Page 7
Hugh
Four days of avoiding Madison had done nothing to diminish the hunger that clawed at my restraint.
If anything, the forced separation had sharpened my desire to a razor's edge that threatened to cut through every carefully constructed barrier I'd built around my emotions.
I stood at my study window, watching her move through the gardens like some figure from a painting.
Morning light transformed her auburn hair into burnished copper as she knelt beside a patch of foxgloves.
Even from this distance, I saw how the flowers straightened at her approach, how they bloomed brighter beneath her touch.
The sight should have alarmed me.
Instead, it sent heat coursing through my veins as I remembered the touch of those same magical hands trailing down my spine.
My breath fogged the window as I allowed myself to imagine crossing the gardens and lifting her in my arms before carrying her to the nearest secluded corner and claiming those lips again, tasting the sweetness of her lips, and feeling her writhe against me in pleasure.
She's enchanting them.
Bending them to her will, just as she bends you.
I growled, pressed my fingers against my temple, and willed the voice to be silent.
The whispers had grown stronger with each passing day.
Their insidious suggestions wormed deeper into my thoughts.
But they paled against the memory of Madison's body moving against mine, her lips parting in a gasp as I buried myself deep inside.
Unaware of my watching, Madison rose with fluid grace, and brushed soil from her hands with the same delicate precision she brought to every gesture.
She’d taken to spending mornings among the flowers and afternoons buried in the library's ancient texts.
But she always avoided the conservatory where we’d surrendered to desire.
Even across the distance, I felt drawn to her.
One glance, one touch.
That’s all it would take to shatter my resolve and have me pressing her against the nearest wall.
Logic dictated I should send her away, create distance before this madness consumed us both.
But I found myself utterly incapable of such rational action.
I craved her presence with the desperation of a man dying of thirst, hungered for her touch despite knowing the danger it represented.
She's not what she seems.
The words slithered into my mind like a snake.
I shook my head, trying to banish them.
I hadn’t believed Eleanor when she’d heard voices, but Madison… me.
I shook my head again and turned away from the window just as a knock sounded at the door.
Benjamin entered with correspondence; his weathered face creased with the sort of concern that came from decades of faithful service.
“Your morning post, my lord,”
he said, setting the tray on my desk.
“Cook was wondering...
that is, she's noticed your meals being taken here rather than the dining room these past days.”
“The meals are perfectly adequate, Benjamin.”
I gestured toward the correspondence.
“Has Lady Trent taken breakfast?”
“Indeed, my lord.
She requested a tray in her chambers before going to the gardens.”
Benjamin hesitated, clearly wanting to say more.
“That will be all,” I said.
He bowed and retreated, but not before I caught the worry that flickered across his features.
It would be hard for even casual servants not to notice the shadows that gathered around me without conscious summons, the way darkness pooled in corners when my emotions slipped their leash.
She avoids you.
She fears what you are.
“I avoid her.”
I clenched my fists, slammed them on the table, and felt the shadows shifting in response.
“We avoid each other,”
I added while trying to reign in my emotions.
But then I cussed for responding to the voice out loud.
The morning's correspondence lay untouched while I paced the length of my study.
There were estate matters that demanded attention, crop reports, and tenant agreements.
I kept returning to them, but every time I tried, they blurred into meaningless columns of figures.
Every scratch of pen on paper reminded me of Madison's nails digging into my shoulders, every rustling page echoed the whisper of silk sliding from her skin.
I was losing my mind.
The thought struck crystal clear as I slammed the legers shut and resumed my pacing.
This was how it had begun for Eleanor.
The voices, the paranoia, the inability to distinguish between reality and the poisonous suggestions that whispered through her thoughts.
Movement in the gardens caught my attention as Madison returned to the house, her arms laden with cut flowers that should have been wilting in the morning heat.
Instead, they appeared more vibrant than when she'd first gathered them, as if her very presence sustained their life force.
She will destroy you.
“Enough.”
I slammed my fist against the desk again, sending shadows fleeing to the room's corners like startled ravens.
I needed answers.
The not-knowing was driving me toward the same precipice that had claimed Eleanor, and I refused to tumble blindly into madness without understanding what forces arrayed themselves against my sanity.
Olivia.
She’d served this family for forty years.
Longer than anyone else. She’d been present during Eleanor's decline. If anyone possessed knowledge of what I faced, it would be her.
I found her in the linen closet, folding sheets with the skilled precision she brought to all her tasks.
The small space felt suffocating as I entered.
It pressed close around us, feeling almost like a confessional.
“My lord,”
she said, looking genuinely startled to find me in the servants' quarters.
“How may I serve you?”
“You were close to Eleanor,”
I said, noting how her expression immediately softened.
“Yes, my lord.”
“The whispers she claimed to hear.
The visions that tormented her.
What did you make of them?”
Olivia's hands stilled on the white linen.
Her sharp eyes studied my face with uncomfortable intensity, no doubt cataloguing the signs of strain and worrying about my sanity.
“I'm not certain I understand your meaning, my lord.”
The careful neutrality in her voice told me she understood perfectly.
“Please, Olivia.
I need the truth of what you witnessed.”
The admission caught in my throat like barbed wire.
“The voices… I hear them now as well.”
Her face went pale, and she set down the sheet with deliberate care.
“Just like your mother, then.”
“My mother?”
The words circled my mind, but I found no comprehension in them.
“What do you mean? She died bringing me into the world—”
“No, my lord.”
Olivia's interruption was gentle but firm.
“I'm sorry, but that wasn't the truth.
Your mother lived for almost a year after your birth.”
The linen closet spun around me.
I gripped the doorframe to keep from falling.
My whole life had been a lie. “What are you saying?”
“Lady Catherine began hearing voices within days of your birth.
At first, we attributed it to exhaustion from the birthing, the strain of new motherhood.
But they grew stronger, more insistent.”
Olivia's voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“She claimed they showed her visions of betrayal, that your father plotted her destruction.”
“What happened to her?”
I asked, my mouth as dry as dust.
“Your father feared she might harm you, my lord.
Or herself.
He sent her away to a private sanatorium where he believed she would receive proper care.”
Tears glistened in Olivia's eyes.
“She died not long after.
Her heart simply... gave out. Your father didn’t want to speak of it, so he told everyone that she died in childbirth.”
I shook my head.
My mind reeled with the revelation.
The pattern was there, clear as script written in blood. My mother, driven mad by voices. Eleanor, tormented by whispers until she took her own life. And now me, hearing the same accusations, the same poisonous suggestions.
“Thank you for your honesty,”
I said, though the words felt woefully inadequate.
“My lord—”
Olivia reached toward me as if to offer comfort, but I was already turning away, fleeing the suffocating confines of truth.
Madness came for the members of this household… and now it came for me.
The corridors stretched endlessly before me as I walked without thought of my direction.
Ancient stones pressed closer with each step.
Shadows gathered in my wake like living things drawn to my despair.
Madison sees your weakness.
She uses it against you.
I found myself outside the library doors, watching Madison through the crack between door and frame.
She sat at one of the long tables, her head bent over an ancient text.
A tendril of hair had escaped its pins to curve along her cheek. Despite everything, the sight of her sent longing coursing through me. I imagined striding into the library and brushing the silken strand back before sweeping the books aside and taking her on the table. Instead, I clenched my fist and felt the weight of my ring, cold and heavy against my skin, even as my blood ran hot with need.
Madison was beautiful.
Intelligent.
Passionate. Everything I had never dared hope for in a wife. And she possessed powers that defied natural law.
She stiffened and lifted her head as if sensing my presence.
But her eyes didn't turn toward the door.
Instead, they widened as they focused on a point across the room.
“Who are you?”
she asked as she rose to her feet.
The air shimmered like heat rising from sun-baked stones.
A woman appeared.
She had silver-white hair that caught non-existent light, and a face unmarked by age despite eyes that held centuries of sorrow.
Madison reached toward the apparition, and when their hands touched, the library filled with a pulse of energy that made the shadows writhe like living smoke.
Then the vision was gone, leaving Madison staring at her outstretched hand in bewilderment.
She's using dark magic against you.
Communing with spirits to bring you down.
Terror and fascination warred inside me.
I stepped back from the door, my heart racing.
What I had witnessed defied rational explanation, yet I could no longer dismiss such things as products of a diseased mind. I glanced back at Madison only to see her sitting at the table with her head in a book.
I shook my head and tried to clear my thoughts while returning to my study.
Had Madison communed with a spirit or was it a vision sent to taunt me? Was this the madness Eleanor and my mother faced? Am I truly mad or is my wife conspiring against me?
The rest of the day passed in a blur, but by evening, I’d reached a decision that would have horrified me mere days ago.
I would go to Madison first thing tomorrow morning.
I would demand the truth about her powers, about the voices, and about whatever dark forces swirled around us. If I was to lose my sanity as my mother and Eleanor had lost theirs, I wanted to at least understand why.
The corridors were silent and dim as I made my way toward the kitchens, drawn by the hunger that built in my belly.
Most of the staff would be abed, leaving me alone with my tormented thoughts.
But when I neared the kitchen, I heard the distinct murmur of voices, and knew with a certainty that one of them was Madison's.
“Let me see,”
she said.
“That looks painful.
How did you manage it?”
I pressed myself against the stone wall and peered around the corner.
Margaret, one of the younger kitchen maids, stood with her hand extended toward Madison.
Even from my hidden position, I saw the angry red burn that crossed her palm.
Madison took the girl's injured hand between her own.
They stood in the flickering firelight, and the impossible happened… again.
A soft glow emerged from Madison's hands, warm and golden like captured sunlight.
It pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, growing brighter until both women gasped in wonder.
When the light faded, and Madison released Margaret's hand, the burn was gone. As if it had never existed.
“My lady, how…”
“I-I don't know.”
Madison stepped back, and I caught the flicker of fear that crossed her features.
“I simply wanted to help.
Please, tell no one of this.”
“Of course not, my lady.”
Margaret curtsied deeply.
“My great-grandmother possessed the healing touch.
I know to guard such secrets well.”
Madison's posture relaxed slightly at her words.
“Thank you,”
she said.
“You should rest your hand anyway, just to be safe.”
She's growing stronger.
Her powers will consume you.
Ignoring the hunger growing in my belly, I retreated back into the shadows as my mind reeled.