ANNA WAS IN the garden when Edward found her that afternoon. He was irritable. He’d been searching for her some fifteen minutes, ever since Hopple had informed him that she was at the Abbey. Really, he shouldn’t have sought her out at all; he’d made just that resolution this morning. But something inside him seemed constitutionally incapable of keeping away from his secretary when he knew her to be nearby. So he was frowning at his own lack of fortitude when he spotted her. Even then he paused by the garden door to admire the picture she made. She had dropped to her knees in the dirt to plant a rose. Her head was uncovered, and her hair was coming down from the knot at the nape of her neck. In the bright afternoon sunlight, the brown locks gleamed gold and auburn.
Edward felt a tightening in his chest. He rather thought it might be fear. He scowled and paced down the path. Fear was not an emotion that a strong man such as himself should feel when confronting a meek little widow, he was sure.
Anna caught sight of him. “My lord.” She brushed the hair from her brow, leaving a smear of dirt behind. “I thought I would plant your roses before they died.”
“So I see.”
She gave him an odd look but evidently decided to make nothing of his strange mood. “I’ll plant some in each bed since the garden is laid out in such symmetrical lines. Later, if you wish, we could surround them with lavender. Mrs. Fairchild has some lovely lavender plants by her back walk, and I know she would be pleased to let me take some cuttings for your gardens.”
“Hmm.”
Anna stopped her monologue to brush away her hair again, further smearing the dirt on her forehead. “Bother. I forgot to bring the watering can.”
She frowned and started to climb to her feet, but he forestalled her. “Stay there. I can fetch the water for you.”
Edward ignored her aborted protest and strode back up the path. He reached the garden door, but something made him hesitate. Forever after, he would ponder what impulse made him pause. He turned and looked back at her, still kneeling by the rosebush. She was packing the earth around it. While he watched, Anna raised her hand and with her little finger hooked back a lock of hair behind her ear.
He froze.
All sound stopped for a terrible, timeless minute, as his world shuddered and toppled around him. Three voices whispered, murmured, babbled in his ear and then coalesced into coherent language:
Hopple by the ditch: I thought when that dog went missing for several days, we were well rid of it.
Vicar Jones at Mrs. Clearwater’s soiree: I wondered if she’d bought a new dress on her trip.
And Hopple again just today: Mrs. Wren didn’t come to work whilst you were in London.
A scarlet haze obscured his vision.
When it cleared, he was almost upon Anna and knew that he had started for her even before the voices had become understandable. She was still bent beside the rosebush, unaware of the approaching storm until he stood over her and she glanced up.
He must have worn the knowledge of her deceit on his face because Anna’s smile died before it had fully formed.
Chapter Sixteen
Cautiously, Aurea lit the candle and turned to hold it high over her lover’s form. Her breath caught, her eyes widened, and she gave a start. A very small start, but enough of one to send a drop of hot wax spilling over the lip of the candle and onto the shoulder of the man who lay beside her. For it was a man—not monster or beast—but a man with smooth, white skin; long, strong limbs; and black, black hair. He opened his eyes, and Aurea saw that they, too, were black. A piercing, intelligent black that, somehow, was familiar. On his chest glinted a pendant.
It was in the shape of a small, perfect crown inlaid with glowing rubies….
—from The Raven Prince
Anna was debating whether or not she’d set the rosebush at the right depth in the hole when a shadow fell across her. She glanced up. Edward stood over her. Her first thought was that he had returned too soon to have brought the watering can.
And then she saw his expression.
His lips were drawn back in a rictus of rage, and his eyes burned like black holes in his face. In that moment, she felt an awful premonition that he’d somehow found out. In the seconds before he spoke, she tried to rally, to reassure herself that there was no possible way he could have discovered her secret.
His words killed all hope.
“You.” She didn’t recognize his voice, it was so low and terrible. “You were there at the whorehouse.”
She’d never been good at lying. “What?”
He squeezed his eyes shut as if at a bright light. “You were there. You waited for me like a female spider, and I fell neatly into your web.”
Dear Lord, this was even worse than she had imagined. He thought she’d done it for some kind of sick revenge or joke. “I didn’t—”
His eyes snapped open, and she threw up a hand to ward off the hell she saw in them. “You didn’t what? Didn’t travel to London, didn’t go to Aphrodite’s Grotto?”
Her eyes widened, and she started to rise, but he was already on her. He grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her easily, effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than thistledown. He was so strong! Why had she never before realized how much stronger the male was in relation to the female? She felt like a butterfly seized by a great black bird. He swung her body against the nearby brick wall and pinned her there. He lowered his face to hers until their noses nearly touched, and he could surely see his own reflection in her wide, frightened eyes.
“You waited there, wearing nothing but a bit of lace.” His words washed over her face in a hot, intimate breath. “And when I came, you flaunted yourself, offered yourself, and I fucked you until I couldn’t see straight.”
Anna felt each puff of his exhalation against her own lips. She flinched at the obscenity. She wanted to deny it, to say that it did not describe the sublime sweetness they’d discovered together in London, but the words caught in her throat.
“I was actually worried that contact with the prostitute you sheltered would ruin your good name. What a fool you made me. How could you hold back your laughter when I begged your pardon for kissing you?” His hands flexed on her shoulders. “All this time I’ve been restraining myself because I thought you were a respectable lady. All this time when you only wanted this.”
He swooped in then and devoured her mouth with his own, ravishing her softness, making no allowances for her smaller size, for her femininity. His lips crushed hers against her teeth. She moaned, whether in pain or desire, she could not tell. He thrust his tongue into the cavern of her mouth without preamble or warning, as if he had every right.