* * *

Heat smothered Eamon in a heavy embrace. It filled his lungs and clung to his skin. And he reveled in it. Wiping away the sweat on his brow with his forearm, he readjusted his grip on the tongs and swung the hammer down. It connected with the glowing steel, and the impact hammered through his bones, rattled about in his skull. Clang. Clang. Clang. Sparks flew. Each hit shaping and strengthening the length of steel into his creation. His muscles ached. Sweat ran in rivulets along his chest and abdomen, cooling him even as the forge raged and heated his every breath.

And it was perfect.

Almost.

For he could not quite let go of Lu. She invaded his thoughts. Made him want.

Grunting, he swung again, and his tight body vibrated. He might have done this the easy way, but physical labor was better. Better than gritting his teeth and picturing himself slamming into Lu’s tight, wet…

“Bollocks!” He tossed the hammer down, where it bounced with a loud clatter. Leaning his weight on his forearms, Eamon hunched over his anvil. The steel was cooling wrong and would be ruined. Cursing again, he picked it up with his bare hand, and the hot metal hissed against his skin. As ever, there was no pain, no burning of his flesh.

The piece appeared very close to what a radius bone ought to be, save for the tip. That would take hours of finessing with his tools. Right now, he was impatient. Eamon walked over to the cleaned radius bone lying upon the work counter. Peering closely at it, he let his grip cover the steel. It was hot and smooth against his palm as he moved. Closing his eyes, he thought of the design and willed the steel to reshape.

Power, pure and clean and thrilling, coursed through his veins. The metal seemed to sigh, sing a song in his head: Make of me what you will. Beneath his grip the steel moved, writhing, changing. Eamon shuddered, the feeling so close to what he’d felt when he’d come inside Lu that his c**k stirred.

Double bollocks.

He took a calming breath and opened his hands. A perfect steel replica of the radius bone lay there. Really, it felt like cheating using his power, but satisfaction lit within him just the same. He put the cooled section on the table and picked up the piece he’d created earlier.

Running the length of his palm and reaching five inches in height, it was a small figure of a horse and rider. The little rider sat astride but her long hair stretched out behind her like a banner in the wind.

Gently he touched the tiny face of the rider. Lu. Would she like it?

His fingers curled around the horse, as his breath grew short. He would soon know, for he was going to give it to her at dinner—and then tell her everything.

Chapter Twelve

Eamon dressed carefully, like a man going to face the firing squad. There ought to be some dignity in baring one’s darkest deed to his victim. His hand shook only a little as he wound the white cravat around his neck. His shoulders only tensed slightly as George helped him into the tight-fitting dinner jacket of midnight blue.

And his knees didn’t wobble at all as he went down the stairs and entered the dining room, where she waited. Why she felt the need to go on ahead of him, he did not know. Nor could he ask when he finally laid eyes upon her.

She would always be the brightest star in the room. Candlelight made her skin glow like the finest alabaster. The plump swells of her br**sts all but spilled over the tight clasp of her violet bodice, and Eamon’s mouth went dry. He wanted to lick a path over those soft, little hills.

Clearing his throat, he came closer, and her dark eyes shone like polished onyx as they studied him. Heat flushed up his neck. She looked at him as if he were a tasty meal, and as if she was about to enjoy it.

“Lu.” He made a small bow. “Are you well this evening?” God, could he say anything less benign?

The sweet curve of her pink lips tilted with a small smile. “Quite. Husband.”

The word slashed like a lance, and Eamon peered more closely. She was holding herself too tight. Guilt swamped him anew. He’d been neglecting her. And she was angry.

He moved to take his customary seat when he realized that she’d placed his setting at the opposite end of the table. Frowning, he held her seat for her before retreating all the way down to the other end.

“Let me move my plate,” he began, picking up the china. “I’d rather sit closer to you.”

“No.” She smiled tightly. “Leave it be. I’d rather you sit there so that I may look at you.”

Eamon didn’t see how him being ten feet away was any better than being right next to her, but as he’d rather her be in an amicable mood, he sat. Unease pricked at his spine, intensifying the queasy feeling that had been boiling away within his gut for hours. Days really.

He cleared his throat yet again and tugged at his collar. “Lu—”

“Everything going well with your project?” she cut in.

“Yes. It’s fine. Lu—”

“I must say I’ve had enough of this rain.” She placed a linen across her lap. “I explored the house out of sheer boredom.”

“I’m certain the rains will ease soon. Lu—”

“You do have the most interesting artifacts lying about Evernight Hall.”

“We do.” Eamon braced his forearms upon the table. Sweat pebbled his brow and made his linen shirt stick heavily to his chest. His heart beat in his throat. If he didn’t say it now… “The thing is, Lu—”

“And so many books.” She laughed, high and trilling. “I must say—”

“I wrote the bloody letters!”

The words rang out between them. Eamon deflated in his chair. “It was me, not Aidan.”

She merely stared at him without expression.

The door to the room opened, making Eamon flinch, but he said nothing as the servants poured in, one after the other, carrying dish after dish hidden beneath silver domes. So many that he began to frown. What the devil? As if performing a dance, the servants placed the dishes upon the table and, with perfect timing, lifted the domes as one.

The scent of roasting meats, fish, and fowl filled the air. Crabs, three kinds of pigeon, sliced fish, hare, a jug of honey, a bulb of roasted fennel… Eamon’s head grew light, a strange buzzing sounding in his ears.

Dimly he heard Lu’s voice. “I drew the line at rotted shark’s head. It sounds revolting. Though, really, where would one procure that on such short notice?”

The buzzing grew louder, Eamon’s fingers growing cold as ice. Somehow, he made his mouth move. “My word challenge.”

Lopado-temacho-selacho-galeo-kranio-leipsano-drim-hypo-trimmato-silphio-parao-melito-katakechy-meno-kichl-epi-kossypho-phatto-perister-alektryon-opte-kephallio-kigklo-peleio-lagoio-siraio-baphe-tragano-pterygon. He’d been so cocky.

Lu’s dark eyes narrowed, and small flags of color pinked her cheeks. “An obscure, ancient Greek word for sixteen dishes? Really, Eamon, that was low of you. Though I will admit, quite inspired.”

Despite the panic and terror, his lip twitched. “Yes, well.” He took a great breath. “You knew.”

She sat so very calm and composed, her expression giving nothing away. “Only just today.”

One domed platter sat at her side. She lifted the cover. Her letters to him, tied up with twine, lay upon the plate. Mocking him. She’d done a fine job of searching his room, that was certain.

Next to the bundle was another stack of letters wrapped in a violet silk ribbon. His letters to her.

“It occurred to me,” she said lightly, “that the man I fell in love with, the man in these letters”—her voice grew sharp as she pointed at the evidence—“could not possibly be the Aidan I met last week. Oh, no.” She laughed shortly. “No. What became even more glaringly obvious was that the man I was falling in love with this week was exactly like the man in my letters. My E.”

At this, she threw her hands up in exasperation. “ ‘Would you be so kind as to humor your affianced and refer to me as E?’ And fool me thought you were referring to Evernight. How could I have been so bloody blind?”

Eamon tried to formulate a reply but his mind was stuck on one particular. “You’re falling in love with me?”

Her glare was a ferocious thing, and he might have recoiled, but his heart was growing bigger and bigger within his chest. He feared it might soon burst free.

“Have care, Eamon Hollis Evernight. I am in a temper, if you hadn’t noticed.”

He ran his fingers along the back of his neck and tried to look contrite. He failed. But then he caught her gaze. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. That was enough to bring him back. He moved to go to her when she raised a hand. “Don’t.”

Eamon tensed for a moment then sat back with a sigh. “I’m so sorry, Lu. For all of it.”

With a shaking hand, Lu picked up another paper upon the tray, a crumpled bit of parchment. He knew what was on it: She is yours now.

“Aidan truly cannot read or write, can he?” she asked.

“He never could. No matter what the tutors attempted.” Eamon squeezed the back of his neck tightly. “We didn’t mean to deceive you. Aidan simply didn’t want you to cry off of the marriage, but he could hardly reply to your first letter. So he begged me to do it. I’d been hiding his secret for so long, Bit, I couldn’t deny him.”

Her pert nose wrinkled. “If he wanted me to marry him, why did you respond with such… sass?” At that, the corners of her lips pulled tight as if she were fighting a smile.

He fought one too, remembering her letters and how much he loved that girl. “Because he didn’t want to marry, he merely wanted to please our father. So I thought…”

“That you’d put me off further by being an ass?”

“It wasn’t the best of plans, I’ll grant you.” He laughed, but it was a pained sound, his chest being too heavy to bear at the moment. “I didn’t count on you becoming my dearest friend, Lu.” He rose then, slowly so she wouldn’t bolt. “I didn’t count on falling in love with you.”

She watched him come, her face pale and her shoulders shaking. “And you didn’t know how to confess, did you?”

“I was a coward.”

He crouched before her, taking her cold hand in his shaking one. “Ah, Lu love, it slashes my heart that I deceived you. When Aidan left and you were hurting, I wanted to die from shame.”

She nodded as though in complete understanding. Eamon ran his thumb over her fingers. “I shouldn’t have married you in deceit. I should have told you, told you that I loved you and have wanted you for my own for so long that I couldn’t think straight.”

A sob broke from her, and he gathered her up then, lifting her from the chair and holding her close against his chest. “Lu, please don’t cry.” His hand stroked her hair, destroying the coiffure, setting her silky tresses free. “I love you. I just didn’t love me enough.”

She sobbed again and clutched his lapels. “Oh, Eamon. What a fine pair we are.”

He didn’t quite know what she meant by that. He was the liar. And the coward. So he simply kissed her temple and told her again. “I love you. With every day, I love you more.”

But she pushed back. And he let her go, for he wouldn’t force his love on her. He didn’t deserve her.

“I am not Lu,” she cried.

Eamon stilled, his hands loosely holding her wrists. “I don’t—”

She broke completely free of him. “I lied to you too.”

His stomach hollowed out, and he swayed. “What do you…” He swallowed against the taste of bile. “What are you saying?”

Tears ran down her face now. “Luella is dead. I am Lucinda.”

Chapter Thirteen

She fled. She couldn’t bear the sight of Eamon’s horrified expression or the way he’d recoiled from her as if slapped. It wasn’t fair of her not to give an explanation. Hadn’t she waited patiently for his? Given him a chance? For once her shock had died down, she’d understood his motives for deceiving her. They’d both lied for good reasons. Not that it made things right. In truth, it made them worse. How could they possibly build a life on such a flimsy house of cards?

Years of deception. Years of playing the part of Luella left her confused and soul sick. She didn’t even know who she was anymore. Lucinda had faded into nothing, a mere jumble of old memories. And Luella? She was the constant ache in her heart. She missed Luella still. Every day. She hated pretending to be Luella. And yet she clung to the part, as if it kept a piece of her sister alive. And from the moment Eamon had decided to call her Lu, that was how she thought of herself. Even if she was merely poor and illegitimate Lucinda Jones.

A snort escaped her, echoing in the cold night air. She was a complete mess. And how did she end up outside? Lucinda paused. She was next to the smithy and halfway to the stables, and she was breathing far too fast. A ride. That was what she needed. Escape. She could leave here. Go somewhere new. America. No one would know her, no one would care.

But she did not take another step.

“Eamon,” she whispered. She couldn’t leave him. He was her heart. Over the years, she had fallen in love with the man expressing himself on paper, and she’d fallen in love with the man of flesh and bone practically on sight. He’d had the right of it long ago; he was her waking breath and sleeping sigh. And she had to face him, come what may.

Lucinda turned on her heel, back toward the house, and promptly collided with a solid frame. Her hands grabbed thick arms to steady herself. “Eamon.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was just…” Her words trailed off as she realized with a lurch that she was not in Eamon’s familiar embrace.