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Wind on his face on the deck; salt spray in his eyes and salted cod for dinner.
Hold of a ship. Smell of candle wax and sweat. Father gripping his arm. Hadn’t washed in days. Eyes blazing with the mania.
I’ll never go mad, Nicolas. Because of this.Waving the dried stump of an orchid.
The sadness of the memory never waned. Evergreen and fresh each time.
Nick had been so helpless. He’d been unable to keep the madness at bay and had been forced to watch as day by day his brilliant father descended into the depths of his obsession.
There had been periods of relative calm since then, but his keen-eyed father had never returned.
In his place there was this affable, sometimes bumbling, courtly old man who believed orchids whispered secrets to him.
“Nick?” Alice asked softly.
He raised his eyes. The tenderness in her gaze nearly undid him.
“That must have been so difficult for you, to watch him go mad on board a ship.”
“After that miserable voyage I swore I’d never set foot on a ship again.” He shuddered. “That was the coldest, darkest, most miserable time of my life, and it’s best forgotten.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Nick, this mission tomorrow, it’s a way for you to restore power over those painful memories. If you help improve conditions for lunatics, and you open an inquiry into better treatment methods and wider access to physicians, you’re helping all the sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, who witness the torment of their loved ones and feel helpless.”
She was right, of course.
He was tired of keeping the walls up between them. He might as well admit to himself that he wanted more than her body.
He wanted that tender light in her eyes. He wanted her to know that he was better than the wastrel she’d thought him.
She believed in him, and when he looked into her eyes, he began to believe in himself as well. He could do this. Visit the Yellow House. Face his demons. Send them yelping into the night. He could do this for her.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“You will?”
“I will. I’ll help write the report. I’ll try things your way.”
She hugged him and the clean scent of lavender washed over his senses.
“You’ll see, Nick, this is the right way. This is the only way to make a lasting change.”
“It’s not a good idea for many reasons, but I’ll go. For you.”
“It’s not a good idea, it’s a brilliant one.”
“You’re insufferably arrogant, you know that, Lady Hatherly?”
She caught his face in both her hands. “And you love it.”
He did love her confidence.
She was this wholly strong and independent woman who stood in the center of a group of powerful men and informed them that her way was best.
He wanted to believe that he was strong enough to face his fears. He wanted to make her proud of him.
She kissed him hungrily, drawing him into her arms. He bunched the fabric of her skirts in one hand, desire pounding through his skull. He unbuttoned his breeches.
When he buried himself inside her, swift and deep, she rose to meet him, wrapping her legs around his hips, urging him on with her hands grasping his buttocks.
