She held herself out of striking distance as she peered into the box. Eamon lifted the steel leg out of the box and set it before her. “This was my working model. I improved upon it since then.”

Slowly, she came closer, and with a tentative hand, she touched the leg that was shaped in the exact likeness of a human skeletal limb. “Why would you do this?”

“I take it you met Harry, our head groom?”

She nodded.

“Did you notice his limp?”

“Yes, it’s slight but I did see it.” The dark wings of her brows drew together. “Are you telling me that he has one of these artificial limbs?”

“I am.” Eamon ran his hand along the cool, steel femur. “He lost it to gangrene a few years back. When his spirits began to flag, I made him a leg. I don’t know, I thought, perhaps if he had a proper substitute, one that he could move with ease, that he could regain his confidence.”

The corners of Lu’s pink lips curled in a soft smile. “That was kind of you, Eamon.”

“It was something I could do.” Eamon touched a finger to the metal. “I can do more. I can fashion arms and legs for those wounded at Waterloo. I can help.”

She glanced up, and her dark eyes narrowed. “But why do you need real human limbs?”

“To study. I need to understand how they work, need to replicate their shape.” He shrugged. “As I said, I don’t enjoy that part, but it is necessary.”

Lu took a shuddering breath and laughed lightly. “I feel like a fool. Here I am imagining Gothic horrors and you’re doing your part to better mankind.”

Eamon let himself smile. Relief was a cool balm that flooded his sore muscles. “I’d have screamed as well had I walked into that unsuspecting.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said, but returned his smile.

“So you aren’t planning to flee at first light?”

Her gaze flickered to his mouth and then over his body. “No, Eamon,” she said in a low, rich voice. “I’m not leaving you.”

Tension coiled within his gut, a low pleasurable burn that had nothing to do with fear. “That is good, wife.”

Lu’s lashes lowered on a blush. “Come then, let us see to that bash upon your head, and we’ll have our dinner.”

Eamon followed, watching the subtle sway of her rounded arse beneath her skirts, wanting nothing more than to skip dinner and take her directly to bed.

Chapter Ten

Over the years, Lu had been given specific instructions as to what to do upon the night of her wedding. That her father had been the one to give the instructions had been both mortifying and aggravating. His words rang clear in her mind still. “Come to your bed in a gown of white. Wait for him and do as he says. No begging or pleading, girl. You are a Moran, whether you want it or no, and you will do your duty.”

She’d wanted to hit him whenever he spoke of it, to tell him that he could take his well-laid plans and get stuffed. But she’d been under his thumb, and they both knew it. Without money or a man’s protection, a woman’s world was a cold, dark place that often led to pain, degradation, and eventually death. Lu had been too cowardly to run off and try her odds. The unfairness of it had cut into her. Only Aidan’s letters and the promise of his love had staved off her rage. For Aidan, she would have endured anything.

Lu snorted. “See where that hope got you.” Her voice echoed in the cavernous space. The room was dim and cool, the fire’s heat barely reaching the high, canopied bed upon which she sat. Some maid had turned down the covers, and the fine linen was soft against the bottoms of her feet.

Knees tucked against her chest, and her obligatory white nightgown tenting over her legs, Lu had made herself as small as possible. Try as she might, she was frightened, and her heartbeat would not slow.

After Nan had fussed over Eamon and slapped a raw steak straight from the cooler onto the side of his head, they’d had a nice, quiet dinner. Eamon was easy to talk to and quite witty when he let his guard down.

Lu had found herself both comfortable and entertained. Yet all the while, a certain tension had remained between them, for they both knew what this night would bring. He’d left her at her door with a proper kiss to the back of her hand and a promise to see her at the turn of the hour. Lu hadn’t missed how Eamon’s eyes had gone molten blue, or the way his breath quickened to match her own. He wanted her. She understood it instinctively. And she wanted him. Even if she feared the act in equal measure.

Now she waited.

Nan had prepped the room, putting fresh, pure white linens on the bed and placing a large vase of sweet lilies upon the mantel. The clock ticked, and outside the wind groaned. When the clock struck nine, the door snicked open and Lu’s breath grew ragged. She forced it steady as a large shape filled the doorway.

Eamon. He paused for a moment then walked into the room on quiet feet, moving from the shadows into the light of the fire. So very tall. His shoulders broad and straight. He wore a linen nightshirt that reached his knees, and the color set off the mellow tone of his skin and the brightness of his hair.

Tension coiled and tightened in her chest as he looked at her without saying a word. He was close enough that she could see the rapid yet light pace of his breath. His deep blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his square jaw.

Afraid as she was, Lu could not deny that he was a finely made man, one that had her skin heating with each passing moment they faced each other.

His low voice broke their silence. “I won’t lie to you, Lu. You look like a dark angel sitting there upon that bed with your hair running free as a midnight river. Never in all my living years have I seen a sight equal to you.” He took a deep breath. “And you absolutely terrify me right now.”

A shocked laugh left her, and the tension within snapped. “Well, that’s good, for you terrify me right now as well.” Oh, but she liked that he liked the look of her.

His shoulders eased on a deep breath. “Good, now that we’ve established our mutual terror, we’ve nothing to worry about.” He grinned wryly and walked closer, those long limbs of his moving with utter grace.

Lu swallowed hard. “Nothing? Are you sure?”

Eamon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he stopped before her. “Well, not nothing, but we’re both in the same boat now, aren’t we, my little Bit?” Slowly he sat at the very edge of the bed, watching her as he did, as if he didn’t want to scare her. “Which means,” he went on in a soft voice, “that I can take your hand”—his large palm extended toward her—“and you can take mine.”

Trembling, she reached for him, and their hands clasped, his rough and warm and secure as his fingers threaded through hers. Eamon smiled then. “And we’ll face this together.”

Lu wasn’t sure, but she just might have fallen a little in love with her husband in that instant.

He slid closer, resting a long thigh upon the bed, so that they were only a foot away from each other. The mattress dipped under his weight but Lu had Eamon to hold on to and her fear ebbed further.

“We needn’t do this tonight,” he said, looking her over with a small frown. He let her hand go and brushed a lock of her hair back from her temple. It was a fleeting touch, the tips of his fingers barely grazing her skin, yet it seared just the same. Eamon let his hand rest upon the bed between them. “We can wait.”

“I was never good at waiting.”

Eamon raised a brow, and she bit her lip. Gods, that sounded like she was eager.

“I mean, it would only make it worse—no, not worse, but harder. God.” Lu winced. “Everything is coming out the wrong way.”

He laughed, a low, easy chuckle. “It’s nerves. And I knew what you meant.”

Well. Good. Fine. She was through making an ass of herself.

Sitting with him under the shelter of the velvet canopy, with naught but the crackling of the fire and the warmth of his body so close, Lu felt a certain camaraderie. He was right. They were in this together, and suddenly it didn’t seem so frightening.

“Have you ever…” She bit her lip. It seemed too personal to ask, and yet they were to do this thing together. “Ever done this?”

For a moment, she thought maybe he’d misunderstood or hadn’t heard, his expression was so blank. But then he cleared his throat and frowned.

“I haven’t.” His tight frown was glum. “Was saving myself for y—” He drew a quick breath. “Well, for my wife, wasn’t I?”

Lu could not help it; she smiled. “I think that is lovely.” Warmth bloomed within her chest, and she had to restrain herself from touching his cheek. Women were expected to remain chaste and pure. That Eamon wanted to keep that part of himself for his wife made him more of a man than the bragging bucks she’d come across in London.

His lashes lowered a bit, hiding his eyes, but she could tell that her smile was not welcome.

“It only seemed fair, didn’t it?” he mumbled. “After all, you are… That is, my bride would be a… Curse it. Let’s just say that neither of us will know what we’re doing and right now I’m sorry for it.”

“Why?” She let her hand move an inch, and her pinky grazed the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Seems one of us ought to know.” His brow furrowed as he studied her face. “And it ought to be me. I want to do right by you, Lu.”

This time, she did touch him, running a finger along his jaw, where it was just a bit rough with his evening stubble, taking note of the way his breath caught and the answering thrill that rushed through her. “I trust you, Eamon.” Strangely, she did. They were virtual strangers, but she knew he would not harm her. More so, she knew he was a gentle soul, despite his obvious strength.

He gave her a brusque nod. “Then let us get to it.” He moved to lie on top of her. Their legs tangled, knees knocking as they both shifted to fit. His chest pressed against hers, the expanse of it like a brick wall.

“I cannot breathe,” she got out with a gasp, the sensation of Eamon all around her overwhelming.

He muttered a curse and rose up on his elbows. “Better?” he asked, looking down at her. A lock of hair fell over his brow like a glowing tinder. She had the mad urge to brush it back, perhaps touch his cheek. His breathing had gone fast and light as well, and each inhale had his chest touching hers, but no longer crushing.

“Yes.”

“Right. Good. Then… I’ll…” Long, masculine fingers fumbled at the skirt of her nightdress, pulling it up, stopping when the linen snagged under her bottom. Eamon wouldn’t look at her as he cursed beneath his breath and tried to get it free.

“Here,” she said, “let me.” Face positively burning, Lu lifted her hips, and the gown, no longer constrained, flew up to her waist from the force of Eamon’s tug, his hand knocking into the side of her breast before he could control the momentum.

“Sorry,” he muttered, drawing up his nightshirt.

Lu wondered if it would be a blessing should they both expire on the spot. But no such luck. Eamon’s hips closed in over hers, and she parted her thighs, instinctively making space for him.

When the warmth of his hips settled in between her legs, she sucked in a breath, and then she felt it, hot and hard and heavy against her inner thigh. His manhood, as most ladies would call it. Though Lu had overheard the grooms use another word: cock. She liked that word more; the sinful sound of it always gave her a flutter. And all her attention was now riveted on the feel of Eamon Evernight’s cock.

His skin there was silky soft, a surprise, but not enough of one to quell the tight fear that overtook her when he shifted. Because his skin might be soft, but his shaft was hard as iron, and that heated weight pushed against her sex. Oh, but just the feel of that sent a strange, dark thrill coursing through her, and her insides clenched. So very strange, this mix of anticipation and fear.

He ducked his head, and their cheeks touched. A blessing really, for they didn’t have to face each other in this moment. Eamon nudged forward a bit, trying to push the rounded tip into her, and a rush of cool heat washed over her skin even as her breath caught. But he stopped. It did not want to go in. In truth, he felt so large, so massively thick in that area, that she wondered how he ever thought he would fit inside her.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re dry.”

She did not know what that meant precisely, but the accusation had her cheeks burning and her insides cringing. “I’m sorry?”

Eamon’s gaze went sharp. “It’s not—” He sighed and rolled off to hunch over the side of the bed, and the loss left her cold. She hastily pulled her gown down as he sighed. “The fault is mine, Bit.”

He got up, and his nightshirt fell to his knees, leaving strong-looking calves, lightly furred with auburn hair. The linen was too billowy to see the rest of his form but it hugged his broad shoulders as he moved to the bureau at the far side of the room. She wanted the shirt gone, to see him bare.

Was he hairy all over? How many shades of red colored his massive body? Was his skin smooth in other places? Tight? Rough?

She swallowed hard and composed her expression as he walked back toward her with a silver box in hand.

Not meeting her gaze, he gave her the box. “For you—us. This is,” he ground out as she lifted the lid. The scent of roses and lavender touched her nose. Inside was a salve.

The substance was almost oily, sliding easily between her fingertips. “What is it for?”

She didn’t think it possible, but Eamon went a shade redder. “To ease the passage… Usually, I’m supposed to prepare you.”