Chapter 1
Chapter One
Watching her husband prowl in front of the fire, Evelyn Harrington, the Countess of Manderly, recognized with an uneasy quiver that he wasn’t himself.
James was always proper and reserved—the perfect gentleman.
The perfect husband. Nothing ruffled him; even the most disquieting circumstances failed to erode his composure and rationality.
With her, he was courteous and kind, never asking for more than she could give—even if a part of her wanted him to.
However, Evie’s polished spouse of over three years was nowhere to be seen this eve.
In his place stood a man who looked like James—but his restraint had been replaced by a raw, dangerous intensity.
He’d raked his fingers through his thick brown hair, threaded with bronze, disheveling its precise cut.
A night beard shadowed his typically clean-shaven jaw.
He had shed his impeccable frock coat and cravat and rolled up the sleeves of his pristine shirt.
While his physique was naturally brawny, he had packed on more muscle since she’d last seen him from such an intimate distance.
His fitted waistcoat revealed the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his torso.
Fascinated, she saw the flexing sinew of his hair-dusted forearms as he curled and uncurled his hands.
When he prowled away from her, crossing the floral carpet, her gaze caught on the sculpted curve of his backside.
Her cheeks warming, she quickly looked away.
While Evie had rarely seen her husband in an agitated state, she also made it a habit not to pry into his affairs.
It was better that way—better to keep a safe distance.
Although she missed their former closeness, she told herself it was for the best that they did not live in each other’s pockets.
She couldn’t risk letting her secrets destroy the best thing that had ever happened to her.
For his part, James seemed content with the present state of affairs.
He never entered her bedchamber without permission and only when he had discreetly ascertained that such a visit would be welcome.
In the early days of their marriage, he had knocked upon the door of their adjoining suites at least once a week.
But now it had been six months and thirteen days since he’d last ventured into her room for conjugal purposes…
not that she was counting. Nor did she blame him for his extended absence.
In fact, she was surprised that it had taken him this long to see the truth of who she was: her flaws and shortcomings, the myriad ways in which she was no match for his shining perfection.
Yet things felt different tonight. For one thing, they were away from home.
They were visiting Bottoms House, the country manor belonging to James’s brother and sister-in-law, Ethan and Xenia Harrington.
While the guest bedchamber was well appointed, Evie yearned for her own room back at Grove Hall.
Surrounded by her beloved plants and journals, she felt protected.
Here, in this borrowed room, she felt the opposite: exposed and on edge.
Of course, the setting wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary.
Mere hours ago, she and James’s younger sister Gigi had been kidnapped.
She herself had been held at gunpoint. To rescue her, James had been forced to take her captor’s life.
His decisive action came as no surprise.
He’d always been the steadfast eldest brother and heir, the one his family had counted upon during times of tragedy and disaster.
He performed his duty so perfectly that it was easy to miss that it cost him.
Seeing the rigid expanse of his back, she drew a trembling breath.
Say something, you ninny. You’ve been a good companion, if not wife, to James…find your way back to that. If you don’t long for more than you can have, you will at least have something.
“Are you…are you all right?” Evie asked.
James turned, facing her. She’d always believed “handsome” was too paltry a word to describe a man whose face conveyed the nobility of his character.
His blunt, even features exuded uncompromising strength.
The unyielding slant of his jaw was somewhat softened by his lips, the bottom one possessed of an unexpectedly voluptuous curve.
His steel-blue gaze could express a spectrum of emotions, ranging from wry amusement to stern command.
Right now, his stare was incredulous.
“Am I all right?” he stated.
Although discussing emotional topics was not Evie’s forte, she didn’t know why he was repeating her question. It was a fair one, given that he had shot someone to save her life. Perhaps he was more rattled than he let on.
“Tonight’s events were a trifle disturbing,” she ventured. “It would be understandable if you were experiencing a negative reaction in the aftermath.”
He continued to gaze at her as if she’d lost her mind.
This began to irk her. While she was lacking in many ways, she prided herself on her ability to reason clearly and well.
She was a scientist, after all. Her botany experiments had earned her a reputation for intellectual rigor.
As a member of the Botanical Society of London, she had written a paper which she hoped to present and perhaps even someday publish.
“You think you understand my current state?” James asked.
She lifted her brows. “Do you disagree with my observation?”
“As a matter of fact.” He stalked toward her.
She had the instinct to bolt like a frightened rabbit, yet she held her ground: this was James, after all.
The one man she trusted, who’d never done an uncivilized thing in his life…
well, except for killing her kidnapper. As far as she was concerned, that act had been wholly justified.
Yet did he regret what he’d done? His honor was everything to him, and killing a woman—even a deranged, cold-blooded murderess—would not sit easily with him.
He gripped her shoulders. Pleasure quivered through her at his touch. When she tilted her head back, she was riveted by the blaze of silver in his eyes.
“A negative reaction does not begin to describe my feelings.”
She collected herself. “It must have been difficult seeing your sister in danger—”
“As relieved as I am that Gigi came to no harm, this isn’t about her. Bloody hell, Evie, I almost lost you tonight. And you think I am a trifle disturbed?”
His tone, while quiet, had the power of a shout.
Her pulse raced, and a part of her wished she had run.
Not because she feared him, but because she feared herself.
For years, she’d worked at keeping her secrets safe.
She’d sealed herself inside a shell of prim rationality, never giving her dangerous impulses a chance to emerge.
She’d learned to control her yearnings—to stay on the safe path.
The only possible path given that she’d chosen to marry the man she loved and did not deserve.
Now James’s intensity struck her like a blast of heat. Like the sun’s imperious summons to ripen and release. Longing swelled inside her, threatening to burst free.
No, you must not reveal who you are. You cannot hurt him. You cannot lose him.
Longing was a fist around her heart. It was a familiar sensation. She could—and would—manage it.
“Thanks to you, nothing happened.” She was surprised by how calm she sounded. “I am none the worse for wear. I could, however, use a bath.”
She prayed he would take the hint. Her gentlemanly husband certainly would. Yet this James merely clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching along the chiseled edge.
“The bath can wait until after we talk,” he stated.
No, no, no. Why does he have to choose this moment to be stern and commanding?
While James was courteous by nature, he was no milksop.
As the Earl of Manderly and heir to the Marquessate of Blackwood, he wore the mantle of lord and master with natural authority.
He was firm when required and did not suffer fools readily.
Yet with her, he chose to be gentle and accommodating…
as if she were a fragile bloom he feared to crush.
Even when she showed her thorns, he handled her with care.
Rarely did he lose his temper. When he did…
she didn’t know what it said about her that she found him even more attractive.
It is not fair, how perfect he is. How undeserving I am of him.
Heat pushed behind her eyes. Pushing it back, she took refuge in propriety.
“If you insist,” she said coolly. “But do make it quick, for I am quite fatigued.”
“You didn’t seem fatigued when you kissed me earlier.”
She felt her jaw slacken. The husband she knew would not bring up her wanton behavior, which had occurred in the reckless moments after he’d rescued her. He would never embarrass her in such a fashion.
Her lips moved before she could think better of it. “I believe you kissed me.”
“Can you blame me?”
His intensity released a swarm of butterflies in her belly.
“That madwoman held a pistol to your head, Evie. If I had missed—if my shot had been off by even an inch—I would have lost you.”
“You didn’t miss.” Seeing the tension in his shoulders, she gentled her tone. “You never would. Your aim is as flawless as you are.”
“Flawless? Is that how you see me?” There was no humor in his smile. “I killed a woman, and I have no regrets. None. Because she threatened you, and if I lost you, I…I…”
Her breath stuck in her throat. His glittering gaze, topped by fiercely drawn brows and deep slashes around his mouth, set off a wild thumping in her chest. She knew she should run.
She should retreat like she always had. But after the months of silence, his declaration, gritty and unfinished, felt like a balm to her soul.
While she swayed with indecision, her feet remained planted.
Then it was too late. James yanked her into his arms. Enveloped by his strength and the virile scent of sandalwood and male musk that was his alone, she trembled… not with fear but soul-deep longing.
It has been so long. I thought he would never hold me this way again.
“You’re my wife, Evie,” he said roughly. “Mine.”
She tipped her head back as his mouth came crashing down. The impact made her whimper, then moan for more. The scorching kiss burned away her secrets and failures until only a single thought remained.
He needs me and wants me still.
Joy broke the dam in her heart. Desire rushed through her, and there was no way to stem the tide, no way to stop the pent-up need from taking over.
She pressed herself against her husband, spearing her fingers into the rough silk of his hair.
Parting her lips, she welcomed him in, and the growl that escaped him didn’t sound like James.
To be fair, she didn’t feel like Evie. The months of separation fell away like withered petals, and her restraint followed.
In her beloved’s arms, she was nothing but sensation.
Nothing but endless wanting and heat. The depth of her hunger might have shocked another man, but James… James just kissed her harder.
Wetter. Deeper.
“That’s right, sunflower,” he whispered. “Open to me.”
Sunflower.
The first time he’d called her by this endearment, she’d thought it was silly.
Now the whimsy of it dampened her eyes. He hadn’t called her “sunflower” in ages, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it, even if the comparison to Helianthus annuus was illogical.
For she was nothing like the dramatically beautiful bloom: it boldly sought out brightness while she hid in the shadows.
Yet James’s desire unfurled her. His possession touched the essence of her yearning until she burned with need.
They fought to get closer, tearing at the layers between them.
She was desperate and greedy, and his growl conveyed his own urgency.
When they were panting and pressed together flesh-to-flesh, she had the giddy, fleeting feeling of being his equal.
Even so, in the moment before passion obliterated her, before James shocked her by bending her over the bed and driving into her with a force that pushed a blissful cry from her lips, a thought flitted through her head.
I love you, now and forever. Yet I must keep you safe from the shadows I carry.