Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (38 page)

"What do you plan to do? About her?" Dread turned her insides again, but she had to ask. Legally, Louisa belonged to him if he chose to pursue the matter.

Lucien's expression grew grim. "I believe that's something we'll discuss when all of this is over. I'm not going to make any more rash decisions, Ianthe, and it's our decision to make, not yours, not mine. I intend only for my daughter's future happiness. She will need a mother." His gaze dropped, as if to hide the regret she saw there. "And she barely knows her father."

Hers. Louisa was hers. A thrill of elation and dread ran through her.
What type of mother could I ever—
She stopped the thought there. This time she had options. She was financially secure, and though her reputation was tarnished, she had a place in the Order, if not society. All Ianthe had ever dreamed of was a garden of her own and a little girl, playing hide-and-seek in the hedges with her, squealing with laughter. She wanted that more than anything. "I intend to be her mother," she stated, and Lucien paused, as if digesting this fact, then nodded.

That was a relief. It gave her resolve strength. If he believed she could do it, then so could she. "And I want her to know her father."

"There will be questions," he stated, "if you choose to adopt her. She looks too much like you, and I fear the resemblance will strengthen as she ages." Something wistful filled his expression. "She's beautiful."

"I shall deal with those questions as they arise."

Again that hesitation. "There is another solution to consider."

"You wish to adopt her as your ward?"

"Yes, however, not in the way you imagine."

"Oh?" He could read her mind now?

Lucien took a step toward her, the backs of his fingers trailing over the smooth slope of her upper arms. Ianthe shivered. He seemed absorbed in the process, and then the sharp glint of his gaze met hers. "We could marry."

That pronouncement took all of the air out of the room. "We could
what
?"

"Marry," he repeated. "I could adopt her as my own. Everybody will know the truth anyway–she has my eyes. This way Louisa would have the benefits of both parents, as well as a certain type of legitimacy. She would have the backing of my name and position. Nobody would dare call her a bastard, and if they did, I would crush them."

"Yes, but..." Her mind was reeling. "I thought you wished free of this... this bond?"
Of me.

"I did. Once. And then I realized there is not a single person I may lay claim upon in this world. Nobody but you. You have stood at my back when I have fought, and guarded me when I was not strong enough to face our enemies. I want to know you in every sense, Ianthe. I want you to trust me. I want..." And here he faltered. "I want to give you my trust. Marry me. Show me that I'm not alone, not anymore. Teach me to love my father. Teach me to know my daughter."

It was the best thing to do for Louisa, but Ianthe couldn't help wondering if it were the best thing for
her
? For Lucien owned a piece of her heart, her soul, but did she have any of the same claims upon him?

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

"Of?"

"Daring to trust..." That it would all be all right.

He understood. It gleamed in those dangerous eyes. Lucien took her hand and turned it, exposing the intimate bareness of her wrist. "Ours has not been the easiest relationship," he admitted, lowering his mouth to the base of her hand. Soft lips brushed over her skin.

"I think... I'm not sure how you see me. I was so convinced you still craved vengeance."

"Perhaps that's because I'm not the one who has trouble seeing you for what you are. You doubt my intentions because you doubt your own worth."

Ianthe stood arrested. Was it doubt about her own worthiness that challenged her, rather than his? She'd always considered herself fearless and determined, but when it came to this, to a place where she was laid bare, all of her old vulnerabilities rose to the fore.

"Oh, my goodness," she whispered. It was true. All of it was true.

"Do you wish to see yourself through my eyes?"

Coldness shivered through her heart, but that was fear. Doubt. Unworthiness. Those old demons that haunted her. Ianthe inhaled sharply, heat rising through her cheeks. "I'm not sure."

"Be brave," he whispered, stroking her hips with those talented hands. "You have a lover's soul, a healer's soul. Passionate, affectionate—when you can give yourself over to trust—and nurturing." His hands stroked her hair out of her face. "Every time I have faced doubt in the past week, your first instinct has been to protect me from it, or to help me see past it. You kiss my scars, as if they are precious, and constantly tell me I was not at fault, when you will not set aside your own guilt. You see my mental scars as something to be overcome, not something to be ashamed of, and with you by my side, it makes me feel as though I
can
overcome my vulnerabilities. I heal, because of you, Ianthe. I see a future unfold, because of you. I hope, and it is all you. You are my first champion, but when it comes to yourself, your courage falters." Anger lit in his eyes. "Your father deserves to be hung, drawn, and quartered for what he has done to you."

Heat flooded her eyes, and then wetness. "I know what he told me was always lies designed to trap me in a cage of doubt, but no matter how much I tell myself that, it's difficult... difficult to believe."

"It's terrifying to admit that I might never wield my power again."

Ianthe stroked his hand. "Perhaps... we can both work on our weaknesses. Together."

"Together," he whispered. "Marry me, Ianthe. Not for Louisa. Not for me. For yourself. Trust me."

Ianthe closed her eyes. She would do it for Louisa
and
for herself–for that trembling, well-guarded scrap of her heart that barely dared. She would make herself vulnerable to him. If he wanted to cut out her heart, then she was serving it up to him on a platter.
I love you.
For a moment, she was frightened that she'd said it aloud, but Lucien gave no sign of hearing it. His hands stroked the silk that covered her hips as his hungry gaze roved over her. Patiently, he waited for her answer.

"Very well."

"Very well," he grumbled, but his hands tightened on her hips, as if he'd feared that she'd say no. "I offer her an earldom, and she says 'very well'."

"What would you have me say?" Her heart felt curiously light, unfettered for the first time in years.

"I would have you overwrought with pleasure, my dear." A faint smile touched his mouth, a teasing light in his eyes. "But perhaps I know just how to take you there."

"Or perhaps," she responded, sliding her hands up over his bare shoulders, "I will take
you
there."

His eyes lit with curiosity. "You're going to dump me in the bath if you're not careful."

"Well, we can't be having that." She slid her hands down the chiseled muscle of his torso and abdominals, tugging a finger into the knot of his towel. "It would be a shame to get you all wet."

Slowly, she pushed him back toward the bath. He went down, one hand gripping the bath rim, his legs still hanging over the edge. The towel was sopping wet, unraveling to reveal the hard length of his cock. Water slopped everywhere as his long body folded into the bath.

"I can see that you like getting your own way," he said, with an interested gleam in his eye.

Ianthe bit her lip, trying to suppress her laughter. "I'm so terribly sorry. But look... Now you're all wet. Whatever shall we do?"

Those amber eyes narrowed. "Well, you can start by getting rid of this." He tossed the drenched towel at her, and it splatted against her chest. "Then you can climb in here yourself, madam."

Ianthe dropped the towel. "So impatient," she admonished, grabbing a fistful of her skirts and stepping into the bath.

He dragged her down into his lap. Hot water wet her thighs and waist. The crepe of her skirts floated around them.

One hand cupped her nape, dragging her down for his kiss.

Here she was confident. He wanted her. The truth of that could not be more apparent. At least, no matter what happened, they would always have this. A way to communicate without words... A means to bridge the gap between them. And she trusted this, if nothing else.

A
FTERWARD
, they lay in the still darkness of his room, limbs entwined, and naked flesh pressed against each other. Lucien stroked her back with trailing fingertips, as though lost deep in thought.

"Having regrets?" Ianthe teased, tiptoeing her fingers up the hard plane of his stomach.

Lucien shifted, turning so that they were face-to-face, their palms linked. "About?"

"The thought of being leg-shackled?"

Heat darkened his eyes, and his palm curled over her hip, sliding down to cup her bare bottom. "There are other compensations, I'm finding." He leaned forward to tongue her breast. "Like having you at my beck and call, day and night."

Ianthe moaned, submitting to his skilled mouth. They weren't the words she'd hoped for, but then, she was the one who'd begun in a teasing manner. Cupping his cheek, she forced his mouth from her skin. If he started this again, she'd never get any sleep. "Lucien."

"I like that." A rumble sounded from deep within his chest, like a cat's purr. Lucien tucked his head beneath her jaw, nibbling at her throat. "My name on your lips."

"I like it too." Unbidden, she tilted her face up, allowing him access to her exposed throat. Soft lips traced her collarbone. It was a slower seduction than any he'd undertaken before.

But then, it had never meant anything before beyond sex.

Ianthe bit her lip. She could feel the change between them, tenuous and delicate. He touched her with reverent hands, curious and explorative, as though he had all the time in the world to learn her. Or as though he was intricately interested in each inch of skin beneath his touch. She didn't know what to make of it. All she knew was that she liked it. Immensely. It felt like she was a precious, precious thing, held in his protective hands.

It felt like he cared, like she was the only woman he wanted. Ever.

With a sigh, her thighs parted, and Lucien came over her, the tip of his cock breaching her soft core. One hand cupped under her bottom, he thrust hard, filling her to the core. Ianthe gasped.

"Gods woman, I can never get enough of you." Lucien nipped her chin, then soothed the small ache with a kiss. "You feel so fucking good."

And so did he. Every inch of him burned within her, his weight a welcome...
Every inch.
Her eyes went wide.

"Stop!" Ianthe's hand pressed against his chest, staying him.

Faint light from the fire warmed the sharp line of his cheek and lit those devilish eyes. "What's wrong?"

"It feels too good," she whispered, "because we forgot the sheath!"

Lucien groaned and buried his face in the pillow beside her ear. "I forgot." His hips gave one last tiny, yearning thrust. "Not that I would regret it. Lady's choice, however." Resting on his forearms, he began to withdraw.

"Wait," she whispered.

Their eyes met.

Ianthe couldn't quite find the words.

"Are you going to torture me all night?" Suppressed emotion strained within his muscles as he sighed. "Ianthe? Do you want me to get the sheath?"

Every little move rocked him within her. Ianthe swallowed, her fingers curling over his shoulders. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you would not regret it?"

Their eyes met again. Something seemed to shift in Lucien's expression.
Yes
. With a soft shudder of his hips, he thrust within her again. Slow. Steady. Taunting. His decision, at least, had been made. Ianthe shifted beneath him, her inner muscles locking tight around him. Her palms softened on his shoulders. Her heart was full to bursting; this decision had consequences.

But he had asked for her trust. He had asked for marriage. If there were to be consequences from this, then a little part of her welcomed them.

A baby. The thought both terrified her and exhilarated her. The phantom ache in her heart, the part of her that had never nursed her daughter, desperately wanted a second chance to prove herself.

"If it happened, I would welcome it," Lucien whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

"What will be, will be." This time, she would not be alone. This time, she was not so frightened. She could do this, if it happened. She felt closer to Lucien than she'd ever felt before.

Tucking her knee over his elbow, he shifted her position, so that his next thrust took her by surprise.

"Oh, my goodness!"

Lucien smiled his devil's smile. "Like that, do you?" He fucked her again, nice and slow, a hint of strain tightening his jaw.

His cock rasped over something deep within her. Ianthe shifted restlessly. "Yes. Yes!"

"More?"

"More!" she gasped. "Oh, Lucien! Lucien!"

The kiss took her by surprise, his mouth seeking hers in the warm dark, his tongue plunging within to tangle with her own. Hips pistoning within her, he shifted the angle until his cock rasped over something deep within her. Ianthe came apart with a gentle cry, her fingers clenching in his sweaty hair, her face screwed up in ecstasy.

Lucien came with a soft grunt, the muscles beside his spine trembling beneath her hand as he flexed within her. The spill of his seed wet her, and then with a gasp, he collapsed on top of her. Hot breath burned her throat, and the press of his weight left her breathless before he rolled to one hip.

One thing became clear in the quiet room as they caught their breaths together.

Their heartbeats were echoing as one.

The bond was intensifying.

Lucien caught her eye as he bowed to kiss her lips.
So it does
.

Ianthe paused, brushing her fingertips against his cheek.
I heard that.

Lucien merely smiled. Rolling onto his side, his cock slid from her damp body as he tucked her against his hip. His large hand splayed over her midriff, tracing the faint silvery lines that speared out like a corona from her navel. "It makes sense now, why you could never allow yourself pleasure before."