughly around the hips as he dragged her closer to him. "Drake tried to visit you once. In Bedlam. It was toward the start, but you... reacted poorly. It was decided that it would be best if he didn't visit again. At least, not until you were lucid."

The look in his eyes... as if she'd cut out his heart. And then realization began to dawn. "I remember."

"He wanted to explain to you why this was the best course of action. The Council—they had decided that you had already raised a demon once, which made you a risk. They wanted you executed. You will never know how hard he fought for you, Luc. And Louisa... She has a heart the size of the world. She will know the truth, because I will tell her. It was my fault, not yours."

Lucien linked fingers with her. "That doesn't sit quite right either."

Ianthe tipped her chin up. "I made my choices. This is my price to pay."

"Was she happy there?" he asked gruffly.

At least she could grant him that. "She was happy. She was loved. They were wonderful people."

"Were?"

"Morgana killed them." That was all she could manage with the way her throat locked up. Ianthe closed her eyes. "I found their bodies a couple of hours after the first letter arrived. It was the first place I went."

Delicate butterfly kisses danced over her closed eyes as he stood. Ianthe blinked them open when Lucien drew back from her, his hands cupping her cheeks so carefully.