“Just going to confess?” said the man.

He was an older man, greying at the temples, with great, bushy sideburns that whipped along his cheeks and ended at the corners of his mouth. It gave him the appearance of having a maniacal grin. He reeked of gin, and his clothing, while good quality, was just this side of shabby. Fallen on hard times, then. And he appeared familiar.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to back away. He wouldn’t let her go.

“Look again, child. Surely, I have not changed so much.” His thumbs caressed the exposed skin just below her sleeves, and she flinched, her insides turning as he let his gaze wander over her. “Though I cannot say the same for you. Quite lovely, Miss Lucinda.”

Lucinda stilled, making herself appear as innocuous as possible as she studied him again. Recognition hit. “Dr. Arnold.” Dread sucked at her chest. Her father’s doctor, the one who had tended to Luella. And the one man left alive who could recognize her. He’d been there the day Luella died. He’d been the architect behind Father’s mad scheme. Lucinda had heard he’d died. She’d clearly been misinformed.

His oily smile said as much, and that he knew precisely what she was thinking. “I admire your gumption, child. Going ahead with the plan even after your father passed. However, you forgot one small thing.” He gripped her hard and brought her in close where she could see the veins upon his nose and cheek even in the blue moonlight. “I was promised half.”

“I don’t have any money,” she said. “My-bride price no longer played into account once my father died.”

“Not true, sweet. Ten thousand pounds were deposited in the Bank of London under your name on the day of your nuptials.”

Lucinda wasn’t surprised. At the time, she’d been too distraught over Aidan’s apparent defection, but she understood that Eamon was a man of honor and would keep the Evernights’ promise to her family.

“I know,” Arnold went on with a sneer, “because I work there now. As a lowly clerk when I once was a sought-after doctor. A stunning fall from grace after your father hired thugs to kill me so he wouldn’t have to share the wealth. Yes,” he said when Lucinda gaped up at him. “I had to hide away, pretending to be another man for years. Ballyloch, while poor, was also an earl and too powerful to fight. Only now the bastard is dead, and we, my dear, are alive and free.”

Part of Lucinda felt a degree of sympathy for the doctor. Yet his greed had put them both in this stew.

“All right,” she said, ignoring his hold. “I’ll give you your half.” Anything to be rid of him.

A low chuckle rumbled from him. “Oh, no, sweet child, I do believe I want a bit more, now that I’ve had time to contemplate.” His gaze slithered down her bodice. “After all, I am the only one alive who can identify you.”

Quick as a lash, he tugged down the left side of her bodice, exposing her breast right up to the crest of her nipple. Lucinda yelped, thrashing back, but he held her tight with one hand as he poked her breast. “Lady Luella carried a small birthmark here.”

Lucinda kick at his shin with her slippered toe and hurt herself for her efforts. “And how did you know that?”

He smiled again. “Perhaps I conducted a little inspection for just such an eventuality.”

Saliva filled her mouth, and it was all she could do not to spit in his face.

“Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. Off. My wife.”

They both spun at the sound of Eamon’s deep, cold voice. He stood a few feet off, his broad shoulders and sharp features bathed in the moonlight, and his eyes glittering with rage as he focused on Arnold.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Evernight,” Arnold said to him, “but this is not your wife. Your marriage contract states the name Luella Jane Moran, not Lucinda Jones, bastard and simple maid.” He tugged Lucinda closer, putting a hand around her throat. And then she felt the sharp point pressing into the place where her pulse thrummed. It felt like a claw but cool and unyielding like metal.

“A little insurance,” he said when Eamon took a hard step forward, his eyes wild. “Why bother with a knife when this simple thumb claw works just a well. One good push at her artery here and she’ll bleed out in moments.”

Without breaking his attention from Eamon, Arnold slowly backed up to the smithy. “Shall we discuss things civilly?”

“A bit late for civilities,” Eamon bit out. “When you’re threatening my wife.”

“You don’t even know who you are trying to protect. She isn’t Luella.”

Lucinda knew Eamon did not care. She could see it in his eyes, though he’d yet to look at her.

“I know who she is,” he said, “and make no mistake, chancer, she is mine.”

Arnold made a sound of amusement. “All right, ginger. I won’t argue with you. I simply want what’s mine. Ballyloch was relying on his daughter’s marriage to young Master Evernight to save his dwindling funds.” Arnold’s gin-laden breath caressed her cheek. “Unfortunately Lady Luella died a few weeks after he received his first payment. When I pointed out that Miss Jones here looked very much like Luella, it was a simple thing to convince her father to let the chit take her sister’s place. So you see, the bride-price really ought to be mine.”

“Rather twisted logic you have there,” Eamon said sedately. “But I won’t argue with you. Just let her go.”

Arnold reached for the smithy door and pushed it open, still holding on to Lucinda. “Let’s settle this where there’s more light.”

The coals in the forge were banked but still held a bit of a glow, one that roared to full flame when Arnold worked the bellows with the foot pump. A few lengths of iron lay close to the edge of the forge, and Arnold nudged them farther in.

Eamon eyed the move, and a smile pulled at his mouth. It was not friendly but chilling. “You plan to use one of those against me?”

“Perhaps. I’ve hit you before,” Arnold answered. “A hot iron through the flesh ought to finish the job.”

“Trust me, friend. You do not want to fight me. After all, I’m the devil’s get. Forged in hell.” Eamon’s blue eyes went dead cold. “Isn’t that what they told you?”

“All the more reason to kill you,” Arnold said.

Eamon didn’t even blink. “You want the bride-price, I can give it to you. But you’re going to have to let Mrs. Evernight go first.”

“Do not give him a dime,” Lucinda snapped. “He was the attending physician at Luella’s death. If anyone would appear guilty, it will be him—”

Bloody. Hell. She abruptly shut her mouth and cursed again. She could have kicked herself for speaking up. And by the looks of Eamon’s reproachful glare, he was having somewhat similar thoughts, but his tone was calm and reasonable as he spoke. “Look, it’s clear that you didn’t think this out properly. End this now before someone gets hurt.” His expression hardened. “I can assure you, if harm comes to my wife, you will not walk out of here alive.”

Arnold’s thumb dug into her neck enough to prick the skin. He talked into her ear as he stared at Eamon. “Do you really believe that I would approach without a proper plan? You are correct, Miss Lucinda. I have more to lose than gain should the truth of your origins come out. Something I realized on the long trip here. So I reassessed. I’ve been watching, waiting.” He angled his chin toward the cellar door. “Quite the interesting collection of body parts you have down there, Evernight.”

Eamon merely looked at Arnold.

“Not a soul in the village trusts you. And should the strange, unfortunate Eamon Evernight be killed, say in a fire in his smithy, no one will mourn him. Especially after they find what you’ve been hiding.”

As he drew near, the tip of Arnold’s cold nose touched Lucinda’s cheek, and his voice dropped low and disgustingly intimate. “I’m sure I can persuade the widow to marry again.”

Rage boiled up within her. For years she’d done as bidden. For years, Eamon had been told he was someone unworthy of love or affection. And this horrid man thought he would destroy the fragile happiness they’d just found.

Lucinda exploded into action, bring her elbow swiftly back into Arnold’s ribs as she turned and jammed her knuckles into his throat.

He gagged, falling back a pace, but his hand dug into her hair before she could pull away. The claw scraped along her scalp, drawing tears to her eyes.

Eamon charged. Arnold threw her down and grabbed the heated iron, brandishing it like a club. Sparks flew from the forge, and the glowing iron swung in an orange arch and went straight to Eamon’s chest.

“Eamon!” Lucinda screamed.

Arnold’s body blocked her view but she saw Eamon stagger then fall down. A red haze fell over her eyes as she surged upward, her body vibrating with anger. It was as if she became another person, feral and intent.

Her hand wrapped around a length of iron. The heavy weight seemed insubstantial as she smashed it down upon Arnold’s back. Arnold bellowed and turned. “Bitch!”

Her world slowed as Arnold grabbed the wooden handle of the crucible that hung over the forge. The cauldron, full of bubbling, molten metal pitched toward her, and she could only duck down with a cry, holding her arms up for protection. But then Eamon was there, his big body covering hers as the metal poured down upon his back.

Hot metal snapped and popped as it hit Eamon and the floor, and Lucinda screamed. She looked into Eamon’s eyes and saw not pain but rage.

Their gazes held for one moment, his roaming over her face as if to assess her injuries, and hers in utter shock for he was not writhing in agony.

“Eamon,” she breathed, but he did not flinch. Nor did he burn.

He pivoted, rising up like a cresting wave. She could only gape as the molten metal began to swarm off Eamon’s back, beading and gathering in brilliant orange pools as if it were alive. The moving mass of metal crawled along Eamon’s flesh and down his arm as he grabbed Arnold about the neck with one hand and wrenched him away from Lucinda.

Arnold thrashed and fought to get free of Eamon’s hold. But he could not. And as if it were attacking, the metal flowed over Arnold, invading his neck and face, and an agonized scream tore from him. Smoke rose from his skin as he shook. He was burning.

The screams grew, the scent of roasting flesh filling the air.

“Lu!” Eamon snapped, not looking at her. “Go. Now!”

Somehow she found her feet and ran.

* * *

Lucinda didn’t know how long Eamon had remained in that hellish room; from the moment she’d fled, time had gone hazy. She was curled up on the grass, shivering and ill to her stomach, when Eamon found her. His steps were slow as he approached. When she didn’t move, he crouched down beside her.

“Lucinda?” he whispered. “That’s your name, then?” He made a soft sound, bittersweet in the night. “I always thought you couldn’t be a Luella. Lucinda suits you better, a beautiful light in the darkness of my life.”

A wobbly smile pulled at her lips as she blinked down at the grass. But it ebbed.

“I was born Lucinda Jones,” she said, not raising her head, “the bastard child of my father and his housemaid Ann. She died at birth, and though it surprised the staff, my father let me stay. I was a kitchen girl by age five, and by age thirteen, I became my sister Luella’s companion and lady’s maid.”

Her eyes prickled. “I loved Luella, and she loved me. We were the best of friends, despite the social chasm between us. She…” Lucinda took a choking breath. “She died a month after your father made his agreement with mine. Scarlet fever.”

Even now, it hurt to remember Luella staring blankly with eyes that would never see again, and then her father and horrid Dr. Arnold bearing down upon her with their threats.

“I was given the choice of eviction or being Luella.” She swallowed back her tears. “I took the coward’s way out, Eamon. But I tried in my own way.”

“The letters.” Eamon’s voice was rusty. “You wanted to dissuade me, just as I sought to dissuade you.”

“Yes.” Save she fell in love with him and, in doing so, saw her way to salvation. “Do you know,” she said with a ragged breath, “I haven’t thought of myself as Lucinda since the moment you called me Lu.” In truth, she never considered Lu as a nickname for Luella but for her, for Lucinda. Her eyes filled, and she blinked hard. “You promised to always call me Lu.”

Eamon took a great, shuddering breath. “So I did. And so I will.” They didn’t say another word, nor did he try to reach for her. It was a long moment before he spoke again.

“That is my truth,” Lucinda said.

“And now you know mine. The very worst of me.” Sorrow weighed down his voice.

“You killed him.”

“I did.”

Lu shuddered. It had been awful. Even far away from the forge, she’d heard the screams until they died out. The silence had been almost worse. Oddly, none of the staff came out of the house. Had they known?

“Were you… How were you not injured?” The image of the red-hot liquid metal moving as if alive over Eamon’s flesh haunted her.

He sighed. “Metal is… I touch it, and it does my bidding.”

He was silent for a moment, his big body shifting a bit as he adjusted his weight onto his heels. “The heat needs a place to go. Into me, into another. The heat doesn’t harm me, but others? They are not so fortunate.”

Slowly Lu raised her head. Eamon’s handsome face might have been sculpted marble. Only his eyes were alive, watching her with a weariness that hurt her heart. He blinked and his expression turned fierce. “I did not want to kill him. But I won’t regret defending my heart and home in the way that I did.”