Beauty in Spring Page 5

  “Release me and perhaps you will find out.”

  Never. The beast’s response remains trapped in my aching chest, but it is no different from mine. Because I never want to let her go.

  But I have to.

  Softly she asks, “Will you give me the key, Gideon?”

  “No,” I tell her hoarsely, though it is a lie.

  Because the only other choice is to see her hurt. Better that she runs from me. Better that I die.

  If the price of her freedom is to give my own life, I will pay it.

  But not yet.

  “Well, then.” With tears pooling in her blue eyes, she lets her legs drop from around my waist and gently pushes away from me. “We have nothing else to say. And you have given me no reason to ever marry you.”

  Except that I love her. And that I have always loved her.

  I don’t think she would believe it, though. Not when I keep her here, chained to me. That is not love, she would say.

  And the cost of proving my love is to die. But perhaps there is another way to show her.

  In despair I watch her leave the tower, then listen to her retreating steps, to the slithering of that cursed chain. The beast rages at me to follow, but he is at his weakest now. The new moon rises tonight.

  She has been at Blackwood Manor for two weeks. Two weeks remain until the moon is full.

  So I have two weeks to give her reason to marry me. Two weeks to hope that everything I do will make her love me in return.

  Or two weeks until I let her go…and watch her run away, taking my heart—and my life—with her.

  3

  Cora

  I wake up the morning of my twenty-fifth birthday with sun streaming through my bedchamber’s sparkling windows and warming the gleaming floor. No more dust. No more cobwebs. Two weeks ago, Gideon threw open the manor’s gates—then hired nearly every handyman and housecleaning service within fifty miles to come and polish the interior of the house into a shining jewel. Gardeners and landscapers have transformed the grounds. Those have not been restored to their former glory—only time will do that—but the air of neglect is gone. Flowers provide bursts of color and perfume and new sod has been lain, the spring grass as green as Gideon’s eyes.

  Only the south garden was left untouched because, as Gideon told me, that garden is mine.

  All done to persuade me to marry him.

  Every night, he asks me. Every night, I long to say yes.

  But the chain still circles my neck, and if I accept his proposal just to buy my release, then I will be saying yes for the wrong reasons. A woman should be free to choose to marry. Not choosing to marry because that’s the only way to be free.

  So I give Gideon the same answer—that I will tell him after he releases me. And each time I give that answer, the brilliant light in his eyes seems to fade. As if with every night that passes, he loses hope that I’ll ever accept him.

  But he has also not touched me since the day in his tower, so perhaps it is not only his hope that fades. Perhaps his desire for me is waning, too.

  A thought that claws at my heart, digging into my chest until it hurts to breathe. Miserably I curl up beneath the blankets, picturing the version of Cora in his painting who is already free and awaiting Gideon in his bedchamber, eager to love him with her body and soul.

  The Cora who stayed.

  I would stay. But staying means nothing if I don’t have the choice to go, and although the gates are open, the chain still would not allow me to pass through them. So he has to release me first.

  But I’m beginning to think he never will.

  A gentle tug at the back of my neck brings me out of my miserable cocoon. I poke my head out from beneath the blankets.

  Wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, Gideon stands at the entrance to my bedchamber, his brooding gaze fixed on the chain wrapped around his fist. “You were not at breakfast, so I followed this to find you.” His eyes lift to meet mine, and concern warms his gaze as he studies my face. “Are you well, Cora?”

  He doesn’t need to follow that chain to find me. Somehow he always knows where I am. It’s another part of the mystery of this new Gideon, who is at once the boy I loved and a stranger I’ve fallen for all over again. This new Gideon who can rip apart solid oak, and who somehow possesses the key to a magical golden collar with no lock.

  “I’m well,” I tell him and it’s not a complete lie. My body is fine.

  It’s my heart that’s sick.

  “Yet you still lie abed.” Silently he prowls closer, and sudden tension prickles my skin. Because there’s something different about him this morning. Something taut and wild, sharper than the feral edge he’s gained as this new Gideon. Something more like he was that first day, when he was covered in dirt and blood.

  That is not the only the only difference in him, though I can’t immediately pin the other down. But whatever I’m sensing in him, it knots in my belly, heavy with despair and dread.

  I sit up. “Are you all right?”

  He doesn’t answer as he reaches the side of the bed. Instead he cups my cheek in a gentle hand, his thumb sweeping over my lips. “Do you linger in bed in hopes of a breakfast tray appearing? After all, it is your birthday.”

  Joy fills my heart, unknotting the dread. “You remembered?”

  “I could hardly forget.” Something dark passes through his expression before he focuses on me again, his gaze searching mine. “So shall I pamper you today, Cora?”

  I grin. “Yes, please.”

  “Then you shall be pampered. And on this day, I will not ask anything of you.” Abruptly his mouth lowers to mine, and he says gruffly against my lips, “I will only give.”

  Starting with the sweetest kiss. Then giving pleasure, as the kiss deepens and heats, until I’m whimpering and clinging to him in desperate need. And giving more, slowly making his way down, worshipping my breasts and teasing my nipples into fiery points of arousal. Tasting the taut skin of my belly, until I’m quivering with anticipation, and finally moving lower, pushing my legs wide to make room for his shoulders as he settles between my trembling thighs.

  Then he gives me another kiss, one that doesn’t end, even as I writhe and scream and convulse against his tongue. After I collapse back against the pillows, shaking, he gives a few seconds’ respite—then claims me with his mouth again, fingers thrusting deep as he lashes my clit with merciless teasing licks.

  The second orgasm he gives builds slowly before crashing over me in a devastating wave that leaves me boneless and sated—unable to do anything but simply lie in my bed, threading my fingers through his thick hair when he pillows his head against the softness of my stomach, holding me tight.

  Thinking I know the need that holds him in such a rigid grip, I try to urge him up over me again. “Let me taste you this time, Gideon.”

  On a rough groan, his body goes utterly rigid—then he abruptly pulls away. Pushing his hands through his hair, he stares at me with blatant hunger, his cock a thick bulge behind denim.

  “Not today,” he says hoarsely and the bleak despair that flattens his gaze twists that knot tight inside my chest again. “Today is only for you.”

  I reach for him. “That would be for me—”

  “Not today.” He closes his eyes as if to shut out the sight of me, naked and yearning for him. “I barely have any bloody control as it is.”

  “Good. The point would be to make you lose it completely.” Just as his mouth completely destroys my control.

  He barks out a short laugh. “You don’t know what you ask for.” Then shaking his head, he turns away. “Stay right there in bed, birthday girl. I’ll bring your breakfast tray.”

  “I’d rather you feed me something else!” I call after him.

  His long strides never falter. He vanishes into the corridor, and I’m left staring after him, feeling utterly lost.

  Then utterly bewildered, when I glance down—and spot the parallel slashes tearing through the white linen bed s
heet on either side of my hips.

  The chain feels heavier today. Oftentimes I barely even notice it. The links never catch on any objects and pull me up short. If I have to thread it down the back of my shirt, such as when I’m wearing a T-shirt that I pull over my head instead of a button-up blouse, the chain seems content to lie against my skin. Even when the house was busy with people cleaning, it never seemed to get in anyone’s way despite trailing across the floor from one wing to the other.

  Not today. Today it seems to deliberately lie in my path to trip me. Today it catches on practically every leg of furniture I pass. Today it gets trapped in the shower drain, and as I dress it tangles in my hair, yanking painfully at my scalp. As if trying to slow me down, to halt my every step. As if to keep me from going anywhere.

  As if it hadn’t already been doing that for almost a month.

  So after Gideon brings my breakfast, I’m slow to get started. Then we have lunch together in the solarium, where my dessert is another long, languid orgasm, with Gideon feasting from my lips as his thumb strums my clit and his fingers sink deep into my virgin sheath. And just as before, when I try to touch him, he abruptly leaves me alone, hungrily licking my pussy juices from his fingers as he goes.

  It’s long into the afternoon when I finally make my way down to the garden—where the chain promptly snags on a rosebush, and I spend a frustrating fifteen minutes trying to get free.

  And I know it’s not natural behavior. Not that the chain is natural in any sense—just as so much here at Blackwood Manor is no longer natural in any sense—but before today, the chain only passively prevented me from passing beyond the estate’s property line. Now it seems to be actively preventing me from going anywhere. And it can’t be a coincidence that the chain begins behaving in this way on my birthday, the anniversary of the day he originally gave me the necklace as a gift.

  On the same day Gideon claims to have no control and leaves claw marks in my bed. The same day the knot of dread in my gut won’t untwist. It all adds up to something, but I don’t know what that something is.

  But there is something I do know. Because as irritating as the golden binding is, as much as I hate it…if wearing this chain was the price I had to pay to stay with Gideon forever, I would pay it.

  Yet he can release me. So I don’t understand why he doesn’t. I would stay either way.

  Though perhaps the tower where he spent so much time partially answers that question. Because the only thing clear about this whole insane situation is that Gideon has lost far too much, and he’s spent years desperately trying to hold on to memories of a happier time.

  Now he’s holding on to me instead of setting me free—as if he’s afraid of losing me again.

  Does he truly not know that I wouldn’t go? That this is my home, has always been my home, and my place has always been at his side?

  I just want to be free. Not free of him.

  And that is what I’ll tell him when he finds me again. Because he promised pampering today, but there’s nothing more luxurious than spending time with my hands in the soil—and only the pleasure Gideon gives to me surpasses the joy of bringing this garden back to perfumed, colorful life. When I’d first arrived here at the manor, I’d seen this garden and believed there was no place for me here anymore. But with every new bud and bloom, I’m more certain than ever that this will always be my home. It was just waiting for me to return.

  The sun is low in the sky when movement near the house catches my eye. Gideon, approaching the garden with his face drawn into harsh lines and his eyes burning a fiery green, as if witnessing the torments in the pits of Hell.

  His demand is a rumbling crack of thunder. “Where have you been?”

  In confusion, I look around me. “Where else would I be?”

  “I have searched for you for two hours.” Gideon crosses the garden to stand before me. “I couldn’t hear where you were, couldn’t find your scent. And this bloody thing”—he grips the chain dangling from my neck—“led me through every fucking room in the house!”

  I tell him, “It’s being weird today.” And so is he. “Of course I’m out here. Where else would I be?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is hoarse as he cups my face in his hands, his gaze wildly searching mine. “I have more to give you. And I hadn’t wanted to rush but we’re out of time.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, trying to calm the panic that’s rising within me, witnessing his urgency. “Do you have the gifts with you or do we need to go inside?”

  “It’s inside. It’s outside.” Turning, he sweeps his arm in a half circle, as if indicating the garden—or beyond. “It’s all of this. Blackwood Manor.”

  “What? How can it be mine?”

  “I had the paperwork drawn up this week. It will all be yours.”

  Is this another proposal? “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “I don’t have any family to leave it to. And in my heart, you have always been my wife.” His tormented gaze burns into mine. “So if something happens to me…it’s yours.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you.” Even the joy of hearing him call me his wife can’t overcome the pain of what he followed it with. My chest aches at the very thought of him being hurt…or worse. “And I don’t want that gift. Not if I get it like that.”

  “You’ll take it,” he growls the command fiercely, “because I wouldn’t trust the property to anyone else. And I have something more to give you.”

  I’m not sure I want any more of his gifts. “What do you—”

  But I’ll take this. His mouth claims mine, his hands capturing my face and drawing me close against his hard chest. Tender and sweet, filled with a longing that brings tears from my eyes, his kiss feels like a declaration of love and home and forever.

  My throat’s clogged with emotion as he draws away, winding the golden chain around his fist.

  “Cora Walker,” he says in a voice so hollow that each word seems to echo from an empty space in his chest, “the promise I made when I gave you this necklace…that vow means nothing. I have no intention of marrying you now.”

  Breathless with pain, I stare mutely at him.

  “My final gift is your freedom,” he continues harshly. “Now get the hell away from Blackwood Manor.”

  Freedom…?

  I lift shaking fingers to my neck. The chain is gone. Instead it dangles from his fist…but it’s just a necklace and a diamond pendant again. Just a piece of jewelry.

  A piece of jewelry that means nothing. Feeling as if my entire world is tearing apart, I raise blurry eyes to his. “Gideon?”

  “Go, Cora.” Face tormented, he backs away from me. “Damn my selfish heart. I said that today I would only give, but in truth I was taking every moment for myself. One last day. But I should have sent you away the same hour you arrived.”

  “But why?” My voice cracks. “Why?”

  “Just get out of here.”

  Tears spilling down my cheeks, wildly I shake my head.

  “Get out!” he roars.

  A sob breaks from me. “But I have nowhere to go. This is my only home.”

  Pain slashes across his face. “Then run to the village,” he tells me hoarsely. “I don’t care, as long as you’re anywhere but here. Because I never want you to step foot on this estate again—not as long as I live.”

  Each word shatters my heart. With my hands flying to my mouth to muffle my agonized cry, I flee from him, blinded by tears. But this is my home, and every step so familiar that I make my way to my bedchamber in the northwest wing without any memory of getting there. With sobs ripping from my chest, I begin throwing clothes into my suitcase, but don’t even get it half full before I crumple to the floor, bawling helplessly.

  Gideon gave me my freedom…then threw me away before I could make my choice. But I would have stayed. I would have stayed.

  And he never gave me a chance to tell him.

  I cry until I’m spent, then lie there shudder
ing on the floor, all of my strength gone and my body as limp as a rag doll’s.

  I don’t know where I find the will to get up again. But it must be from the same place where I find the resolve to unpack all of the clothes in my suitcase and put them away in my wardrobe again. And it must be where I find the steel that stiffens my spine and lifts my chin, and sends me in search of Gideon.

  Because I am staying.

  And if he doesn’t believe it today, then he will fifty years from now, when I’m still right here.

  In bare feet, I cross the grand hall and climb the stairs to the southeast tower. He’s not there. Wishing I had a golden chain to follow, I head back downstairs and slip through the corridor to the family wing. In the parlor, everything is quiet.

  Except for the low groan that faintly sounds from farther within the wing—from the direction of Gideon’s bedchamber.

  Heart pounding, I make my way to that room. The lamps are off and the curtains pulled, but orange light spills through the broken doorway to the solarium. Beyond those glass walls, the setting sun is but a sliver of light leaving behind a blood-red sky.

  “Cora? God, no. Cora.” So guttural and thick, Gideon’s voice is almost unrecognizable. “Run.”

  I did that last time. This time I go to him, to where he’s crouched beside his bed, his shoulders hunched and his bare skin bathed in the sunset’s flaming light.

  “Gideon? What are you—” I stop dead, shock rooting me to the spot. He’s been chained to the bed, but not with a thin golden chain. Instead it appears as if the heavy rusted chain from the manor’s main gate has been padlocked around his waist. “Oh my god. Let me get you out! Who did this?”

  “I did this.” A warning growl rumbles from him, and he catches my frantic hands, stopping me from pulling at the chain wound around the solid oak frame. His intense green eyes demand my full attention. “I knew you must still be here, because I was not… You have to run, Cora. Through the solarium and outside, as fast as you can. You have to make it past the gates before the sun sets, because that’s when the full moon will rise.”