The Serpent’s Lair

Chapter One

Ivy’s father would not listen to reason.

“My darling girl, a quick trip through the woods, a pleasant exchange and I’ll be back before eleven.” Her father pushed his spectacles farther up his nose and finished placing a bell jar over an African violet.

Rain spattered the glass-paned walls and roof of the greenhouse. The cold outside and lush heat within gave grounds enough to stay indoors. Ivy turned from the greenery in front of her. “You can’t imagine Mr. Faraday will want company at this hour.”

It was doubtful the gentleman in question would want company at any hour given his reputation. Back from India a scarce few months and the gossip of London had reached the village at an astounding pace. Whispers among the servants told of a heathen who had spent too long from the civilization of England and showed no interest in the family’s estate until his father’s death.

“I offer him the opportunity to a tête-à-tête. If you could have seen his leopard orchid, you wouldn’t wonder at my need to meet with him. Indeed, I believe you’d be accompanying me. Which you would be entirely welcome to do.”

“The road will be half river by now and you barely over your chest cold.”

“A trifle.” Jar and plant under his arm, he strode from the greenhouse.

Ivy had no choice but to follow. As he donned his greatcoat, Ivy held the violet for him and noticed a widening tear under the arm of the coat where the shabby cloth protested its age. Their two servants had left for the city for better employment and hadn’t been replaced yet. In their absence, Ivy and her father’s home and situation had started an inevitable decline she needed to rectify. She handed him his scarf. “A dozen invitations in two months and all ignored. Going to him now, unannounced and uninvited, is the worst breach of etiquette. Please, Father.”

“You stand on manners?” He chucked her under the chin. “Am I to expect you to retire from your studies and spend the days pining for Paris fashions and mooning after some fine young man?”

She hated when he teased. “How do you know he’ll want to make the exchange?”

“Like calls to like. A man of the earth must acknowledge his fellow and let etiquette be hanged.” He buttoned up his coat and retrieved the delicate burden, then looked as if he forgot his mission for the moment. “You standing there, you’re the image of your mother. Worried at my foolishness.” His sigh echoed in the hall.

Ivy straightened his collar and knotted his scarf for him. She stared at him levelly. The queen’s dour portrait on the wall seconded her concern. “Promise you will accept it if he doesn’t wish to see you and that you’ll be back by eleven.”

“I promise.”

“Honor bright?”

“Honor bright.” He crooked his pinky and she entwined hers with it. A kiss on her nose and he was out the door.

She forgave her father for his fixation. Ever since the Royal Horticultural Society’s expedition three months past, he was filled with nothing but praise of the highest sort for Mr. Faraday, never mind the slight green tinge of envy that edged his words. Her father had assumed that his reputation as a brilliant -- albeit eccentric -- cultivator would be unrivaled, but returned humbled by the appearance of Faraday, the only son of a captain who died in service to the British navy. She wondered at a man who could wring such approval from her father. Such a feat was not completed with ease.

Reginald Shelton wasn’t a hard man, but he was often oblivious to everything outside his immediate interests. His single-mindedness did not usually allow for the distractions of ethics, domesticity or daughter. Her education had been spotty. Early years spent in school with lessons augmented by whatever her father thought she should know. The science of horticulture and botany, techniques of fencing and swordplay and a concentration in seventeenth-century tragedy made up the bulk of her knowledge. All other fields of study, aside from the superficial scrapings of schooling, were sorely lacking.

The clock in the hall struck nine. Worrying over her father’s impulse would not be constructive. If bed held no temptation, she certainly wouldn’t spend the time until her father’s return wringing her hands in the parlor. Ivy went back to the greenhouse.

A walk among the plants, checking the soil of a few specimens and adding a teaspoon of a special blend of nutrients to an azalea, abolished worry. This knack of rejecting any softer emotion made her schoolmates of years ago think her dull. There was no fault in refusing to fret over a torn dress or spilt pudding. No use came of succumbing to hysteria. Bad winds would blow, but the good would follow. She didn’t consider this the whimsy of optimism, but the utmost of pragmatism.

What she wouldn’t give to find a companion of the same philosophy. Her studies and father’s company should have fulfilled her, but a hollowness persisted. Society, even in their small village, pushed her to the outside and nothing she could do now would change that. The servants had known more about the rules that must be obeyed, and for a woman who took pride in the pursuit of knowledge, her ignorance carried an acute sting. Her style of dress was out of fashion and the wrong words would be uttered at the wrong time, reminding her that the smallest social occasion was rife with pitfalls. She wished for the courage to cut the tenuous thread that held her entrapped in the social order, but the act of will required couldn’t be summoned. Instead she bore the judgment of the public and herself, taking solace in isolation.

Her roses sprawled in the wooden frames at the north wall, a riot of color out of season and dearer because of it. It didn’t matter to her that roses had fallen out of favor in recent years. The delicate pink of the flowers she’d created in honor of her mother cheered her. The soft petals feathered her wrist as she dug her fingers into the rich dark earth of their beds. A tune escaped her lips, half croon, half hum. She couldn’t remember precisely when she heard it and chalked it up to a childhood lullaby. The blurred memory of her mother’s sweet face rose in her mind.

Her father might be nearly unequaled in botany, but she thought his perception in personal matters sadly skewed. She bore almost no resemblance to her mother aside from the superficial commonalities of brown hair and brown eyes. Her mother had been slender and delicate. The manual toil of her research made Ivy muscled in places that should be softer and a fondness for meals added to an aversion to the self-denial regimes of the age curved her figure to a fullness no line of fashion could hide.

The temperature in this section of the house needed adjustment. She raised the heat and began to gather ceramic pots for the next morning’s plantings. The door swished open and she turned, expecting to see her father. Disappointment made her set down the pots with more force than necessary.

“I passed your father on the road and he told me I might stop by to keep you safe.” The man before her had the good sense to look a bit chagrined.

“I don’t need safe-keeping.” Not from you. Her father had a fondness for the man and counted him a loyal assistant and supporter. Ivy counted him a tragic lapse in judgment.

“Then I’ll keep you company.” He came up behind her and his thin fingers stroked the back of her neck. Her skin crawled beneath his touch.

She twisted and shoved the stack of pots into his chest. “Not that I need the company, but you might as well make yourself useful, Freddy. These need to be cleaned and put away on the shelf below the asters.”

She breathed easier when he obeyed. Two years ago on the eve of her twenty-seventh birthday, she had decided, resolute in the notion that marriage lay beyond her destiny and that her maidenly virtue was tiresome, to partake of the forbidden fruit. Her options were limited. The seduction, such as it was, minimal.

He hadn’t left her alone since. She didn’t rue her decision, but it struck her as unfair to still be paying for a mistake two years after the occurrence. His small, close-set eyes followed her whenever they happened to be in the same room. The smallest excuse served to have him touch her, his nose inevitably wrinkling in barely suppressed excitement when he chanced to connect his fingers to naked skin. His scent left an unpleasantness in her nose and mind when he drew close. A mild foulness underlay his preferred soap and cologne. No wonder she shuddered. A lesser woman would run shrieking from the room.

It wasn’t his fault she didn’t quiver at his touch or yearn for another night of passion. She didn’t love him and in all honesty, didn’t see why people made a fuss about the physical aspects of an intimate relationship. The night spent with him hadn’t been dismal, more of a disappointment she didn’t wish to repeat.

Freddy’s work with the pots kept him at a reasonable distance with his back turned. The perfume of the roses overcame the residuals of his odor. One example overflowed its table, trailing its long green strands to the floor. Ivy teased out one vine and wrapped it around her forearm. The thorns bit her wrists and she closed her eyes to the sensation, her skin bound and bitten. Her heart fluttered and she gave herself momentarily to the thrill before returning to her senses. The tendril was adjusted to its proper place and she examined her wrist. The indentations of the flower’s fangs were absent of blood.

What was wrong with her? No decent woman yearned for what she did in the recesses of her heart. Shadow lovers with ropes and lashes populated her late-night fantasies when the nearness of sleep and oppression of solitude forced her to indulge her own private pleasure. That she should wish to bear another’s mark on her flesh and soul. Such notions surfaced at times and were buried beneath the wool and linen of propriety.

No wonder Freddy disappointed her. No man could do anything but. No one could leave his mark on her body, mind or heart.

She stooped and pulled a sack of soil from underneath the table. Cover gone, an oversized rat blinked at her looking as if it were deciding whether to run or spring. She kicked and it still stayed, the boldness astounding her. On the table lay a trowel and she grabbed it up, ready to wing it at the rodent.

“What on earth are you doing?” Freddy set the clean pots down.

She gestured at the animal. “I’ve seen more of these monsters in the past two months than I can remember.” Her hand, ready to throw the trowel, was arrested by Freddy’s grasp.

“He’s harmless.”

“He’s unnatural. Staring at us as if he could contribute to the conversation.” An odd sickness infiltrated her stomach.

Freddy released her and bent forward. His hands darted out and caught the rat.

The sight of him cradling the large rodent and stroking its furry back and naked tail increased her queasiness. “Put it down before it bites you.”

“Aw, he’s not going to bite.” He looked down and clucked his tongue. “There’s a good fellow. Don’t you want to say hello, Ivy?”

She didn’t know why the two of them bothered her, but she turned to face the table. “If you’re not going to kill it, place it outside. I’m sure one of the neighbor’s cats must be prowling at this hour.”

Having her back to him made her aware of the vulnerability of her position. If, instead of his clammy fingers against her neck, she felt the sharp pricks of little claws, she might scream. Her imagination forced her to face him. “It’s disgusting and doesn’t belong here.”

A mixture of hurt and anger grew on Freddy’s face. “Maybe this is the only home he knows. Who are you to banish him?”

The conversation was quickly becoming unbearable. She straightened her shoulders. “Then take it home and make it your chum.”

The aisle was wide enough for her to pass without coming too near the puzzling duo. She shut the door behind her and crossed the front hall to the parlor. Her hands shook as she took her father’s latest treatise on ferns from the bookshelf, but by the time Freddy came into the room, without his little friend, she was sequestered on the chair closest to the fire.

Asking if he’d always had an affinity for rodents perched on her tongue before she realized an affirmative would bring on a repulsive line of conversation and prolong his leaving. The clock struck ten. She stood up and walked to the front door. The rain had stopped and the streets were empty. “I suppose Father let the time escape him. I imagine he’s only a little way up the road.” She put on her coat. “It won’t do any harm to go and meet him.”

Freddy protested. “At this hour? Better wait for him here.”

She rapidly fastened her buttons. “I hate waiting. He’ll be happy to see me.”

“I’ll go with you.”

As odd as her traipsing about at this time of night would be, far more incriminating would be walking with a man. She might balk at decorum and fustiness, but her reputation wouldn’t recover from the blow if she accepted his offer. “No need. Thank you for your company, but you must be tired and I would feel wretched if I kept you from your home any longer. It would be the worst kind of selfishness.”

She punctuated her sentence by handing him his hat and coat. The door was yanked open with enthusiasm and she pushed him out into the night. His smile was grim but he donned his coat and hat on the front step and left.

A lantern was retrieved from the hall cupboard and she squared her shoulders before she too left the house.

The shuttered light cast a thin beam in front of her. At the village boundary, she paused. Faraday’s estate was a little less than five miles away, an easy enough walk in daylight, at night a different creature altogether. Her father was probably on his way home. She wouldn’t have to trek the whole five miles. She’d run into him on the way.

The hope steeled her resolve and kept step with her for half the distance. It disappeared as the trees became thicker and pressed closer to the road. One wouldn’t call it a wood while the sun shined, yet the late hour added a density to the grove. Ivy’s footsteps quickened on the dirt road. The light of her lantern threw a small circle around her and a tiny section of the path in front of her. The space beyond the gleam was pitch black and the shadows of overhanging branches and gathered darkness hedged her in. While she wouldn’t admit to fear, she did confess a certain gratitude, when the trees thinned and farmland opened before her.

The expectation of her father’s appearance finally died as she crested the hill to Faraday’s mansion and approached the massive iron gates. In the dim light, two stone figures perched on either side of the entrance. She raised her lantern for a better look and wished she hadn’t. The statues were squat gargoyles, bearing a decidedly reptilian likeness with narrow heads and forked tongues spilling from their mouths. A swift downward motion cast the creatures into darkness, but their grimaces implanted themselves in her mind.

Crushed stone shifted beneath her boots as she followed the roadway up to the house. The building itself loomed on the very top of the hill, its hulk blotting out the view of the estate behind it. Each window was a black eye and only the scent of hearth gave proof of occupancy.

Her thoughts blasted her father. She never expected to go inside to fetch him and now the inevitable rudeness caused no little distress. The front entrance lay a mere ten feet before her, but before she disturbed the servants and master of the manor, there was no harm in taking a look around. Perhaps her father might be positioned near a window where a subtle gesture would attract his attention without the need to breach the sanctity of the house’s calm.

Her light bobbed ahead of her, a cheery sprite as she began her reconnaissance. Even after she told herself that her mission was innocent, the worm of wrongdoing made her step quickly and lightly on the grass. She traced the path along the front of the house and down its expansive side, the looming stone walls doing nothing to calm her perturbed spirit. In fact, the closeness of her inspection worsened the misgivings she had at the gate. The decorative brush scratched her arm forcing her away from the path and farther onto the lawn.

A final turn and she arrived at the rear of the house. There the sight of a glass-enclosed addition consoled her with its familiarity. Though she counted this greenhouse twice and more the size of her father’s, the comfort of its dimmed glow heartened her. Her nerves subsided as she pictured her father and the reclusive master of the house inside, most likely forgetting the hour due to a trade of scientific theories and glasses of port. Slate slabs marked the way to the house and she followed the stones with lighter heart. Until the scrunch of glass beneath her heel halted her step. She swung her lantern in front of her. Shards glistened in its narrow beam and the motion illuminated a crumpled heap just outside of the circle of light. Cautious now, she moved forward and raised the lantern higher.

A mound of black dirt, a shattered jar and the sad remains of an African violet were scattered on the slab. Ivy had one moment for the items to register significance before she heard the scrape of footsteps behind her. The lantern was ripped from her grasp and her arms were roughly seized and pinned to her sides.

Chapter Two

One of her captors threw her over his shoulder while the other sped ahead, the light from her lantern casting a wild light with his hurried pace. She watched her trek around the house in reverse and from an ignoble upside-down position. Her discomfort played second role to her awe at the ease with which the man bore her. She wasn’t thistledown, but felt no strain in the man’s shoulders from her weight. She grabbed at his waist when he mounted the steps and entered the front door.

The man pushed aside the door to a library. Even from her compromised vantage, Ivy could tell at a glance the room’s purpose. Bookcases towered along the walls surrounded a huge hearth. She expected to be thrown on the rug, but her bearer set her on the floor with a gentleness belied by the stern expression on his face. Once her balance was assured, he stepped to the side, his hands behind his back.

“Ivy, dear girl.” Her father gazed at her, hope and shame in stark conflict on his face. She went to him relieved, hands outstretched that her search was at its end.

“Forgive me for interrupting what has all the makings of a charming family reunion.” Ivy didn’t let go of her father’s hand as she turned in the direction of the voice.

A figure emerged from the shadows created by the brilliant firelight. He rested his tall form against the desk. His brown eyes reflected a dark irony and his face and hands bore the tint of many days in the fierce sun. Dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, too long for fashion but not unappealing in its length. His shoulders and arms filled out his simple white shirt, and for all the ease of his posture, he had about him a coiled energy.

Her father stepped in front of her. “Leave her be, Faraday. She came here for me and has nothing to do with this.”

The master of the house smiled. Ivy had seen warmer countenances on statues. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have no say. What am I to think but she is here for the same reason? Should I expect a steady parade of your offspring come to rob my house at ungodly hours of the night?”

She didn’t want to suffer any more slights. “A poor attempt at humor, sir. I beg pardon for intruding on your quietude, but now that I have found my father, we will take your leave and intrude no longer. Good night.”

They made it as far as the door before Mr. Faraday’s sardonic voice stopped them. “What about the attempted theft?”

She started to protest when she noticed the guilt on her father’s face.

“My man here found your father in my greenhouse with the intent of making off with a prized orchid.”

Despite misgivings and her own shame, Ivy whirled on the man. “Your accusation must be unfounded. My father came here with every intention of a trade.”

Faraday’s white teeth gleamed in contrast to the dark red of his lips and the tan of his face. “I’ve no doubt his initial intent was an even exchange. But I fear my refusal drove him to desperate lengths. I cannot recall. Are thieves still hanged in this part of the country?”

Her father sagged against her and she spent the moments in steadying him to urge her mind to find a solution. None such came.

“I’m afraid my sole option is to alert the authorities.” His long fingers toyed with a bottle of ink on the desk, giving every appearance of helplessness and unless she was mistaken, anticipation.

She changed her earlier tone. “Why call the police on a respected member of the community who is not without support or friends? What would that accomplish?”

“Respected? The village buzzes with the exploits of mad botanist Reginald Shelton and his spinster daughter.”

Her eyes burned at his insult and the pettiness and pervasiveness of provincial gossip. The man continued. “Unless I find an alternative, the police are my only recourse.”

Again, that anticipation. If he expected her to conjure an alternative, no matter how much she would like to save her father from the embarrassment of an arrest, her mind was empty. She gaped at her father, with a wild hope that he would come up with a plan. The expression on his face showed only distress and prodded her to speak. “If you could find a compromise, I pray you keep us in suspense no longer.”

Faraday pushed off the desk and closed the distance between them. The other men in the room vanished from her perception as he neared her. She took an involuntary step back and bumped into her father.

“Your father mentioned a trade.”

At last. Then her soaring hope plummeted. “The last trade is strewn on your walk, unlikely to be recovered.”

Her father offered, “I open the doors to my plants and research to you in exchange for forgetting this unfortunate unpleasantness.” He coughed into his fist. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this initiated a sterling affiliation.”

While she listened, Ivy watched Faraday. The man nodded during the little speech, but Ivy would wager he had no intention of accepting the proposal of plants or partnership. He stroked his chin as if considering but then shook his head in rueful resignation. “I’ve no use for more flowers or research at this time.”

The befuddlement on her father’s face stung Ivy’s heart, and although she spurned base emotions, a cold fury curled her hands into fists. Her fingernails bit into the meat of her palms as she considered Faraday’s mockery of herself and sole member of her family. The man had no honor. To be sure, the initial trespass was theirs, but the error was made in innocence or as much innocence as an invasion could be considered. At least her father had the higher goal of a union between two great minds. Faraday sought only to humiliate them. She planted her feet on the carpet, standing tall and staring directly into the face of the man. The flames from the fireplace put gold in his eyes and threw gilded tints in his hair and on his skin.

Why would she be thinking of that now? She cleared her mind of all but one idea. “End this. We stand in front of you at your mercy, but not to be mocked or jeered. If my father can offer you nothing of interest, we will leave. I fully expect you to send one of your men to the police. Please tell them to call on the house in the morning. My father and I are early risers. Any hour after dawn would suffice.”

“Ivy.” Her father looked deflated and betrayed. She would have plucked out her heart and offered it to Faraday if the gift would have removed the misery from her father’s face.

To her surprise, Faraday’s expression carried nothing but appreciation. He eyed her as if making some unspoken confirmation within. “I did not say your father had nothing of value.” He returned her stare with a calculated interest.

His unspoken meaning took her father longer to grasp. When he did, Ivy feared that he might go into a fit of apoplexy. “Absolutely not. Heavens, you cannot ask this of me or my daughter. A mere two decades before the advent of the twentieth century, such a notion can’t be countenanced. I would gladly rot in prison before I tendered my daughter to the mercies of a fiend.”

“Fiend?” The word put a curve in his lips. “We are fellow scientists. I merely present a resolution to a disagreeable situation.”

“My daughter is not some object to be traded.”

Faraday sighed. “A pity. I’ll have one of my men alert the constable.”

Ivy gave in as she saw her father inhale for more inspiration. “I’ll do it.”

The satisfaction of seeing surprise on both men’s faces levied the weight of her decision, though she wondered why the master of the house should show surprise when the origin of the idea was his. “Ivy, dear girl. You don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

She didn’t, not entirely. If it saved her father, though, her commitment was worth it. The portion of her that allowed no self-deception inserted another motive. She was curious, and drawn to the man. The daft idea of the exchange carried a certain dark whimsy seldom found in the rigidity of her life, a daring she didn’t think herself capable of.

The crook of Faraday’s lips held the same sarcasm as his gaze. He expected her to shrink from his proposition, affronted by his audacity. The man had obviously spent too long away from England to forget the staunch backbone of her daughters.

Faraday gestured and one of the shadows detached itself from the wall. He turned his back and spoke in low tones. The servant left. “The hour’s late and I’m sure you have a wish to be in your own home. My man is bringing the carriage. He’ll drive you.”

Surely he wasn’t liberating both of them. Ivy couldn’t comprehend Faraday’s shift in mood. Reginald grabbed her elbow and would have pulled her from the room if she didn’t dig her heels into the rug. She moistened her lips. “About our agreement?”

His smile grew wider and more sardonic. “I’ll send the carriage at eight tomorrow night. Don’t keep the driver waiting.”

He made no move to show them to the door and the shadowy statues were motionless. They found their way out and into the carriage. On the seat sat a bell jar containing an exotic bloom. Reginald placed it carefully on his lap.

“It’s beautiful,” Ivy said. “I see why you desired it.”

“At what cost? I fear my greed left you to pay.” He ran his hand over the glass and refused to look at her. She didn’t attempt to break the silence of the ride home.

* * *

At half past seven the next day, Reginald threatened to lock her in her room, fortified as he was by two pints of stout lager. He wasn’t a panderer and wouldn’t see his daughter compromised for his misjudgment. He’d notify the authorities himself and see if they had the gall to take the blackguard’s word over his own.

Her battered trunk was next to the door. She didn’t know how much to pack and erred on the side of a few days. She wore her best dress with its form-fitting bodice serving almost as well as a corset and made sure to have the correct number of petticoats beneath it. The dress might not be current, but its cut and dark blue color were an improvement over most of her drab wardrobe. Her father’s diatribe disrupted her trail of thought and became harder to ignore when he grabbed her arm and shook it as punctuation.

She eased her poor limb out of his grasp. “I gave my word. I’m sure Mr. Faraday wants nothing more than a quiet conversation.” An outright falsehood. The man didn’t look to be satisfied with conversation.

“Then why didn’t he talk to me?”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You trespassed on his grounds and injured his dignity. I make a token show of recompense, he serves tea and all is well. I’ll most likely be back by eleven.”

Her father’s bottom lip quivered and she straightened the collar of her coat in order to discount it. “If I’m not back tonight, assume Mr. Faraday made a civilized offer of hospitality.”

“You’ll stay the night? What will the neighbors say?”

“You raised and educated me in direct contradiction to what you deemed society’s limitations. We don’t give a fig about what the neighbors say.” She wanted to be off, but didn’t want to appear too eager. As hard as her father’s sadness was to see, she harbored no wish to see accusations mingled amid tears.

“Are you certain you don’t want Freddy to accompany you?”

She groaned. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Not yet. I can’t imagine his outrage if he heard. Your chances with him might be ruined.”

“My chances with Freddy are not in danger because there’s nothing to be endangered. You know this, Father. I understand his value to you as an assistant, but please believe me when I say I don’t hold him in the same esteem. Or any esteem for that matter.”

“I know the girls of this day feign a coyness to preserve decorum.”

“I’m not a girl of this day. I’m a woman who knows her mind and heart.” The threat of revealing too much to her father of all people caused her to stifle her words. She couldn’t tell him she wanted this adventure. The risk tempted her, the knowledge to be gained by the forbidden bite. This action stood out from those in her ordinary life, as satisfying as she found it, where the only risk was safe failure in the bounds of scientific method and experiment. Where the utter safety at turns enraged and maddened her to the point of screaming. She had resigned herself to her existence, but now she couldn’t help that the chance to be reckless seemed a much needed blow for her independence.

Her father recognized it. The indignation blew out of him. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know.” She fixed him a supper to sop up the lager and sat him at the table when the bell rang. The driver was precise in his timing. The sight of her father, the large square of white napkin tucked into his collar, his mussed hair and returned misery haunted her down the steps and into the carriage.

Someone always had to pay a price.

Chapter Three

The carriage sped along the village streets and brought her to the door of Faraday’s house before her father’s sad face left her mind. Never mind the discomfort of arriving at a strange man’s step, unescorted, for goodness knows what reason.

A grim-faced servant relieved her of her belongings and bid her to wait in the hall. She shrugged off her overcoat and slung it over her arm. The temperature of the house stifled her and a bead of perspiration trickled down her neck as she wondered where Faraday was and how long he’d make her wait for him.

He wanted her unnerved, she deduced. This anticipation would put most off their game, but not her. If he expected her to lose all calm in these few minutes, he didn’t know her.

When the library door opened, Ivy jumped. Luckily, it wasn’t Faraday. The petite woman bowed slightly. Though she wore a plain brown blouse and skirt, her features were dark and her hair black as jet. A slender gold hoop pierced her nostril. The woman’s eyes were liquid brown and seemed devoid of humor or personality. A rough seam of scarring slashed the skin from lip’s corner to lower cheek.

Ivy held out her hand. “I’m Ivy Shelton. I believe Mr. Faraday expects me.”

The woman bowed again, ignoring Ivy’s gesture. “My name is Priya. I’ll show you to your room.” The woman’s voice was low and her clipped English was rounded by the hint of an accent. As they walked up the carpeted steps, Ivy wondered at the woman’s role. Not a servant, she knew that the moment the woman entered the hall. A wife from India? In that case, Faraday’s exchange might be more innocuous than she dared to hope or fear. She tried to catch a glimpse of the woman’s hand to see if it bore the signs of marriage.

In her eagerness to spy, she didn’t notice when the woman stopped and bumped into her at the top of the stairs. Priya gave a pitying look before continuing, her sinuous gate making her look as if she were dancing. She opened the door and stepped aside allowing Ivy to pass first.

The bedroom was gaily painted and the broad windows lining the wall overlooked the small lawn and garden on the side of the house. The chaise promised a comfortable seat to enjoy the view or curl up with a book. A delicate lace canopy overhung an expansive bed, the skirting of the vanity table next to it matching. A writing desk and dresser were made of a rich dark wood, polished to a gleam and embellished with intricate carvings. The hearth was cold, but materials for a fire lay in a tidy pile on the stonework. Two lamps on the mantle cast a rosy glow about the quarters. The room was easily twice the size of hers at home and she opened her mouth to declare it absolutely delightful when an abnormality in decoration caught her eye.

From the ceiling hung a set of manacles.

Her rational mind tripped and fell while searching for explanation. Priya followed her shocked stare and lightly shut the door behind them. Her features turned to stone as she seemed to wait for Ivy’s reaction.

The correct response in the situation did not make itself known and Ivy swallowed. “Are you sure Mr. Faraday wanted me in this room?”

Priya nodded. She walked to the chest of drawers and pulled out some bolts of crimson satin. The cloth heaped in her arms like fabric sin. Ivy was wholly at a loss for word, thought or action. She wet her lips and willed her heartbeat to assume a more sedate rate.

“Will you stay?” Priya’s eyes held no judgment and no emotion. The hint of earlier pity had vanished.

“I daresay the master of the house is one of those eccentric collectors.” Ivy’s heart continued to drum at a quickened pace that she wouldn’t attribute to excitement. Priya didn’t answer and the ensuing silence held the promise of forever. A flick of impatience prodded Ivy to break it. “I won’t leave.”

The woman stepped closer. “Then you will undress. Mr. Faraday expects you to wear these when he calls on you.”

Ah, the master was scheduled to make an appearance and put an end to her guesswork. Submitting to a change of clothes would hardly kill her, but she wouldn’t have taken pains in her dress if she’d known it wasn’t necessary. She held out her hands for the garments, but Priya shook her head in the negative. “Mr. Faraday asked me to assist you.”

Ivy’s hand stole to her throat. The thought of disrobing in front of a stranger stained her cheeks until she summoned up the fortitude of her conviction. The courage of leaving the safety of her father’s house would serve her now. That decision required more of her than the act of exchanging one wardrobe for another. She stripped to her undergarments and held out her hands. Priya shook her head again.

The fire of her embarrassment threatened to consume her entire body. With no little reluctance, she set aside her underclothes, reminding her balking mind that naked was a natural state. One didn’t arrive in the world attired.

Priya bid her to raise her arms and wound a thin band of cloth around her chest. The material offered scarce support and its caress drew a response from her skin that made Ivy blush anew. A longer swath divided on the sides was draped around her hips, its length brushing her calves with a seductive softness. The two panels fell agape when she moved. A glimpse downward at her near-exposed breasts, bare torso and naked thighs engendered a new shame and thrill. She cleared her throat and asked, “Has he such costumes for all his guests?”

At last a glint of personality appeared in Priya’s gaze. “You’ll have to ask him.” She laid her hand on Ivy’s shoulder, an intimate gesture not out of place considering her witness to Ivy’s undress. She inclined her head toward the corner of the room with the chains. “One more request.”

Ivy’s resolve sank somewhere in the direction of her bare feet. From the first moment in this room, she had known on some level that she would end up in those shackles. Her brain shied at the thought of the fiend who expected her to willingly accept the irons while her body readied itself for the same idea. Better she should ask what kind of a woman would cross the room and stand docile as another enclosed her wrists in the metal cuffs.

The chains jingled like tiny bells as she moved her arms to test the limits of the bindings. Priya surprised her with a light kiss on forehead and cheeks. Ivy didn’t want her to leave the room and stopped short of begging her to stay. The scar on the woman’s face prompted a question. “Tell me, did he injure you?”

“I would be dead if not for him.”

The disappointment in the woman’s expression reduced Ivy’s desire to have company. She was reminded of the disappointment on her schoolmates’ faces. The severe difference was that her companions’ dullness created their displeasure, stupid as they were, but in the current circumstance, Priya’s look made her aware of her own foolishness. Another kiss told Ivy she was forgiven, then she was left alone.

Although her arms were raised over her head, the length of the chains permitted her to stand flat on her feet. The fetters carried the weight of her arms and she imagined she could remain for some time in relative comfort. Her imagination lengthened the shadows of the room until she scorned it, reasoning that the physics of time were no different here than in the village. A muffled thump came from somewhere below and she could hear the low murmur of unintelligible conversation.

The doorknob became a lodestone for her eyes. She stared and her concentration fooled her into believing it turned. A trick of the eyes because the door didn’t open and she removed her gaze with difficulty. The paintings merited closer examination. The art opposite her contained the scene of Eve’s temptation. The snake in the garden wrapped around her thigh, narrow head resting on her breasts as Eve contemplated the fruit in her hand. Another painting sported a reclined nymph or goddess, some kind of naked strumpet, playing pan pipes for another snake, its eyes half-shut in pleasure of the music and its scaled body winding over the woman’s stomach to disappear over the curve of her hip.

She thought it a strange motif until she remembered the oddness of her own position.

The door swung open and he stood at the threshold, features darkened by no imagined shadows. Her limbs lost their muscle at the sight of him and sheer will kept her from sagging. The tilt of his head revealed that he assessed her. The jingle of the chains exposed a reflexive movement to cover her body. If only he would say something.

He entered the room, the soft light from the lamps illuminating his face. The door shut behind him and he closed the distance between them. She stared straight ahead at foolish Eve, ignoring him as he circled her. When he completed his revolution, his lips quirked in a smile too devilish to permit without comment.

“I assume I’m not to be kept in this ridiculous confinement all night.” Her tone did her proud, just the right amount of indignation.

His smile deepened to an infuriating degree. “If I choose, you will.”

She detected an accent she hadn’t recognized in his speech before, but shoved the discovery aside. “I wear your clothes, I tolerate these chains. Look here, I’ve lived up to my part of this ludicrous arrangement.”

He lunged at her and she flinched, scorning the weakness when he came as close as possible without touching. He leaned in, his breath stroking her neck and producing the sensation that he tasted her scent. His smell filled her nose, herbs and spice with an underlying exotic that she thought of as male. This fragrance and the heat generated from his nearness embraced her. His whisper curled around her ear. “You haven’t begun to live up to your part. If I said I was to ravish and despoil you, ruin you on this night, what would you say?”

Her breath solidified in her throat. “I would do anything for my father.”

He chuckled. “Noble sacrifice. You melt my icy heart. I relent. Say the word and I’ll free you from your chains and have my man drive you home.”

Why should her heart wail at his generosity? “I don’t want my father arrested.”

“A misunderstanding. I have no intention of alerting the authorities. Now, say the word and I’ll rid you of this ridiculous confinement and let you out of this ludicrous arrangement. But you must tell me so.”

The meaningless chime of the chains echoed her helplessness at the unexpected. Her mouth opened and closed around a half dozen unsuitable replies.

That evil laughter of his burned her. “I know you. I know you crave what no one has been able to give you. The darkness you believe lurks in your heart and your heart alone. Those desires unsatisfied by your diligent study and marriage to science. You’ve yearned for me as I’ve for you and that is the reason you’ll stay in those chains and submit when one word would free you.”

The spell he wove put her in a half-swoon and left her certain that the contents of her soul had been read. She raised her head without realizing and met his eyes with her own. “I’ll stay.” Her breathing eased with the admission. “What would you do to me?”

“A kiss.”

A simple request, surely easier than the clothes and shackles. No reason for her heart to flutter and her blood to surge in her veins. She upturned her face and closed her eyes.

His lips were warm and softer than she thought a man’s could be. The contact set her skin to prickling and she pressed into him, not noticing her mouth was open until his tongue darted inside to stroke hers. Wanton that she was, the invasion was allowed, even encouraged as she reveled in the liquid sensation of his tongue twisting around hers. The deliciousness of the intrusion overcame the notion that the organ felt the slightest bit odd. She expected the kiss to end, but he renewed it after drawing back for a breath. She surrendered to the continued plunder and her hands strained against their bonds, wanting to touch him, to run fingers through his dark hair and along his muscled shoulders.

When he stepped away, the deprivation had her swaying. She smiled in what she wanted to be permission. He replied by stepping behind her. The absence of his touch disappointed her and the sound of a drawer opening and shutting perplexed her. She craned her head, but couldn’t see what he was doing.

He stepped in front of her and took her mouth again. She returned the kiss and slipped her tongue between his lips, the boldness of the gesture awakening a seed of want inside her. His hand stroked her shoulder and slid down her side, resting on her hip, refusing to move despite the twisting of her body against him. She pulled out of the kiss in frustration and started to protest. The instrument in his free hand arrested her speech. He gripped a cat o’ nine tails, its leather fronds hanging from a black handle.

He brushed her shoulders and the nape of her neck with the whip. She shivered at the feel of leather tongues on her flesh. Down her throat to the expanse of her breasts they went, their dark display making her skin pale in contrast. The tails rose to the intake of her breath and she waited for what he would do next.

He swept them in an idle motion across her front, the slightest touch. Their tickle caused a trembling in her limbs. A swift motion reversed his grip on the whip and the handle rested on the thin band of material that now stretched taut on her chest. The handle tugged the cloth until her nipples poked above it. Another movement and the tails swiped the erect nubs in a playful, gentle caress.

“Say the word, Ivy.” His eyes appraised her and, if she was not mistaken, implored her.

Her voice was gravel in her throat. “I want this.”

Chapter Four

He stepped away. His hand raised and the whip was brought down quicker than thought. Nine tongues of fire licked her belly and before she could look, the lash descended again, enflaming the skin it blazed across. She gasped as every nerve jolted to the affront on her flesh.

The whip lifted, but he paused. “Do you desire this still?”

“Yes.” The word escaped in a hiss and her straining mouth captured his to second the affirmation. The kiss burned between them and she gasped at the unwelcome cold when he lifted his lips from hers to gaze into her eyes. Whatever he saw there pleased him. He pulled off his shirt and sealed his skin to hers, his smooth chest grazing her nipples as his form slid around her body and she felt the back panel of her skirt yanked up before the lashes whipped and enflamed the exposed flesh. She bit her lips to keep her cry unaired, but the leather against her backside wrung a stream of exclamations from her. Despite the sting, she was aware that he did not use his full strength in whipping her and between the strikes he combed the tails to keep them from snarling together. Each delivery of the thongs made her skin smart and brought an awareness of parts of her body she seldom thought about. The pain, not unbearable, kindled a desire for more and in her cries was that plea.

The sound and punishment of the rawhide drove her to a wild, helpless motion as she bucked against the blows and her iron restraints. The lashes licked her mercilessly and she was unaware of the volume of her screams until that was the only sound in the room. She sagged as far as the cuffs would let her. His bare arm around her stomach caused the tender flesh to sting.

He went to his knees before her, slipping his head beneath the front panel of her skirt. His hand and breath on her thigh made the center of her ache. His tongue lapped at the top of her leg and she peered down at him, frustrated that the cloth obscured his action. His fingers traveled over her mound and tugged on the curls there. The whip was held fast in his hand and against her calf as his tongue licked the inside of her thigh. She strained to move her body lower, to angle herself for more satisfaction. Despite her efforts, or because of them, his tongue continued to skirt the edge of where she wanted him to be. An agonized groan escaped her.

He reappeared from under the cloth, his smile taunting her. With his free hand, he pulled down the skirt. His cheek rested on her for a brief moment before he leaned back and raised the instrument in his hand. Her arched body met the blow and her thighs sang in the flame of the lashes. She spread her legs wider for balance and let her head hang back. The blows fell and still she danced to them, reveling in the blaze. Soon tongue replaced leather and this time he licked his way to the top of her leg, then drove his tongue between her lips, at last connecting to her swollen clit.

The sight of his head between her legs convulsed her. The decadence in the spectacle of his position as he devoured her and the feel of his mouth caused the passion inside her to bloom. She watched him strain against her, his tongue incredibly nimble and strong, flicking and tormenting her. The tails of the whip caressed her calf and traveled up her thigh and she didn’t protest, couldn’t protest, when the wood of the handle prodded her entrance and slid inside. Her muscles gripped the instrument as he probed her, his tongue still tormenting. She rocked on the whip’s handle, begging for release. The sweet invasion intensified when he propelled it faster, mimicking the increased rhythm with his wicked mouth. He sucked at her and thrust the handle with quicker jabs. She rode the motion and the bloom grew and finally burst forth into full flower, her orgasm shooting through her body and out of her in cries that reached the ceiling.

His mouth kept to her even when her movements slowed and pleasure passed. With half-closed eyes, she looked down at him. His lips glistened as he kissed her sopping curls, and in an idle gesture, his tongue flicked out. From this perspective, in almost slumber, she saw how the extraordinary length of it ended in a fork.

She stifled her reaction, but he heard the small sound and his lips curved in amusement. If he expected disgust, he was due for disappointment. The abnormality startled her, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to be repulsed, not when she’d danced on his tongue in a wildness that made her blush at recollection and not when the sturdy end of his whip still rested inside her.

As if he read her thoughts, he slipped the object from her and walked to the chest of drawers. He came back with a small jar in his hand. Once the lid was off, the scent of mint and herbs reached her nose. He smeared the ointment on the red streaks decorating her skin. The cool kiss of the salve brought an involuntary movement away from his hand.

His hand patted her hip. “It will keep any marks from being permanent, although you needn’t worry. I didn’t break the skin.”

The pleasure faded at the regret that she couldn’t keep the marks and that the only reminder of this night would be in her memory. Really, she was depraved. To want such a token of a debauched night spent with a man who hadn’t graced her with his first name. His fingers slid on her rear and she hissed at the contact. The sound ended in a laugh as the clear mental image of her current state presented itself in her mind.

“You’re amused?” His voice played along her neck and the flicks of his tongue accompanying his breath did not take long to stir her.

“The thought occurred that I do not have the pleasure of your first name, Mr. Faraday.”

“Marcus.”

The last syllable elongated and played against her skin. How quickly her body betrayed her attempts at civility and distraction. She didn’t understand how a brief time in the man’s company put her in thrall. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been yesterday and was uncertain about her opinion of the alteration. She was certain, however, of one thing. “Would you consider releasing me from my bonds?”

“With some reluctance. You make a pretty picture in chains. My Andromeda, I should think.” His retreat from her served to afford him a better look.

Why she should blush and fidget at his perusal now in the aftermath of their extreme intimacy eluded explanation. “What name you call me by pales in comparison to how quickly you deliver me from my bondage.”

A quick twist and she was liberated. Scrapes ringed her wrists, and she hid them against her sides to escape the healing ointment. At a loss, she walked to her neatly folded pile of clothes and began to dress.

“What are you doing?”

She held her chemise in front of her as she faced him. “Returning home. I imagine the terms of our agreement have been wholly satisfied. It must be just past midnight and I’ll trespass on your hospitality no longer.”

The disapproval on his face was fleeting, and such a quick expression Ivy must have imagined it. He leaned on the desk, his form long and solid in the pose. “You are free to go if you wish.”

The truth of the matter made her shove her head and arms through the respective holes. She didn’t wish to go home. She wanted him to tell her to stay. Command her to remain by his side until the rude sun intruded on this night fantasy. But she couldn’t tell him that.

Her face must have played traitor to her discretion because his next words acknowledged the unspoken. “You can stay if you would like. At least leave at a decent hour.”

Joy flooded her senses and she forgot to school her countenance for a moment. “I appreciate the kindness.”

“What would you do if you were home right now?”

She abandoned hope of removing the cloth from her breasts in an elegant manner and simply stuck her hands under her collar to unfasten it. The material slid from her chest and was placed in a coil on the desk. “I would check the greenhouse before retiring, perhaps spend a short interval in study before I went to bed.”

“Do you require something to read?”

The exertion of their activities made itself known in her growing fatigue. “I think I’ll go straight to bed.”

When he didn’t move to go, she yawned behind her hand. The hint went unattended. He wasn’t going to leave and she didn’t half-mind his presence. The vanity table by the bed contained a set of toiletries. She sat in front of the mirror and began to remove the pins from her hair. As she unbound the plaits on the top of her head, she noticed Marcus leave his perch on the desk and sit on the bed. Their eyes met in the mirror and he laid his fingers on her shoulder. “Let me.”

She handed him the brush. He carefully unwove her braids and ran his fingers through her mane to loosen it. With the brush, he started from the bottom. His strokes lengthened as the bristles worked out the knots and kinks of her curls. Her scalp tingled when the brush swept from her crown to the tips of the strands. Her eyes closed at this gentle ministration. “How did you know I wouldn’t run from the house when I saw the chains?”

The brush stopped mid-stroke. “You should ask how I knew you wouldn’t run when I made the initial offer. I had nothing more than a feeling based on rumors.”

“Is my private life fodder for gossip?”

The brush finished the stroke and began again. “We are talked about, you and I. We can rail against small minds and cruel repetitions of half-truths, but in the end we are more than what idle tongues guess at.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

His fingers rubbed her temples before he bundled her hair into a tail and wrapped it around his wrist. She inclined her head in the direction of his hand and his maddening tongue found her bared neck.

“I was surprised when you took the offer. Seeing you in the chains answered my hopes.” His whisper insinuated itself into the pores of her skin. “My Andromeda. Come to bed.”

He folded back the bedclothes and she obeyed by crawling underneath watching Marcus as he removed his boots and shirt. To her dissatisfaction, he didn’t remove his trousers before joining her. The scandal of their position drove out dismay. If anyone had told her a month ago that she’d be in bed with a man still smarting from his lash, she would have thought the speaker insane. Here she was, degraded to the extent that she wished him not only beside her, but naked as well. “Priya said you saved her life.”

His hand slipped beneath the blanket to rest below her breast. “She makes too much of it. If the cowardly beasts she faced had been less in number, she would’ve dispatched them without the aid of a dissolute and spoiled cad such as myself.”

“Tell me.” She felt bold in light of what they shared.

“I was in India cursing a bad stroke of fortune and happened to venture down an alleyway where I saw her trying to fend off six foes. She was cut and badly bleeding, but still fighting. What else could I do?”

“Did you kill them all?”

His face set in a grim expression. “You don’t know what monsters men can be. After the fight, I took her home and nursed her. She decided to reward my help with the best friendship a man could wish for. I’ve tried to talk her out of her loyalty, but she won’t have it. I count myself lucky that fate directed my footsteps that night.”

“Why did those men attack her?”

“They were vermin and needed no reason except that evil can’t bear to see goodness in any form. She and I discovered common enemies and have since spent a good deal of time trying to eradicate them.”

“Are they threats to the Crown?”

“Far more dangerous and widespread. Yet I don’t want to waste time talking of evil when there’s more pleasant action within my reach.”

She answered by raising his hand to her breast and kissing him. The depravity of her new self was expressed in a smile.

His fingers teased her nipple and slid up between her breasts to trace her lips and follow the curve of her chin to neck and shoulder. Such slight caresses, this gentleness, from hands capable of delectable cruelty. A tremor began inside her and spread. She succumbed to his pull and moved her body closer, the heat of his chest warming her. Her head lowered to his skin and her tongue swirled on him, tasting and licking his nipples. She dared to let her explorations descend, kissing along his stomach. He arched beneath her and as she summoned the courage to insinuate her hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, she was jerked up by the hair. His lips crushed hers and his tongue at once became a part of her mouth. Awareness of his tongue’s aberration didn’t lessen the sweetness of the intrusion. Her leg encircled his waist and she felt him at last, thick and hard against her. Fingers entwined in his hair, pulling him closer and rubbing herself against his cock. The friction galvanized the kiss and she wished for him to free himself from the binds of clothing, wanted him inside her.

His response was to groan and break the kiss. “I must go.”

Her protestations died when she saw the steel in his eyes. He must have a good reason. She could be patient.

He left the bed and gathered his shirt and boots. She noticed with satisfaction that the mound in his pants had not subsided. His mouth was set. “I ask you to remain in your room for the night. Tomorrow you may explore the house and grounds to your heart’s content, but promise me you’ll stay here until sunrise.”

“I promise.” The vow slipped easily from her lips. She watched him leave and mocked herself for the twinge of sadness that followed his departure. The sooner she slept, the sooner he would be with her again.

Chapter Five

Sleep eluded her. The darkness of the room failed to lull and she warred with her earlier promise. His request was a foolish thing to ask of her when no harm could come if she left the room. Any secrets she discovered would remain undisclosed. He could trust her discretion.

But he didn’t know that, wouldn’t know until she proved herself to him. What better way to gain his trust than to show him his faith was not misplaced? Promises weren’t enough, but her actions could be.

She pushed the door open and the complete black of the hallway greeted her. She turned back and fumbled her way to the writing desk. Her fingers found the candle and matches. The flare of match light and smell of sulfur added a new layer of misapprehension to her actions. Maybe sleep would come if she returned to bed.

Misgivings were shoved aside when the bobbing candlelight sent a cheerful glow around the side of the room. The sight assuaged her doubts and the hallway’s dark power receded a bit as she poked her head out of the doorway and looked to either side before venturing out. Ivy followed the hall past the staircase. A turn at the corner and the wing stretched before her. A small light escaped from a door at the end.

Her trek to the thin band of light made no sound to her ears. She paused at the door wondering if Marcus was inside and if she should knock. A noise from within interrupted her choice. A dull thud and rustle piqued her curiosity. She laid her head on the door and strained to hear. The rustling continued.

Her hand clasped the doorknob and began to turn it. A louder thud coincided with the click of the door’s opening and as she pushed, the sound of a heavy dragging grew louder. The slit in the doorway allowed her to peek into the room, hampered by the angle of sight. The shadow on the wall was her first notice. A statue most likely, impossibly tall and of a shape indefinable. She swallowed hard, determined to enter the room.

She pushed the door wider and saw Priya placing a jar filled with a clear liquid on a shelf of a cabinet. A loud hiss turned the blood in her veins to ice. Movement caught her eyes. The shadow of the statue, what she thought must be a statue, moved and enlarged as it came closer.

The candle dropped on the threshold. She didn’t need its light for her retreat and didn’t stop the door to her room from slamming. The covers were over her head and she waited, fear pounding in her chest and temples, for the inevitable sound of dragging down the hall.

It never came.

Long moments passed before she removed the covering and peered into the darkness. Silly for her to cower here at what could only be the trick of the light and fatigue. The remembered candle bit at her mind. There was no choice but to retrieve it and hope it hadn’t ignited the carpet and walls. She retraced the steps of her short travel, a second holder grasped in shaking hands.

The light under the mysterious door had been extinguished. The illumination from her candle revealed a small puddle of hardened wax, but no candle or candleholder.

* * *

The house lost its ominous presence in daylight. Aside from the fierce men with darkened countenances and stony gazes who stayed in the shadowed corners of the rooms and the man who served her breakfast, Ivy saw no one else in her search. The upstairs remained unexamined and she virtuously looked in the other direction when she came upon the ill-fated hallway of last night.

At first she hoped to encounter Marcus on her explorations, but an hour of covering the first floor and the grounds left her wishing for anyone who would talk to her. She wondered where Priya stayed during the day and concluded that the woman might be on an errand. The thought that Marcus and the woman avoided her on purpose after her bumbling didn’t bear reflection.

The cold of the day persuaded her to leave the bit of wilderness on the estate undiscovered. The library called to her and as she took a turn about the room, she noticed a row of worn books out of reach on the highest shelf. Stools didn’t give her enough height, but the desk chair proved sufficient. The dust made her sneeze, and at the end of her exertions a great pile of worn journals, each bearing the master of the house’s name in gold, were heaped by the chair closest to the fire. She selected one and soon lost herself in his botany research. The two she read showed a scientific mind evolving, filled with meticulous notes of his failures and triumphs as well as descriptions of the plant life he encountered in distant lands.

If his body called to hers last night, his mind exerted a more powerful hold over her in the day. Her happiness with him at this moment wasn’t born of desire, but engendered by an intellectual kinship. She felt the supreme pleasure of exploring like thoughts and each page was a discourse between equals as she reacted to and considered each of his findings. She wished the man was in the room, not to surrender to the blaze of their encounter, but to enjoy the warmth of a kindred soul’s company.

Although most of his discoveries coincided with her own research or hypotheses, some of the later entries read like fairy tales. Rituals were described in fantastical terms and if she disallowed logic, she would think the rites were for magical purposes. His descriptions swerved from plant life to reptilian, namely snakes. An elixir was mentioned, its source mysterious, that could purify any toxin or infection. Another entry mentioned encounters with rats, extraordinary in size, although vermin in India could be bigger than in Europe for all she knew. Though these fascinated her, she couldn’t help but query what the diversions revealed about the man’s mind. Perhaps he had decided to indulge an interest in fiction.

The lengthening shadows in the room and her cramped limbs alerted Ivy to the need for a change in recreation. She stretched and retrieved the desk chair to replace the journals. The idea of seeing Marcus’s earlier research in actuality occurred to her and she ventured to the greenhouse. The warm air welcomed her and the thick smell of vegetation soothed her oppressive solitude. She was home.

She corrected her previous calculation of the house’s size. The greenhouse at home could easily be reproduced in triple and fit inside. A tumult of vines created a canopy overhead. Delicate flowers resided on the tables nearest the door. In the middle of the blooms, raised on a pedestal was a spotted orchid, twin to the one her father took home in exchange for his daughter.

One hand reached for the flower, then dropped. The glorious freedom of last night weighed on her now. She had no right to reject her upbringing and society for depraved needs. A thin red band on each wrist was the only reminder of her satisfaction. The marks of the lash had disappeared, thanks to the miracle of the salve.

The whisper of the door jerked her attention away from orchid and doubt. She hid her disappointment and smiled at the sight of Priya. “I thought I was doomed to spend the day without conversation.”

“I’m pleased to find you here.” Indeed, the sentiment was evident in her eyes.

“If you knew me, you’d know I keep my word.” She touched the leaf of the herb in front of her. The pungent spice was at once familiar and alien. “Is Mr. Faraday at home today?”

Her nonchalant tone must not have convinced Priya because Ivy caught the spark of interest flit in her gaze. “You must be hungry. I was about to fix my dinner. Perhaps you’ll join me?”

Ivy noticed the absence of an answer to her question, but followed Priya into the kitchen. Strange that Faraday’s obvious status didn’t translate into an abundance of servants. His wealth merited a houseful of staff instead of a handful of dour guards.

The simple repast Priya prepared consisted of meat, potatoes, and green vegetables. Ivy had expected a meal more exotic and chastised herself for the assumption. Conversation was warm but minimal until a pause in a discussion about the village provided room for the subject foremost in Ivy’s mind. “Marcus told me you were attacked.”

Priya’s fingers rubbed the scar on her face. “If he told you the story, there’s little for me to add.”

The cold in her words threatened the good will between them. “I’m prying, but the thought of you fighting off six men hasn’t left my mind.”

With a surprising change in mood, Priya laughed. “If by fighting off you mean driven to my knees and bleeding on them, then you’d be right. Marcus is too humble by half. The sight of him among those beasts strengthened my own arm and blade.”

“He said he’d been cursing his bad luck when he found you.”

“I told him and continue to tell him that the gods’ blessings and curses look the same to a locked mind and soul. He’s been chosen and sometimes the weight is hard to bear alone.”

“He has you.” Ivy heard the petty undertone to the statement, but did want to know the nature of their relationship.

If Priya thought less of her, she didn’t show it. “Our friendship is a balm and we both know its boundaries. He thinks his mission and the succor of comradeship are enough to fill his life, but I know otherwise. He’ll soon understand.”

The low bong of the clock interrupted the line of conversation. Priya looked at the timepiece and stood. “You’re to go upstairs to your room.”

The mysterious rituals in his journals and this mission needed explanation. She wanted to know the man through the eyes of his dearest friend. The apprehension on Priya’s face alarmed Ivy. “Will you join me? It’s early yet and we could continue our talk.”

A shake of the head. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

She gathered up her dish, but Priya removed it from her hand. She walked up the stairs with mounting anxiety, no amount of inner scolding lessened it. Her secret hope during the day had been that her indiscretion wouldn’t be acknowledged or held against her. Apparently that good fortune wasn’t hers.

Once in her room, she didn’t know what to do with herself. The manacles were studiously ignored. At last, she sat at the desk and began to write a note to her father. She chose her words carefully. Despite her wish to keep the missive short, the words she didn’t and couldn’t write overtook her attempts and had her pausing at the end of every sentence.

The slam of the door produced an ugly blot of ink on the paper. She sopped up the smudge. “It’s your house. I imagine you’ll close the doors in your own custom regardless of my preference.”

“One promise asked of you.”

She blew on her letter and set it aside. “I heard a sound and investigated.”

“What did you see?”

Her trembling fingers rested on the wood of the desk’s surface. “I apologize for breaking my word.”

His voice held all the command of her secret desire. “Look at me and tell me what you saw.”

It was a wonder that her legs didn’t collapse as she stood and faced him. What she saw or didn’t see last night fell away at the sight of him now. His eyes blazed and his unbuttoned shirt revealed the smooth tan of his chest and the thin dark hairs trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his trousers. One hand made a fist on his thighs while the other held, not the many lashed whip she half-expected, but the thin reed of a riding crop. She cursed the thrill that invaded her belly and the anticipation that awakened in her blood. “I saw nothing.”

The expression on his face told her he doubted her words. An evil smile curved his dark lips. “You’ll take off your dress now.”

Unvoiced was the choice he gave her. She could leave, salvaging some small shred of respectability. Her rational mind offered the option, but her body’s need obliterated it. Her dress pooled at her feet and she stepped out of its circle. She started to raise her chemise and stopped when he shook his head.

“Leave it and face the wall.”

She obeyed, her hands steady on the desk for balance. The crop insinuated itself beneath the hem of her slip and stroked the inside of her naked calf. She yielded to the touch without turning around. “I apologize for any offense my actions caused.”

His hand clasped her throat. “I’ll accept your apology when every part of your body repeats the sentiment.”

He released her and pushed her to the desk. Her hands slid out under the force and her cheek rested on the surface. Her slip was yanked up and underpinnings rolled to her ankles. Her exposure increased her helplessness, which amplified her excitement. His fingers brushed the back of her thighs and slid between the rounded moons of her rear. The gentle intrusion brought a gasp from her lips. His chuckle made her blush, but the sudden crack of the crop on her rump made her scream. A quick inhale and another stinging blow sent her voice upward.

The rain of blows drove reason from her mind and replaced it with the highflying freedom of last night. The crop burned her skin and fell upon her eager flesh. She couldn’t help but move to the music of the instrument, raising her buttocks to join the hard leather mid-descent. She sunk her teeth into her hand to muffle her cries, riding the pain to delirium.

When the crop failed to fall another time, she turned her head to see what the next event would be. Marcus ran his hands over her smarting skin and inserted the leather between her thighs.

She dared to protest. “I want you.”

A breath escaped his lips in a whispering stream. His hand unbuttoned his fly and reached to release his cock. The ache in her belly thrummed at the brute strength inherent in his flesh. He shed his shirt and his nudity made her move against the desk, every part of her begging for liberation. She spread her legs in direct invitation and jumped when the crop bit at her thighs in a rapid succession, giving herself up to the punishment. The anticipation built until she couldn’t gather the air necessary for her cries. She prayed for deliverance and the answer came in two rough hands on her hips and a sudden thrust. His fingernails dug into her skin as he buried himself inside her.

The rhythm was relentless. At first she tried to match it, then surrendered to the ruthless penetration. Her hips rose to grant him greater entry and his cock worked an increasing magic with each movement. Her vaginal muscles gripped him as if her body decided to never let him go. The twinges of pain when his hands brushed over the marks of the crop intensified the pleasure she received from the hammering invasion. His pelvis smacked against her and the sound joined his panting, the music bringing a greater than ever wildness. A scream tore from her throat as again the sensation in her bloomed to divine sweetness. The blossoms spread through her until the spasms of release shook every part of her body. Still he thrust at her in an unrelenting tempo, riding the tremors to the brink of his own pleasure. Abruptly he pulled out and she felt the warmth of his come in a spray on her backside.

A completeness not unrelated to joy flooded her. The reminder of his blows on and inside her coiled around her heart and rested there. She was absently aware of a soft cloth swabbing her back. His tongue followed the path of her spine and she twisted her body to face him. When he embraced her, she brought her legs up to enclose him because she could. His softened look held no sardonic humor or anger.

“My body is heartfelt sorry.” She lied in that the consequences made the transgression worth it.

He nuzzled her neck. “I accept.”

No matter the wonder of this intimacy, the practical side of her anatomy insisted on a change in position. She led him to the bed and wrapped her body around him. Something in their intimate position almost undammed a host of declarations. Rather than give them voice, she asked, “What prompted you to pursue botany?”

“My father wanted me to serve in the Navy and the idea didn’t appeal to me. My line of interest is the farthest I could get from Navy life without being confined to studying the desert. Rebellion gave way to genuine purpose. Did you know there are botanists who study different strands of wheat in order to produce a crop that yields the maximum with a minimum of space? They might be able to stop the starvation that plagues countries.” He paused and peered at her. “I won’t torture you with the details.”

Ivy shook her head. “I’ve read about these attempts. One of the shortcomings of horticultural science is the emphasis on aesthetics. I would much rather hear the practical application.”

“Priya tolerates my ramblings and too many men have approached me under the guise of collaboration when their true intention is competition. It’s easy to become isolated in one’s devotion to science and give up the search for an equal partnership.”

The expression on his face, the naked longing and loneliness, was as familiar to her as her reflection. “I’ve often wondered if finding a purpose requires separation from the rest of the world.”

“Do you believe that?” His gaze carried an anticipation not unlike what she first saw on the night of the trade.

“I believe I want to hear more about your research of different grains. Have you found any difficulty in transplanting native specimens to India?”

Marcus began to talk, and when her interest didn’t flag, he expounded on his points. Reading his journal entries fell short of holding an actual conversation. The added benefit was the feel of his body against hers, but several times as they talked, Ivy forgot she was in bed and in the arms of a naked man.

Although she wanted to question him on the fantastical journal entries, she suppressed her curiosity in favor of letting him decide what to tell her. Any queries would keep until tomorrow. The thought warmed her. A tomorrow with him, a chance to expand their knowledge of each other in every way imaginable, opened a realm of possibility that surpassed her scientific research.

He searched her face as if privy to her reflections. “If I leave you tonight, do you promise to stay here?”

She didn’t want to contemplate his leaving, not when the solidness of his body brought her peace. “You have my word.”

When she started to withdraw from contact with him, he stopped her. “I’ll not leave yet.”

Chapter Six

Despite a languor in her limbs, Ivy spurned the temptation of a day spent in bed and ventured downstairs to the greenhouse the next morning. The cheerful life of the place greeted her. She strolled past the common blooms in search of the exotics mentioned in Marcus’s journals. Traveling down the rows soon became an exercise in recall. The recognizable plants gave way to vegetation recollected from the entries and these turned into the unrecognizable. She was bent over a spindly specimen, trying to assign it to a family, when the most delectable aroma beckoned her.

She followed the scent, pausing to sniff the air to ensure her direction was correct. The source was an unassuming square of greenery. The only remarkable features were the pale yellow pods nestled amid the dull leaves that spread over the patch. She inhaled deeply and thought she detected the oddest undercurrent to the otherwise delicious odor. A hint of rotten meat wrinkled her nose, but was replaced by the intoxicating fragrance. Her fingers reached and stroked the leaves nearest her and the aroma engulfed her senses and mind.

Her hands grasped the leaves and crushed them, releasing further enchantment. With a moan, she buried her hands in the soil, the roots of the plant twisting and tickling her skin. The pods opened in unison, yawning in a crimson show that contradicted their modest shell. Through whirling thoughts and half-closed eyes, she imagined that a strange protrusion in the middle of each pod unfurled and swayed toward her.

The heat of the greenhouse enveloped her to the point of suffocation and her clothes became unbearable. She began to unfasten her blouse, but when the stubborn buttons resisted her clumsy fingers, she ripped the fabric. Her clothes were cast aside in a careless heap and she plunged her hands into the dirt once more. The pods danced on a nonexistent breeze which brought them closer until they rubbed upon her flesh. The rustling leaves snaked past her wrists and up her arms. The scent was a physical thing now. The scratches of the leaves and rough surface of the plant’s protuberance enflamed her. She closed her arms around her, chafing the plant life against her breasts and erect nipples.

A low and urgent voice intruded. “Ivy, please get away from there.”

She spun at the sound. Marcus extended a hand toward her, worry etched on his features. Her arm stretched out to him, but the plant did not release its hold. Its tendrils elongated to follow her movement. More of it encircled her stomach. The creepers gripped her and she couldn’t concentrate on the man in front of her for the seductive imprisonment she found herself in.

“I beg you.” He stepped to her and tried to unwind the plant from her body. It was her imagination that the strands held on tighter. Her head lolled to the side and she gazed at him. A bright light cast a golden nimbus around him, his features standing out in stark relief. Such a beautiful man and she possessed him. His gold aura pulsated and he must have been speaking, but she couldn’t hear him, entranced by the shape of his lips.

The touch of his hands mingled with the ever sharpening kiss of the plant, the contact sending an arrow of desire between her thighs. He should be naked.

But why was he angry? A flicker of concern arose and flew away. He was beautiful even in anger. She looked at him through her eyelashes. “I love you, Marcus. I love you body, mind and soul.”

The wicked pain of a hundred tiny knives jerked her attention from him. She looked down and noticed tiny scarlet beads where her flesh met plant. The pain subsided under a new wave of sensuality and when she could at last look at Marcus, she saw he was naked. Her legs spread and she leaned back, waiting for his assault.

He didn’t come closer. Through her hazy vision, she saw him raise his arms over his head. The light brightened and he swayed. His slow movements were difficult for Ivy to follow and the corona surrounding him brought tears to her eyes. She blinked at the sting and must have imagined that he stretched and widened in the brilliance, his body and appendages sealed to one long form. A tail flopped against the table to the side, knocking over pots and jugs in its sweeping motion. His head and neck enlarged in a scaly cowl before narrowing to a tapered mouth. He reared above her and she tilted her head, glorying in the sight of him, black and gold and kingly. He hung in the space, towering over her, his tongue flicking out as he tasted the air. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers over the gold beauty of his belly scales, but the plant wouldn’t let her.

She should be angry.

A shrill hiss filled her ears and the snake drove its head into the bed, ripping the offending vines. He jerked and tore at her bonds. She noticed the tendrils around her wither and crack, dropping to the ground. She had one moment to savor her freedom when her strength left her and she fell.

His lower body saved her from a tumble to the floor. The coil against her back felt like one smooth, rippling muscle and his form undulated beneath her. She rolled on him, the hardness of his scales causing every tender place on her skin to tingle. Her fingers roamed over her stomach and lifted her breasts, pinching her nipples as she squirmed on the broad expanse of him. Her blood froze in her veins and she wanted freedom from this icy hunger. Every minute wound on her skin cried out in agony.

The snake rose up and opened its mouth, fangs extended and dripping a clear liquid. Ivy experienced one moment of awe before it sunk those fangs into her thigh. The coldness peaked and was replaced by a clean burn. The purity in this pain drove her to thrust her fingers between her thighs. Her clit responded to her eager fondling. Her free hand stroked the snake’s head as he pumped the liquid from his fangs into her willing veins. Her fingers slid in her wetness and she swirled them between her folds, rutting against her own touch. Her muscles strained to the oncoming orgasm, then it was on her, jerking her body and making her dance to the bliss she gave herself. Still shaking, she collapsed against Marcus’s huge body and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was upside down, flung over Marcus’s human back, watching the steps to the upstairs recede. The ornate pattern on each shivered and moved in an undulation the like of Marcus’s snake form. All too soon, they arrived at her chamber, where he placed her gently on the bed.

The wound on her thigh burned and when she touched it, the surrounding skin awakened beneath her fingers. The heat of need enflamed her once more and she extended her hand to him, wanting him with every inch of her, until the odd aura of her hand in its movement arrested her attempts at seduction. She waved both hands in front of her eyes, her fingers trailing a longer version of themselves with the motion. As she stared, the shifting of the wallpaper called to her, its designs rippling in slow rhythm. Time stopped as she moved her fingers to the motion of the walls.

When her fingers returned to normal and the wallpaper stopped trying to crawl off the walls, the regret of missing the display occurred simultaneously with the abashment of her spectacle. Ivy pulled the bedcovers to her chin and glared at him.

“I delight at the return of your senses.”

A painful awareness of her nakedness and the recollection of what she did and said in front of him caused the shrillness in her voice. “You should have left me.”

“To be devoured by the plant? It hardly seems hospitable.”

“Once you liberated me and brought me here, you should have left.”

“Not until I saw that you wouldn’t harm yourself. The plant’s toxin has a variety of paths. I didn’t know how long the cure would take.”

“What kind of a man houses such a specimen?” The remembrance of the huge form he adopted to save her intruded. “What man turns into a giant snake?”

His features darkened in color and mood. “I collect all exotics and I gave you the compliment of overestimating your intelligence when you were granted the freedom to explore. Did not the stench of the plant warn you off?”

The blush already coloring her cheeks expanded its dye to her neck and chest until she realized the latter question was unanswered. “Did you overestimate my constitution when you transformed into a reptile?”

“I saved your life.” He pushed back the chair and stalked to the dresser, yanking out a dressing gown and putting it on. Covering his nudity did not decrease the splendor of his form. “A little gratitude amid your contempt might be in order.”

Contempt? The image of the magnificence of his second nature reared before her inward eye. Her brain encompassed the wonderment and grew to embrace all the ramifications of his metamorphosis. The last reaction in the presence of a godlike creature would be repulsion. Fear and awe clashed within her. “Your venom counteracted the plant’s poison.”

“As it does all toxins and infections.”

“Word that your travels altered you was understated to a woeful degree.” She remembered her reading and her haste in dismissing it as fiction. “Your journals are true.”

“You want to know how it happened? How the son of an officer became a monster?”

“The details in your entries were sparse.” The need for explanation was obvious in the knotted tension of her body. She bit her tongue to keep from burying the man in questions.

“This occurred due to the same blunt force I see in yourself. Curiosity. I meddled in practices and magic. A spoiled rich boy who recklessly insulted a powerful fakir. The man wanted to give my life meaning when he condemned me.”

“You speak as if you think it a curse. It’s not.”

“It’s not a blessing. I can choose my form during the day, but my nights are spent in the monstrous shape against my will. Never able to fully trust anyone but the most loyal and obedient.”

A sympathy for his imposed solitude thumped in her breast. “Much good comes from your power.”

“I’ll bear your words in mind while Priya milks me of my venom tonight. Every night she drains the liquid from my fangs in order for me to replenish the supply the next day. She also oversees the elixir’s delivery to those who need it most. Would you take her place?”

“Do you know what this means?” The social, medical and scientific implications of this discovery spread before her in a limitless horizon.

“It means you’ll leave this minute. Gather your belongings and go.”

The anger in his words slashed her heart. She didn’t understand the reason for this abrupt expulsion, not when their union could bring about change. “I haven’t said I wish to go. I could work alongside you in your research.”

He lunged toward the bed, but stopped short. “Work beside a monster? When you know I am an abomination to all things natural? After my change, I stayed away from my father knowing he wouldn’t understand. I came back to England too late to tell him the reason for my absence.”

If she could remove the pain on his face with any word, deed or sacrifice, she would. The hollow in his soul called for her to fill it, but she didn’t know how. “Not an abomination. Not when the world benefits from your gift. You saved Priya by fighting those men.”

“I wouldn’t expose you to my enemies, not if you begged.”

“I could fight them by your side.”

He placed his hands on the bed and crept forward, the sinuous line of his body plain in the hanging folds of his robe. He slid up the length of her body and braced himself over her. His tongue flicked out against her cheek. “And could you care for me? Knowing my secret and knowing at any time you might face this?” On his last words, his features shifted and expanded. His head and neck became scaled and hooded.

Her hand reached up to stroke the ridge of his hood, and although her heart pounded a fierce tattoo in her breast, she inclined her head to kiss him.

In an abrupt motion, he pulled away from her and from the bed. “I don’t know what I was thinking last night. I didn’t want you to see me in my transfigured state.”

“You gave me access to your journals.”

His features returned to human. “They were put out of reach on the top shelf of a tall bookcase. What reasonable woman would climb for a few dusty books?”

“My presence here should tell you I’m not a reasonable woman. I’m willing to accept your change. I would continue to accept it if you allowed me.”

The twisting of many emotions played out on his face. “Undeserving wretch that I am, I wouldn’t ask that of any woman. You’re free of any obligation to me.”

Never had freedom come with the sound of a door slamming shut.

Chapter Seven

Her belongings took little time to gather. The silken garb of her first night was stowed in her trunk, the action making her feel like a thief. She drew out the task until she recognized that Marcus wouldn’t storm in and beg her to stay.

The carriage stood outside the front door, the sight of it hateful to her. As the ride jostled her down the road, delivering her from enthusiastic bondage to reluctant freedom, she wondered what she would do upon her return. At the moment, her research -- a constant comfort for most of her intellectual life -- held none of its appeal, not when the introduction of magic turned science on its head.

To be left ignorant when she’d trade her soul for this newfound knowledge created a completely intellectual frustration, a feeling more familiar than the melancholy that settled heavy upon her, as each revolution of the carriage’s wheels took her farther away from him.

At her door, the driver helped her down and carried her possessions up the steps. He waved off the coin she offered and didn’t see her in.

Her father was at the door as if he stationed himself there for the entirety of her absence. His thinning hair stood in unkempt strands about his head and the state of his shirt and shoes showed a disarray that gave her a twinge of guilt. She thought of the unfinished letter left on the desk at Faraday’s when she returned her father’s embrace.

“Ivy girl, I’ve been out of my mind. Freddy offered to round up a few of his good fellows and retrieve you by force. I daresay I almost let him.” The moisture in his eyes was wiped away with his energetic hand. “You’re back, safe and well and in time for dinner.”

“You needn’t have worried, Father.” She couldn’t discourage him from taking up her baggage and bringing it to her room. He would have unpacked for her if she hadn’t taken her items out of his hands.

He stood looking, beaming at the presence of her. When she returned his good humor with a weak smile, his features lost some of their brightness. “That Faraday, he didn’t… he didn’t insult you in any way, did he?”

Her fingers rubbed absently under the cuffs of her blouse. “We talked of plant life and his adventures abroad. In no manner or deed did he offer any unwelcome advances.” No, she welcomed them all.

The sun returned to his eyes and smile. “Best we put this unpleasantness behind us and continue on. I’ve started a new graft that promises to be most successful and I can’t wait for you to see it.” He punctuated his excitement with a kiss on her forehead and left the room. Beneath the pounding of her head, she calculated that her father had bestowed more affection on her this day than in the totality of her life.

The return to routine intensified her earlier dissatisfaction without offering the old solace. The greenhouse fell short in comfort when compared, however unwillingly, to a larger example. Her roses bloomed stupidly and the cheerfulness of the common flowers and ferns affronted her. She walked down the rows, trying to overcome the emotions that had dogged her in the six days since her banishment. Sweeping up the recent cuttings occupied her hands, but left her mind to wander. She had an epiphany while dumping the discards into a bin.

What a fool she’d been! She had missed a tremendous opportunity on that last morning. Instead she prattling on about science and research, justifying his transformation in the driest terms her words should have exposed her heart. She should have shown him her resolve in staying by his side was because of her attachment to him.

In one night, Marcus had read her soul to the very depth of its darkness and instead of giving reproof, he had reveled in it. And what did she give him in return? The impression that she wanted nothing more than to preserve him for experimentation and obedience in the one command he must have wanted her to disobey.

No wonder he wanted her out of his house. Why keep her around when he’d have every right to fear the dissection table with her continued presence?

But that wasn’t the whole of her emotions at all. He touched and filled the empty space at the core of her. Though the recognition of these softer feelings shamed her at first, she stood before the mirror of her soul and looked at the reflection head on. He must know of this. She must tell him.

The broom clattered on the floor. She must pack. No, why linger with this news bubbling inside her? She’d be off at once.

The door to the greenhouse opened in a cool gust of wind. Freddy observed her closely, then sidled up to her, extending his hand. She took it and regretted the action. His flesh was moist and his grasp too familiar and too strong to let go of.

The gesture was tolerated since anything short of force would not free her. She smiled up at him, noticing and ignoring the hunger in the beady orbs of his eyes. “My father went to London. If your wish is to see him, you’ll need to come back on Saturday.”

A small hope that she misread that hunger died on his reply. “It’s your company I seek. I missed you in your absence.” Her imprisoned hand was brought to Freddy’s cheek.

The impropriety of this stunned her. Now she did rip her hand from his clutching fingers. “You overstep your bounds. I believe the terms of our friendship were made quite clear.”

“That was before your little adventure.” He stepped toward her and his nose wrinkled.

His sallow complexion and pointed nose repulsed her. She didn’t want him to touch her, could not believe she had allowed him to, and wished him out of the room and house. She swallowed before she spoke. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

He extended his hand to stroke her hair and she swatted it away. He laughed. “Look who found a bit of spirit. Tell me, did you let him into the same paradise you let me? Did you make him wait and beg or did you give him the key the first night?”

This time her hand rose to slap him, but he was lightning quick. His thumb and forefinger encircled her wrist and with rude fingers he unfastened her cuff and peeled back the cloth. The fading red of the manacles showed. His exhalation was triumphant. “I thought I saw his mark. Tell me, if I were to search your body, would there be other such signs of his ownership?”

She struggled to free herself, not bothering to waste effort on comment. His arms fastened around her chest and his rank breath beat against her hair and cheek. “I smell him on you. Did he have to bind you to convince you of his charms? Is that what you crave? A monster?”

His insight renewed the intensity of her struggles. She wanted him off her and drew in a breath to scream when Priya opened the door. They’d frozen at the entrance of the woman and Ivy recovered first. Once out of his odious grasp, Ivy generated enough distance from him and the situation to breathe a sigh of relief.

Priya’s low voice carried a tone of condemnation. “I’ve no wish to intrude, but I saw you through the windows.”

Ivy flicked the cuff of her dress to cover her marks and took a sideways step away from Freddy. “No intrusion. He was leaving. Freddy, I’ll tell my father of your visit. I’m sure he’ll want to know the tender care you inflict upon his daughter.”

“I’ve enough of your insults.” Freddy’s anger-distorted face and the veins in his forehead created a repulsive show. His gaze darted from one woman to the other, the steam from his emotions and thoughts almost visible. With his shoulders hunched and his hands out flung, distended in a hideous manner from his arms, if Ivy hadn’t known it impossible, she’d believe he might be transforming into a beast of his own. She didn’t know if her mind could bear the absurdity of two such creatures in her acquaintance.

Priya surprised her by inserting her body into the space between them, Ivy protectively pulled behind her. “I see England has its own vermin, though we’d hoped to leave the likes of you behind us. You’ll mind your manners and stay away from her.”

Freddy spit on the floor and bared his teeth. “Witch, tell your master me and my fellows aren’t afraid of him.”

Priya’s hands rose to ward his words off. “You’re more foolish than your Asian cousins. Begone. There’s a garbage heap calling you and yours.”

Ivy feared the man might leap and attack, but Freddy dashed out the door instead. She stepped out from behind Priya and faced her. “Why did you call him vermin?”

Worry made a taut mask of Priya’s face. “We’re in danger. I came here to give you the decision to come with me, but that choice has now vanished. We need to leave.”

“Did Marcus send you to fetch me?” How forgiving, how sweet the man was.

“I came on my own.”

The horrible, wretched demon. “He doesn’t want me. He told me to leave.”

Priya walked to the door and looked outside. “I don’t know if he’ll be back. You can’t stay here.”

“I can’t go to Marcus.” The abandoned hope turned to anger. “Why should I go to him when he rejected all that I am and have to give him?”

“You’re both idiots. He can’t see when destiny enters his life and you’ll stand here arguing while danger gathers its forces.” She grabbed Ivy’s wrist and pulled her from the room into the hallway. “I’d prefer not to knock you over the head and drag you to him, but if you insist on wasting time, I gladly will.”

This wasn’t how she had pictured their reunion, not with urgency forcing her to pack her belongings yet again. Ivy leaned over the banister to call to Priya below, who was talking to the carriage driver in a fear-infused whisper. Priya looked up at her and asked, “Do you have a gun in the house?”

There were trimmers and scissors in the greenhouse and outside shed, but those were unwieldy. Ivy dismissed them at once. “Why the need for weapons?”

“Were you not in the same room as me? That man threatened us.”

The response didn’t satisfy her, nonetheless Ivy went to her father’s room and took down the two crossed sabers from the mantle. She wiped the dusty blades on her skirt and tested their sharpness. The two swords made an awkward burden in addition to her bag and after a brief hesitation, she abandoned her belongings in favor of the weapons.

Priya’s impatience came off her in waves. “Can you use a sword?”

Ivy cut the air with one in a practice stroke. She lunged at Priya, stopping a few inches short of the woman’s stomach. Swordplay was the least of the odd lessons she’d received under her father’s tutelage. “I think I can manage. Do you want the other?”

“I would’ve taken a gun, but I’ve my own blade.” She reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out a thin, but lethal, dagger. A small smile played on Priya’s lips as she opened the front door and stepped out. “I’ve no doubt you --”

A darkened shape leaped from the side of the steps and tackled Priya. It knocked her down and attacked, its high-pitched squeaking interspersed with gnawing. Ivy’s stomach threatened to revolt when she caught a glimpse of its hideous face in the gaslight, long teeth and nose with grey fur lining its chin and disappearing down its neck. Its form beneath its clothes was misshapen. She couldn’t decide if its resemblance to a man made it more horrifying. She was not ashamed of the shriek that burst from her lips and was grateful that her fingers still gripped the saber. A frantic look for the driver saw him battling his own fiendish opponent.

A prayer stuck on her tongue and she raised the sword above her head and brought the flat of the blade down on Priya’s assailant. The monster stopped its attack and gathered itself to jump on Ivy.

Ivy’s steel met the fiend’s belly midflight. The weight of her foe carried her down on top of Priya, who groaned under the pile of bodies. With some difficulty, Ivy yanked her sword from the man’s twitching form and bent to help Priya up.

“Leave me. There’s no telling how many there are.” The foolish woman pushed Ivy’s hands away from her.

By now, the driver had extracted himself from his fight, the body of his attacker fallen by the carriage’s wheel. They both succeeded in heaving Priya to her feet, ignoring the woman’s protests. Secured in their transport, the driver lit into the horses and had them flying down the street.

Ivy used one of her handkerchiefs to mop at Priya’s neck and shoulder, squinting in the darkness to assess the extent of her friend’s injuries. She couldn’t tell if the wounds continued to bleed. “The entire village will be out to witness the one day I borrow my father’s great-coat to go to market, but a fight with those dastardly rodent creatures? Not one soul on the street or at a window.”

Priya smiled weakly at her irritation. “No one’s ever around when you need them.”

“What were those things?”

“The most foul agents of pestilence. The nemeses of all who follow the snake.”

Ivy shuddered. Her choice in Freddy as intimate and friend showed an appalling judgment. “I couldn’t tell if that was Freddy.”

“Nor me. One rat looks the same as another.” The carriage rolled over a rut in the rough path and Priya moaned as she was jostled.

Ivy peered out the window and thought she saw the twisted shapes of trees. “We’ll be home soon. Don’t worry.” As she continued to look into the darkness, a face sprang out of the shadows and pressed against the glass. Ivy lurched backward with a stifled scream. Her hands scrabbled against the leather of the seat for her sword, but the motion of the carriage must have sent it to the ground. She stretched out her leg and her boot bumped into it.

The rat-man attached to the door leered at her. She deduced that he must be holding on to the carriage’s top, but he might be able to secure a better purchase or unfasten the door and enter their cab.

Her sword forgotten, she twisted the door handle and kicked it open with all her might. The man looked at her, a comical dismay on his distorted features, before he fell and disappeared behind them.

She reached out and slammed the swinging door shut. The path began to incline and as the glory of Faraday’s mansion, lit up like a beacon, came into view, a similar light filled her heart.

Chapter Eight

The carriage took the bend into the drive on two wheels and sped up the small hill until it shuddered to a stop at the front door. Ivy took the full weight of her friend and eased her out the door, grateful when the driver relieved her of Priya, carrying the woman with ease. Ivy retrieved her sword, running as fast as her skirts permitted in the driver’s wake. His shout inside the foyer shocked her. She’d begun to think Faraday’s guards were mute.

At the bellows of alarm, footsteps could be heard from all corners of the house. The library door swung open and Marcus appeared, haloed by the room’s light. He absorbed their plight and raced to Priya’s side, the driver having deposited her in the nearest chair.

He examined her wounds and told the man to take her to his study upstairs. Priya resisted all efforts to move her. “We’re under attack, Marcus. The rats have found us and they’ll be here soon if not already.”

Marcus’s face was grim. He persuaded the man to take her away and in hissing whispers told the gathered guards to inspect the grounds. The men vanished out the door and at last, he turned to Ivy. “This is no haven for you.”

This was not the welcome she expected. “Would you send me out when your enemies close in?”

“Why did you come back?”

She might have blamed Priya’s urgings, but decided to speak her heart. “I had no other choice.” The distance between them shortened with each step she took. “You are in my heart and blood now.”

Indecision warred on his face until she touched his cheek. His smooth skin warmed her fingertips and she stared into his eyes, willing him to read her soul with the same simplicity as their first night. Her body led her mind and her lips found his, her thoughts forming the kiss and all the intention behind it.

His arms held her as he broke off the kiss. “I wanted to stop you from leaving the minute the carriage left. I should have retrieved you myself, but I thought you wouldn’t want to see me or suffer any apology.”

“Are you saying you would’ve apologized to win me back?”

His gaze caught her. “I would’ve crawled or slithered to be in your good graces. Do you forgive me my cursed stubbornness?”

Forgiveness and acceptance was in her embrace and on her lips. She let herself relax for short moments, before drawing back from him. The truth in the attack needed to be confessed. “Your enemies found you tonight because of me. I didn’t tell them, but their leader is a friend of my family. You must believe that I had no idea, nor the desire to put you in danger.”

His mouth pressed softly against her forehead and cheek. “Enemies will always find me. It’s what evil does.” He looked down at her, his lips in that familiar sardonic curve. “I was getting soft living the manor life. Better the battle ends tonight.”

His words eased the burden of self-blame and she tilted her head for another kiss. They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a guard. Marcus bid the man to speak.

“Six of them at least. We saw them on the road, but they disappeared into the wood.”

“Tell the men to stand their posts. We’ll be ready for them.” At the man’s exit, he turned to Ivy. “You’ll have to hide. I won’t risk losing my Andromeda again and daren’t take you outside.”

“My place is at your side. I won’t crouch under the bed like some child afraid of a nightmare. I’ve earned this right.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “How so?”

“I think I killed a man tonight.” The thought brought simultaneous revulsion and pride. The disgust won out when she remembered the rat-man biting Priya’s neck and the blood gushing from his stomach. She gulped hard. “I know the leader. I might be able to talk some sense into him.”

Despite her softer feelings for Marcus, her hand tightened around the sword at his patronizing grin. He said, “You’d have better luck conversing with a slug or beetle. The rats keep nothing of the man inside them when they change.”

She protested, but he pulled her into the greenhouse and locked the door behind them. “There’s the entrance to a cellar on the far wall. I’ll show it to you.”

“Please don’t tell me to hide.” She shook off his hand. “I’ve disobeyed you for far less.”

“And look where that got you.” His resignation showed in a momentary slouch of his shoulders. “Fine. Refuse to hide and you might end up dead.”

“Or we see the end of battle together. Where’s your sense of adventure?” She grinned up at him, happy to be near and to win out in the conflict of wills.

He hugged her to him. “Ivy, remind me to thrash you soundly when we both come out of this alive.”

A thrill ran through her, scared though she was. The excitement expanded upon seeing him unbutton his shirt and slide it from his shoulders. His fingers unfastened his trousers and they joined the shirt on the floor.

His beautiful and naked body before her made her forget her surroundings until rational thought intervened. “I hardly think this the time and situation for an interlude.”

His laughter rang through the room. “You must think me impossibly randy to entertain that notion. I disrobed for the change.”

He shouldn’t blame her for arriving at that conclusion, regardless of the illogic. While he stowed his clothes beneath the plant tables, Ivy reached beneath her skirt and pulled down the layers of petticoats that might hamper her during a fight. The lacey bundle was secreted in the same place and as she straightened from bending down, his strong hand caressed her backside and roamed between her thighs.

She savored the touch and reached behind her to stroke his arm. “You must think me impossibly wanton, Mr. Faraday.”

A skittering was heard from above, nails drawn across the glass ceiling of the greenhouse. Ivy ignored the hair rising on her arms and picked up her sword, gaze adhered to the roof above.

Marcus cursed. “Hide in the cellar.”

“I won’t leave you.”

The evil scrabbling gave way to silence. Marcus stepped to her side and lifted his arms over his head. She watched as his shape began to stretch and thicken. The sight of his change brought a relief that almost allowed her to relax.

Until two forms crashed through the windows in front of them. The creatures tumbled over the tables, scattering plant life and shards of glass. She hoped the entrance might have wounded them, but to her disappointment, the rat-men rolled to their feet.

They wore clothes at once stretched tight on their malformations and hanging loose in places. The garb increased the horror of their appearance, but she countered the reaction with the thought that she wouldn’t want them naked. Dear heavens, she should thank them for their modesty.

The momentary madness passed and she raised her sword, ready to defend her lover. She, protected by her affection for him, would make short work of the abominations in front of her. Two rodents were no match for her, armed as she was with a strength born of a newly awakened --

The first creature launched himself at her and bore her to the ground. The crack echoing in her ears was the sound of her skull’s impact on the cobblestone floor. Stars dazzled her eyes until a scrabbling at her shoulder cleared her vision. The cloth of her dress protected her from a painful bite and she didn’t want to give him time to reach her flesh.

His weight pinned her sword arm to her stomach, but she squirmed and managed to liberate her other arm. Pulling his greasy hair didn’t convince him to free her, and pounding on his head made him bite harder.

What she wouldn’t give for a bucket of arsenic or a very large cat.

Her body bucked beneath him, her legs churning to get a purchase on the floor in order to twist from him and his bite. His ear brushed against her chin, the cartilage an odd tickle in counterpoint to the shrill pain on her shoulder. She grasped the ear and pulled, digging her nails into the tender opening.

The rat-man’s squeaks rose to a scream and he released her. His tiny eyes shone with an enormous amount of anger for so little an area. She scratched harder with every intention of shredding the delicate membrane of his ears. When he shifted his weight to attack again, Ivy moved in the same direction, reversing their positions. Now on top, she gripped the sword in both hands and plunged the blade into his stomach. He convulsed and grabbed at the weapon, attempting to remove it from his insides.

She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do now that her enemy was impaled, although not dead, beneath her. A quick look behind her revealed where the other monster was. During the fight, she had half-expected a second attack, but her glimpse revealed the rat-man wrestling with an almost fully changed Marcus.

The logic -- when given the choice between attacking a woman or going after the huge snake -- of choosing the snake escaped her. She wrenched her weapon out of her attacker and slid quickly to the side, holding the blade in front of her. He surprised her by clutching his stomach and scuttling under the nearby table. His eyes glittered at her from the darkness.

A crash attracted the attention of both of them to the other fight. The two men rolled on the floor, knocking tables and neither getting the upper hand. At last Marcus stretched into the final stage of his change and the extra length gave him a solid advantage. He spun around the creature, burying him in his black and gold coils. The only visible parts of the hapless foe were the top of his head and bare feet. Ivy watched as Marcus’s entire body tensed and squeezed. She heard the crunch of bones and muffled screams, and made herself look as Marcus uncoiled his body and the man fell loosely out of his folds.

The snake lifted its great shape to full height, hanging above the dead rat-man.

Ivy feared what would come next and stretched out her hand in a plea. “Don’t eat him. Not in front of me.”

Reptilian features might not be ideal for most emotions, but disgust suited his scaly face perfectly. His shape began to shrink and Ivy focused on the vanquished foe under the table, putting as much menace in her sword and posture as she could while squatting on the ground.

A hand pressed her shoulder. “He’s no threat to you now.” Marcus knelt near the table and reached under. He hauled the protesting man -- for he had begun to change to a more human aspect -- from his hiding place. A quick blow to the side of his head knocked him unconscious and silenced his cries.

“Hand me your petticoats. We need to bind him to keep him from alerting his kin if any live still.”

Ivy obeyed and tore the fabric into wide strips, assisting him with the prisoner’s ties. The activity subdued the shaking in her limbs and she was quite fine by the time they finished.

“I don’t suppose either of these two is your friend.”

She frowned. “Neither. Perhaps your men succeeded in capturing Freddy.”

Marcus dressed quickly. “They don’t capture enemies. They dispatch. It’s what I pay them for. If you’re truly to be a fighter, you’ll need to see to your weapon.”

“What?”

“Never forget to clean your sword.”

The blade slid through the spare scraps of her poor petticoat and a few repetitions brought it to a polished sheen, in better shape than its prior state, neglected on her father’s wall.

“Can I convince you to hide now? You’ve proven yourself in battle and to continue would be foolhardy.”

“I’m not hurt and my place is by your side, Marcus. When will that truth penetrate your thick head?”

He responded by pulling her to him and holding her in an embrace that threatened to squeeze out all the breath in her lungs. She didn’t mind, needing to feel his strength. Too soon, he released her. They opened the door to complete darkness. Faint shouts could be heard from the outside, but all the rest was silence.

“You abandoned your shape prematurely,” Ivy murmured.

“I’m as good as blind and too clumsy to do much good when I’ve changed.”

His hand encircled her wrist and they ventured into the hallway with caution, straining to hear any sound that would alert them. He let go of her. The strike of a match preceded a small burst of flame. Marcus lit a candle and swung his arm before him. The tiny light made the dark around them more ominous. As he explored the downstairs, she followed close behind, bracing herself for an attack.

No one was on the ground floor. She turned to ask him his next plan, when the grim expression on his features halted her words.

“Priya.” He raced up the stairs and she hiked up her skirts to run after him, wishing she had her own candle and fearing for her friend.

The candlelight flickered in front of her, then disappeared around the corner of the corridor. She rounded the angle of the wall in time to see Marcus burst through the door of the same room from the fateful first night of her stay.

The tableau on her entrance transformed her blood to ice. Freddy, recognizable even in his rodent shape, held a sagging Priya to him in a ghastly intimacy. His hand clasped her neck as he backed up against the doorless cabinet nearly filled with jars of elixir.

Marcus stepped toward them and Freddy dug his claws into Priya’s neck, who could not stifle the moan of pain. “Any closer and you’ve killed her.”

Ivy walked between both of them. “Freddy, you won’t leave here alive if you do anything foolish. I know you. You won’t hurt her.”

A wicked smile contorted his rodent lips. “I’d say we both have a few surprises in us despite our knowing each other.” The smile turned into a grotesque leer. “What would you give me for the Indian bitch? Would you give me your pretty body?”

“My father thinks highly of you.” She tried to infuse her tone with a sweetness she did not feel. “I think highly of you, Freddy.”

“Stop saying my name!” Another moan from Priya gave evidence that he tightened his grip. “Maybe I won’t kill her. Maybe I’ll destroy something nearer to your heart.”

He punctuated his threat with an idle shove to the cabinet. A jar teetered on the edge of its shelf before toppling to the ground and shattering. The liquid seeped slowly into the carpet.

Ivy thought she might cry. The hideous waste, the potential lives, spread in a darkening stain. She heard Marcus hiss behind her and wondered if he was starting to change, if he had weighed the threat to Priya against the threat to his precious elixir. Freddy’s eyes burned with pride and his attention was divided between the couple before him and his destructive handiwork on the floor.

His distraction gave Priya the opportunity to reach into the folds of her skirt and plunge the hidden knife into the meat of the man’s thigh. His scream reached an awful pitch as she twisted the blade in the wound and shoved away from him. She ran the short distance to Ivy before collapsing into her arms. The weight of the woman buckled her legs, but she held on to Priya with one arm and kept a secure hold on her sword.

Freddy reeled, but didn’t fall. With another inhuman screech, he wrenched the knife from his leg and pushed at the shelves. The jars sounded musical notes as they knocked each other. Marcus hurled himself at Freddy and Ivy didn’t have a spare moment for concern or for holding Priya. She let go of woman and sword, and darted to the cabinet, spreading her arms to force the containers back to their places and bracing her entire strength to keep the apparatus from falling and destroying Marcus’s work. An awful snarling and grunting beyond her line of sight told her the two men grappled and the vulnerability and impotence of her position caused a magnified strain in her back, arms, and legs. A jar rolled off the top shelf and dropped on her aching shoulder, bouncing off and landing on the carpet with a dull thud.

A shriek ended abruptly in a gurgle. Heavy breath panted behind her and she didn’t want to know, didn’t dare hope who the victor was. She turned her head toward the sound.

With a grim smile, Marcus joined her and righted the shelves. The weakness of relief flooded her body and was doubled at the sight of Priya sitting on the bed while Freddy lay on the floor, the knife embedded in his neck. The stab of pity that went through her brought her back to reason. She had once felt enough affection to call the man friend and would never know how or why he had fooled her and her father for years. Her naïveté disgusted her until she shook it off. The affair was over.

A wave of Priya’s hand stopped Ivy’s attempt to go to her. “My wound is superficial. Perhaps your attentions would be better served downstairs with the men. There’s no telling how many of the vermin still crawl about.”

Ivy and Marcus met a guard coming up the stairs. The man’s report heartened them. Two of the rats had been fought and dispatched while the remaining creature had run off upon seeing his comrades overcome.

The term dispatched sent a shudder through her. These were deaths they cavalierly discussed. No matter how evil they were, to discuss their ends calmly confounded her. Yet a pragmatic truth inserted itself into her thoughts. She couldn’t wince over the deaths when killing the men meant that she and the people she cared about lived. The alternative redoubled the tremor in her limbs despite the rational conclusion.

After sending the guard to check on the captive in the greenhouse, Marcus seemed to notice her trembling and laid a hand on her arm. A weariness and desolation dominated his expression and appeared in his leaden tone. “You see why I needed to send you away. I wouldn’t have you surrounded by danger and death.”

She frowned at the depth of his misunderstanding. He couldn’t send her away, not after this fight, not when she was as altered as he was. Hadn’t her part in the battle earned her equal standing in his eyes?

His fingers on her arm tightened and produced a constricted pain. “My life is filled with monsters because of what I am. How can I indulge my selfishness, no matter how much I wish it so?”

Hope from his words and irritation over his obtuseness blossomed within her. The foolish, foolish man. She pulled her arm from his grasp and reached up, stroking the curve of his face before kissing him. “You must obey me and accept a partnership. I can’t have you attempting to get rid of me when we fight our enemies.”

“If I refuse?” His smile contradicted the question.

“I fear you have no say. You’ll not face any nightmares without me.”

His cheek rubbed hers in sweet contact. His scent filled her nose and the warmth of his skin was conducted to hers. His long and wicked tongue flicked her ear, then the line of her neck. “Since you’re determined to stay, I put one question to you. When do you wish to answer for your disobedience tonight?”

Her response was to walk up the stairs. One glance over her shoulder to catch his eyes and she strode to her room. The quiver in her belly intensified when his footsteps thundered after her. She had scarcely cleared the doorway before his hands fell on her shoulders and pushed her against the wall.

His fingers gripped the collar of her dress and ripped the fabric to her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. When his lips brushed her shoulder still sore from the assaults of the rat-man and the jars of venom, she moaned.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“The skin isn’t broken, but you might have a bruise.”

“Only one tonight?”

He reached in front of her, his hands cupping her breasts through her thin slip. She arched to his caress and whimpered when his fingers pinched her nipples. Her body awakened at the small cruelty and she wanted to beg him, to plead with him to make her captive and liberated again.

As if he heard the unasked, his hand snaked up to her hair and yanked her away from the wall. He pulled her across the room to the bed by her mane, pinpricks dancing on her scalp. The force of the motion had her sprawled facedown on the mattress.

Before she could act, Marcus raised her slip and pushed down her drawers. He clucked his tongue. “No cat or crop. How am I to teach you a lesson?”

His hand caressed her backside and she shivered. His fingers found her hair again and tightened the strands around his fist.

In an audacious movement, she raised her hips and waited. Her breath stopped in her throat when his hand left her body, but released in a rush when he struck her. The repeated smacks kindled a fire in her flesh and she rutted against the mattress, raising her hips higher, wanting the punishment, begging him with her cries to spank her harder. She, who had tasted leather, never dreamed bare flesh to flesh could bring heavenly abuse.

Though his blows met her skin with increasing force, he altered his movements. For every few smacks, his fingers would dive between her legs, stroking her pussy in brief contact. Each time he found her clit, she screamed, not knowing which touch she wanted more.

The sweet pain transported her. She was only distantly aware when he released her hair to fumble at his trousers and release his cock. He drove into her, raining blows upon her stinging flesh as he surged against her, plunging between her legs and driving her to the edge of pleasure and over.

Each thrust claimed her until everything in her was his making. Her ecstasy gripped and shook her limbs. As he jerked inside her, she heard him whisper, “You are mine.”

And she was. Her body’s surrender affirmed her mind’s acquiescence. When nightmares occurred, dreams would be sure to follow.