Chapter 24 #2
"No, no it's not like that. She would never feel like that.
" Ianthe stepped forward, into the vee of his thighs, one hand sinking into his hair.
He pressed his face against her middle, clasping her roughly around the hips as he dragged her closer to him.
"Drake tried to visit you once. In Bedlam.
It was toward the start, but you... reacted poorly.
It was decided that it would be best if he didn't visit again. At least, not until you were lucid."
The look in his eyes... as if she'd cut out his heart. And then realization began to dawn. "I remember."
"He wanted to explain to you why this was the best course of action.
The Council—they had decided that you had already raised a demon once, which made you a risk.
They wanted you executed. You will never know how hard he fought for you, Luc.
And Louisa... She has a heart the size of the world.
She will know the truth, because I will tell her. It was my fault, not yours."
Lucien linked fingers with her. "That doesn't sit quite right either."
Ianthe tipped her chin up. "I made my choices. This is my price to pay."
"Was she happy there?" he asked gruffly.
At least she could grant him that. "She was happy. She was loved. They were wonderful people."
"Were?"
"Morgana killed them." That was all she could manage with the way her throat locked up. Ianthe closed her eyes. "I found their bodies a couple of hours after the first letter arrived. It was the first place I went."
Delicate butterfly kisses danced over her closed eyes as he stood. Ianthe blinked them open when Lucien drew back from her, his hands cupping her cheeks so carefully.
"What do you plan to do? About her?" Dread turned her insides again, but she had to ask. Legally, Louisa belonged to him if he chose to pursue the matter.
Lucien's expression grew grim. "I believe that's something we'll discuss when all of this is over.
I'm not going to make any more rash decisions, Ianthe, and it's our decision to make, not yours, not mine.
I intend only for my daughter's future happiness.
She will need a mother." His gaze dropped, as if to hide the regret she saw there. "And she barely knows her father."
Hers. Louisa was hers. A thrill of elation and dread ran through her.
What type of mother could I ever— She stopped the thought there.
This time she had options. She was financially secure, and though her reputation was tarnished, she had a place in the Order, if not society.
All Ianthe had ever dreamed of was a garden of her own and a little girl, playing hide-and-seek in the hedges with her, squealing with laughter.
She wanted that more than anything. "I intend to be her mother," she stated, and Lucien paused, as if digesting this fact, then nodded.
That was a relief. It gave her resolve strength. If he believed she could do it, then so could she. "And I want her to know her father."
"There will be questions," he stated, "if you choose to adopt her. She looks too much like you, and I fear the resemblance will strengthen as she ages." Something wistful filled his expression. "She's beautiful."
"I shall deal with those questions as they arise."
Again that hesitation. "There is another solution to consider."
"You wish to adopt her as your ward?"
"Yes, however, not in the way you imagine."
"Oh?" He could read her mind now?
Lucien took a step toward her, the backs of his fingers trailing over the smooth slope of her upper arms. Ianthe shivered. He seemed absorbed in the process, and then the sharp glint of his gaze met hers. "We could marry."
That pronouncement took all of the air out of the room. "We could what?"
"Marry," he repeated. "I could adopt her as my own.
Everybody will know the truth anyway–she has my eyes.
This way Louisa would have the benefits of both parents, as well as a certain type of legitimacy.
She would have the backing of my name and position.
Nobody would dare call her a bastard, and if they did, I would crush them. "
"Yes, but..." Her mind was reeling. "I thought you wished free of this... this bond?" Of me.
"I did. Once. And then I realized there is not a single person I may lay claim upon in this world.
Nobody but you. You have stood at my back when I have fought, and guarded me when I was not strong enough to face our enemies.
I want to know you in every sense, Ianthe.
I want you to trust me. I want..." And here he faltered.
"I want to give you my trust. Marry me. Show me that I'm not alone, not anymore.
Teach me to love my father. Teach me to know my daughter. "
It was the best thing to do for Louisa, but Ianthe couldn't help wondering if it were the best thing for her? For Lucien owned a piece of her heart, her soul, but did she have any of the same claims upon him?
"I'm afraid," she whispered.
"Of?"
"Daring to trust..." That it would all be all right.
He understood. It gleamed in those dangerous eyes. Lucien took her hand and turned it, exposing the intimate bareness of her wrist. "Ours has not been the easiest relationship," he admitted, lowering his mouth to the base of her hand. Soft lips brushed over her skin.
"I think... I'm not sure how you see me. I was so convinced you still craved vengeance."
"Perhaps that's because I'm not the one who has trouble seeing you for what you are. You doubt my intentions because you doubt your own worth."
Ianthe stood arrested. Was it doubt about her own worthiness that challenged her, rather than his? She'd always considered herself fearless and determined, but when it came to this, to a place where she was laid bare, all of her old vulnerabilities rose to the fore.
"Oh, my goodness," she whispered. It was true. All of it was true.
"Do you wish to see yourself through my eyes?"
Coldness shivered through her heart, but that was fear. Doubt. Unworthiness. Those old demons that haunted her. Ianthe inhaled sharply, heat rising through her cheeks. "I'm not sure."
"Be brave," he whispered, stroking her hips with those talented hands.
"You have a lover's soul, a healer's soul.
Passionate, affectionate—when you can give yourself over to trust—and nurturing.
" His hands stroked her hair out of her face.
"Every time I have faced doubt in the past week, your first instinct has been to protect me from it, or to help me see past it.
You kiss my scars, as if they are precious, and constantly tell me I was not at fault, when you will not set aside your own guilt.
You see my mental scars as something to be overcome, not something to be ashamed of, and with you by my side, it makes me feel as though I can overcome my vulnerabilities.
I heal, because of you, Ianthe. I see a future unfold, because of you.
I hope, and it is all you. You are my first champion, but when it comes to yourself, your courage falters.
" Anger lit in his eyes. "Your father deserves to be hung, drawn, and quartered for what he has done to you. "
Heat flooded her eyes, and then wetness. "I know what he told me was always lies designed to trap me in a cage of doubt, but no matter how much I tell myself that, it's difficult... difficult to believe."
"It's terrifying to admit that I might never wield my power again."
Ianthe stroked his hand. "Perhaps... we can both work on our weaknesses. Together."
"Together," he whispered. "Marry me, Ianthe. Not for Louisa. Not for me. For yourself. Trust me."
Ianthe closed her eyes. She would do it for Louisa and for herself–for that trembling, well-guarded scrap of her heart that barely dared.
She would make herself vulnerable to him.
If he wanted to cut out her heart, then she was serving it up to him on a platter.
I love you. For a moment, she was frightened that she'd said it aloud, but Lucien gave no sign of hearing it.
His hands stroked the silk that covered her hips as his hungry gaze roved over her. Patiently, he waited for her answer.
"Very well."
"Very well," he grumbled, but his hands tightened on her hips, as if he'd feared that she'd say no. "I offer her an earldom, and she says 'very well'."
"What would you have me say?" Her heart felt curiously light, unfettered for the first time in years.
"I would have you overwrought with pleasure, my dear." A faint smile touched his mouth, a teasing light in his eyes. "But perhaps I know just how to take you there."
"Or perhaps," she responded, sliding her hands up over his bare shoulders, "I will take you there."
His eyes lit with curiosity. "You're going to dump me in the bath if you're not careful."
"Well, we can't be having that." She slid her hands down the chiseled muscle of his torso and abdominals, tugging a finger into the knot of his towel. "It would be a shame to get you all wet."
Slowly, she pushed him back toward the bath. He went down, one hand gripping the bath rim, his legs still hanging over the edge. The towel was sopping wet, unraveling to reveal the hard length of his cock. Water slopped everywhere as his long body folded into the bath.
"I can see that you like getting your own way," he said, with an interested gleam in his eye.
Ianthe bit her lip, trying to suppress her laughter. "I'm so terribly sorry. But look... Now you're all wet. Whatever shall we do?"
Those amber eyes narrowed. "Well, you can start by getting rid of this." He tossed the drenched towel at her, and it splatted against her chest. "Then you can climb in here yourself, madam."
Ianthe dropped the towel. "So impatient," she admonished, grabbing a fistful of her skirts and stepping into the bath.
He dragged her down into his lap. Hot water wet her thighs and waist. The crepe of her skirts floated around them.
One hand cupped her nape, dragging her down for his kiss.