The kitchen buzzed with activity, the staff at work on the evening meal. “She was headed to the wine cellar with Lady Adara the last time I saw her.” The cook slammed a pot down at that last mention of Adara, her lip curling over her stained and crooked teeth. “That would have been this morning.”

This morning? Unease curled through him at this information. He gave a curt nod of thanks. The kitchen staff paused amid their work, watching him with wide eyes as he departed for the cellar.

Dark fury brewed inside him, his pace increasing as he considered that his wife had not been seen since this morning. With Adara. The little witch had lied, then. Not only had she seen Evie, but she had escorted her to the wine cellar. And why would Adara have bothered? She wasn’t the solicitous sort. Especially given her attitude toward Evie.

His stride increased until he was running down the length of the corridor. His heart thundered against his ribs.

He flung open the bolt to the cellar and squinted down into unremitting gloom. He winced, hoping Evie wasn’t down there.

“Evie!” he called down.

Thick silence answered him.

Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled forth a handkerchief. Bending, he jammed it between the door and the floor, effectively keeping the heavy door wedged ajar.

He stomped down a few steps, his boots strong cracks on the wood. Peering into the swirling black, he called again, “Evie, are you down there?”

His stomach cramped at the thought of her trapped in the dark. All day. Alone. Although she had denied it, he knew she feared the dark. Remembered her gasping, choking breath when she woke at the inn, the fire dead and cold, the room black.

“Evie?”

Nothing. Silence.

Relieved, at least, that she had not been trapped down here after all, he turned, only to stop on the top step.

A sound. The barest scratch dragged against the rock floor. Then, he heard it. A whimper. Evie.

Swinging around, he flew down the rest of the steps. “Evie, where are you?”

Why didn’t she answer him? He stalked the cellar floor, knocking into vats, a crate. Then the tip of his boot struck something soft and yielding. His heart clenched. Evie.

She jerked away from the contact, scurrying aside. Spencer crouched and stretched out a hand, feeling the air, searching the dark. His fingers brushed something soft. He curled his hand around a fistful of fabric and tugged.

“Evie?” He tugged again, inching closer, pulling her toward him by the hem of her gown. “Evie? Are you—”

A sudden kick to the chest knocked the breath from him. Caught off balance, he fell back onto the floor. He heard her scramble away, moving deeper into the cellar.

He followed, catching hold of her arm. “Evie! Stop! It’s me!”

Dropping to his knees, he slid one hand up her arm to her face, cupping her cheek. He lowered his forehead to hers and spoke directly into her face, willing her to hear him, to believe. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe. I’m here.”

She stilled against him, her breath falling fast and hard. For several moments, she said nothing. Not a sound escaped their lips as he held her close, their breaths mingling, lips so close he almost felt the tender swell of her upper lip.

His mouth tingled, remembering the taste of her. He yearned to close that last bit of distance, touch that lip with his mouth.

Bloody hell. Now was not the time to suffer lust toward his wife. She was in the grip of some living nightmare. He refused to let his cravings outweigh her peace and well-being. Especially since the blame for this entire incident could be settled on him. He should have sent Adara home. Instead, he’d left his wife to her sharp claws.

“You’re fine,” he repeated. “Safe.” His thumb trailed small circles over her cheek as he waited for Evie to recover herself.

He sucked in a deep breath and tried not to notice the petal-softness of her cheek beneath his hand. Or the close press of her shuddering body to him.

At last she spoke, her voice small and shaky. She’d climbed back from whatever edge she’d been toeing. “Spencer?”

“Yes.”

A sob caught and twisted her voice. “What took you so long?”

Then she was in his arms, the last bit of space between them gone.

He sighed, the sound ragged with relief. “I’m sorry. God, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

She sniffed against his throat, the tip of her nose ice on his skin. “You’re cold.” He cursed and started to pull back, ready to remove his jacket.

Her fingers tightened their clutch on his arms. “No, don’t go.”

He shook his head in the dark. “I’m not leaving you.”

She slid her fingers from his arms, delving beneath his jacket to wrap her arms around his chest. She shifted, practically sitting in his lap. “I called for you,” she whispered. “Knew you would come.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“You’re here now.” She buried her face into his neck and clung harder, inhaling deeply. The sound clenched his gut. His c**k hardened beneath her voluminous skirts.

He cupped the back of her head, noticing her hair had fallen loose, trailed thickly down her back. He couldn’t resist. The thick mass felt too soft, like silk in his grasp. He delved his fingers through it.

“I’m so sorry that Adara locked you down here. The fault is mine.” And it was. The thought of Evie hurt, in pain, when he could have prevented it, filled him with fury. “Let’s get you out of here and warm you up.”

He knew of her aversion to the dark. Doubtlessly, she wished to be out of the cloying gloom that had reduced her to such terror.

Her arms squeezed around him, stopping him from moving. She shifted, pressing her br**sts into his chest. His breath fell faster, harder.

“Not yet,” she purred. The words fanned warmly against his skin.

He looked down, trying to make out her features in the impenetrable black. She moved again, pressed a light, openmouthed kiss to his jaw.

He hissed.

“Spencer,” she sighed his name, before flicking her tongue against his lip. Just a lick. A taste that made him tremble like a boy with his first maid.

His grip tightened on her arms. “Evie, you shouldn’t—,” he broke off, leaving his warning unfinished. Touch me? Whisper sweetly against my skin?

Was he a fool? He’d wanted nothing else since the first moment he saw her, muddied pinafore, hair a horrid mess, blue eyes snapping with clear unwelcome.

Her fingertips brushed his cheek. “You make me feel safe. You chase away the fear, Spencer.”

Something loosened inside him at her words.

She continued, “When I’m with you, I forget everything except this.” She took his hand from her arm and dragged it to her breast.

He sucked in a breath at the feel of her nipple beading through the fabric of her dress. He surged again, his erection a near painful throb.

Bending his head, he crashed his lips over hers.

He shuddered at the first taste of her. Holding her face, he angled her head for a deeper kiss as hunger exploded hotly between them. Her breast seemed to swell against his hand. He fondled it, found her nipple, delighted in her gasp.

Her palms slid down his chest and then up again, wrapping around his shoulders. He groaned, yearning to strip off their clothes and lose all barriers between them, to feel her hands on his flesh.

Never breaking their kiss, she shifted until her knees slid down his hips, her dress pooling around them.

He grasped her other breast, cupping the sweet little mound. A little mewl escaped her from their fused lips. Desire spiked through him, dark and heavy, sinking heavily in his groin, simmering through his blood. His c**k strained against his breeches, hard and aching, ready to plunge into her warmth.

With a gasp, he tore free. He grasped her arms and forced her back. She strained toward him with a frustrated moan, hands still clutching his arms, her sharp little nails digging.

“Evie,” he croaked, his arms shaking with restraint. “If we don’t stop this now—”

She climbed off him, tugging him to follow. “Don’t stop. Don’t think.”

Unable to deny her, deny himself, he came over her. Her hands skimmed up his arms, laced behind his neck. She arched beneath him, her face shaking, trembling near his own. Her skin felt incredibly soft against his skin. “Take me, Spencer.”

It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear from her. What he’d been waiting for. His desire for her edged close to pain now. He wasn’t sure he could stop at this point.

“Spencer,” she breathed sweetly against his ear.

“Down here,” he reminded her, his voice rough and choking as she dragged her lips down his neck. “In the dark? You are certain?”

“It doesn’t frighten me. Not with you.”

“I won’t stop,” he vowed, warned, his voice thick and unnatural.

Her cool fingers splayed over his cheeks, and there was such tenderness in the clasp of her hands that something unraveled inside him.

Her words fanned over his mouth. “I’m counting on that. Make love to me.” Her voice choked a little against his ear. “Please. Not because of duty or honor. Not for the purpose of conceiving an heir. Pretend to want me. Even a little.”

Pretend? “In all my life, I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than you.” He sank over her and claimed her lips again. All gentleness fled.

His hands drew her up against him and slid around her, working quickly over the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. He slipped each cloth-covered one free, fumbling and cursing in his eagerness, pausing as she slid his jacket and vest free. He growled impatiently as she pulled his shirt over his head. She laughed lightly, gasping when he gave up and ripped the last few buttons at the back of her gown. They popped and scattered to the ground with light dings.

He yanked her dress down to her waist, pulling her arms free of the sleeves. Her arms felt warm and deliciously bare wrapped around him. Loosening her stays, he pulled her corset down enough to bare her br**sts.

In the dark, everything was sensation. Taste. He wished he could see her, but this would have to be enough. For now.

Palming the perfect mounds, he let his hands act as his eyes. She gasped. His thumbs tested the nipples, rolling and stroking the pebbled tips. She arched into his hands, moaning.

“There’s no going back now,” he growled, kneading the soft flesh. “It won’t be like before, Evie.” It will be me. Not Ian. Us. You in my bed every night. No more running.

Wild whimpers escaped her. He increased the pressure of his fingers, rubbing the tight buds until she moaned and writhed under his hands. So wonderfully responsive, arching into him, moaning . . . begging.

“Say it. Say my name.”

“Spencer,” she sobbed.

His c**k throbbed against his breeches, the erection painful, thick with need. He slid one hand beneath her skirts, skimming her stockings until he located the slit in her drawers. He brushed the soft curls between her legs, a satisfied smile curving his mouth at the wetness he found there.

She jumped, gasped, her fingers clamping around his wrist.

“Easy,” he murmured, still touching her, his fingers sliding against her slick folds. “Let me feel you.”

She didn’t release her grip on his wrist, but her body trembled, quivered. Her legs parted wider for him, and she thrust herself against his hand, ready, eager after the initial shock of his touch.

He glided his fingers over her, sliding toward her little nub. He brushed the spot, lightly at first, teasingly, gradually firmer, harder until she was surging against his hand in a desperate rhythm, crying out.

Unable to wait another moment—he’d waited long enough—he freed himself. Sliding his hands over her slim thighs, he splayed her wide for him. Sweat broke out over his brow as he nudged her entrance, edged inside the delicious, sucking heat of her.