Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) by Lisa Andersen Page B
Authors: Lisa Andersen
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could, he wrote in the letter, and would see today about getting the license sorted. Eve sat stunned all through this, barely able to take it all in, barely able to comprehend that her life was changing so drastically before her.
That night, when she laid her head against the pillow, she dreamt that she was afloat in a sea of black water, water that swallowed up whole countries and left land desolate. She was alone in this sea and helpless, arms flailing, legs kicking, all to no use. And then Charles appeared, but he had no scar, and his manner was kindly and boyish. He picked her up and somehow they were on land, kissing, kissing like no man and woman should kiss.
She awoke, breathing heavily, sweat coating her forehead.
Three-and-twenty, and excited like a mere girl!
*****
“My dear wife,” Charles said, clutching Eve’s hand. “My dear wife. My dear wife. My dear wife. I feel I must keep saying it, if only to make it all seem real. Perhaps if I repeat it enough times, I will convince myself that it is true. You are beautiful. Do you know that? I do not believe I told you. Yes, you are beautiful. I wish I could better describe just how beautiful you are, but words fail me.”
Eve let these words wash over her. The road beneath them was bumpy, but they were safe and comfortable enough in the carriage. Charles clasped her hand tightly, and she clasped his hand back. There was something almost overwhelming about clutching his hand like this, something that Eve had never felt before. She ran her forefinger over his knuckle, and was astounded when he let out a low sigh.
“It tickled,” he said, sounding younger than his years (which Eve had learnt were five-and-thirty). “I hope you like our home,” he went on, blushing slightly. He absentmindedly scratched at his scar. “It is not the biggest estate a man has ever owned, but it is spacious enough, and you will want for nothing. There is a library, too, and I can use some of my income to purchase books for you, if you will only give me the topics. I am afraid you are more well-read than I.”
“It does not intimidate you, I hope,” Eve said.
“Not even close,” Charles said. “It refreshes me. It is like a splash of cold water on a sweltering day.”
The carriage stopped at around four o’ clock in the afternoon outside an enclosed estate in which a ten-bedroom, stone-built house stood. The garden was not well-tended, but the grass was healthy and bright green in the waning sunlight. Pillars supported the house and wide windows looked out like glassy smiles. Charles helped Eve down from the carriage and she took the place in, which had to be at least three times the size of Mother’s house. “It is absolutely incredible,” Eve said, her voice full of awe. “Scarily so,” she went on. “I will certainly have to rise to the challenge to be worthy of such a magnificent place, shall I not?”
“You will not change one bit!” Charles exclaimed melodramatically. “If I have to, I will tear the place down and change it in your image, but never the other way around! Never!”
Eve laughed – allowed herself to laugh because he was her husband and Mother was not watching – and stood close beside Charles. Slowly, carefully, as though he was afraid she would bolt like a startled squirrel, he reached down for her hand. She opened her fingers and they interlocked hands. They stood like that for a long time, as the sun began to set behind them, and their home became more and more like a formless shape in the dark.
In the dark, alone, in his bedroom, and the pleasure and the discovery mixed together—running her hand along his face as they embraced in love—moaning in pleasure as they gyrated as one—rolling across the sheets—giggling into his neck—lying beside each other, exhausted and hopelessly in love.
When the marriage was consummated, Charles rose and walked to the other side of the room. He was naked and Eve could see that the scar
That night, when she laid her head against the pillow, she dreamt that she was afloat in a sea of black water, water that swallowed up whole countries and left land desolate. She was alone in this sea and helpless, arms flailing, legs kicking, all to no use. And then Charles appeared, but he had no scar, and his manner was kindly and boyish. He picked her up and somehow they were on land, kissing, kissing like no man and woman should kiss.
She awoke, breathing heavily, sweat coating her forehead.
Three-and-twenty, and excited like a mere girl!
*****
“My dear wife,” Charles said, clutching Eve’s hand. “My dear wife. My dear wife. My dear wife. I feel I must keep saying it, if only to make it all seem real. Perhaps if I repeat it enough times, I will convince myself that it is true. You are beautiful. Do you know that? I do not believe I told you. Yes, you are beautiful. I wish I could better describe just how beautiful you are, but words fail me.”
Eve let these words wash over her. The road beneath them was bumpy, but they were safe and comfortable enough in the carriage. Charles clasped her hand tightly, and she clasped his hand back. There was something almost overwhelming about clutching his hand like this, something that Eve had never felt before. She ran her forefinger over his knuckle, and was astounded when he let out a low sigh.
“It tickled,” he said, sounding younger than his years (which Eve had learnt were five-and-thirty). “I hope you like our home,” he went on, blushing slightly. He absentmindedly scratched at his scar. “It is not the biggest estate a man has ever owned, but it is spacious enough, and you will want for nothing. There is a library, too, and I can use some of my income to purchase books for you, if you will only give me the topics. I am afraid you are more well-read than I.”
“It does not intimidate you, I hope,” Eve said.
“Not even close,” Charles said. “It refreshes me. It is like a splash of cold water on a sweltering day.”
The carriage stopped at around four o’ clock in the afternoon outside an enclosed estate in which a ten-bedroom, stone-built house stood. The garden was not well-tended, but the grass was healthy and bright green in the waning sunlight. Pillars supported the house and wide windows looked out like glassy smiles. Charles helped Eve down from the carriage and she took the place in, which had to be at least three times the size of Mother’s house. “It is absolutely incredible,” Eve said, her voice full of awe. “Scarily so,” she went on. “I will certainly have to rise to the challenge to be worthy of such a magnificent place, shall I not?”
“You will not change one bit!” Charles exclaimed melodramatically. “If I have to, I will tear the place down and change it in your image, but never the other way around! Never!”
Eve laughed – allowed herself to laugh because he was her husband and Mother was not watching – and stood close beside Charles. Slowly, carefully, as though he was afraid she would bolt like a startled squirrel, he reached down for her hand. She opened her fingers and they interlocked hands. They stood like that for a long time, as the sun began to set behind them, and their home became more and more like a formless shape in the dark.
In the dark, alone, in his bedroom, and the pleasure and the discovery mixed together—running her hand along his face as they embraced in love—moaning in pleasure as they gyrated as one—rolling across the sheets—giggling into his neck—lying beside each other, exhausted and hopelessly in love.
When the marriage was consummated, Charles rose and walked to the other side of the room. He was naked and Eve could see that the scar
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