Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(71)

Luke was there, holding her. His face was pale beneath its bronze tan, his eyes piercing blue. She kept her gaze on him, terrified that if she looked away he might disappear, and Misha would come back. She must be going mad. She had mistaken her husband for a ghost. All at once the thought struck her as funny, and she began to laugh helplessly, the sound spilling from her lips. Luke didn't share her amusement. He continued to stare at her with a serious expression that made her realize how unbalanced she must seem. Somehow she managed to stop laughing. She used her sleeve to wipe the stray tears from her eyes.

“I remembered Mikhail,” she said hoarsely. “It happened all over again. I saw everything. There was a knife in his throat, a-and blood gushing, and he wouldn't go away, he was holding me—”

Luke murmured quietly and tried to bring her close against his body, but she resisted. “Th-there was another man in the room,” she said. “Someone else was there. I didn't remember it until now.”

He stared at her intently. “Who? A servant? A friend of Mikhail's?”

Tasia gave a frantic shake of her head. “I don't know. But he was there during all of it. He was part of it, I'm sure—” She broke off as the door opened.

Gaby stood there with a confused expression. “My lady?” the girl asked. “I thought I heard a scream.”

“I'm afraid I startled my wife,” Luke said. “Allow us a few minutes of privacy.”

“Yes, my lord.” Abashed. Gaby withdrew with a murmured apology.

Luke returned his gaze to Tasia. “Do you remember what he looked like, this other man?”

“I-I'm not sure.” Tasia bit her lip, trying to control her emotions. “I don't want to think about him—”

“Was he old or young? Dark or fair? Try to remember.”

Closing her eyes, Tasia took a shivering breath and struggled to make the shadowy image clear in her mind. “Old…and tall. I'm not sure about anything else.” She felt cold and sick, to the marrow of her bones. “I can't do this,” she whispered.

“All right.” Luke folded her against his broad chest and bent his head over hers. “Don't be afraid,” he murmured. “No harm will come of knowing the truth, no matter what it is.”

“If I'm guilty—”

“I don't care what you've done.”

“But I care.” Her voice was muffled in his coat. “I'll never escape it. I'll never be able to live with myself, knowing—”

“Hush.” Luke hugged her so tightly she could hardly breathe. “Whatever happened in that room with Angelovsky…someday you'll remember it all, every detail, and then you're going to let it go. I'll be there to help you.”

“But you won't be able to stop Nikolas—”

“I'll deal with Nikolas. I'll make everything all right.”

Tasia tried to tell him that he couldn't, it wasn't possible, but he crushed his mouth on hers, his kiss hard, deep, a determined invasion. She didn't fight him. She relaxed into his hold, her arms lifting to encircle his neck. Luke's mouth gentled at the gesture of willingness, and the kiss ripened into exquisite tenderness. Tasia was flushed and aroused by the time he lifted his head. His mouth touched the edge of her ear and the pale curve of her neck above the white lace collar. Half-opening her eyes, Tasia caught sight of them standing together, her red-and-cream form locked against his dark one. She twitched in reaction.

“I should like to leave this room,” she said, her voice unsteady. “All these mirrors…”

“You don't like mirrors?” he asked.

“Not this many.”

Luke glanced at their surroundings with a wry smile. “I rather like seeing twenty of you at once.” As he looked back at her face and read the signs of strain, his expression became unfathomable. “We'll go home now,” he said.

Yes, she wanted to find a dark room and crawl into bed, and pull the covers over her head, and not think or feel. But she wouldn't let herself. She wouldn't indulge the guilt, the fear—or lunacy—whatever it was that inspired the macabre vision of Mikhail. “I would like to continue shopping,” she said.

“I think you've had enough excitement for one day.”

“You promised we would visit Harrods this afternoon.” Tasia pushed her lower lip into a small pout, knowing it would distract him. As she had intended, he was charmed into agreeing.

“Anything,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Whatever pleases you.”

Tasia recovered her good spirits as they went to see the accumulation of wares at Harrods, the well-known department store on Brompton Road. Every time she stopped to admire something—a clock, a tray, a tiny hat adorned with bird-of-paradise feathers, a painted tin of comfits that Emma would like—Luke would gesture for a waiting attendant to have it packaged and sent to the carriage.

Tasia refused when he urged her to purchase yet another item she fancied. “We've bought too much already.”

Luke was amused. “I didn't think the heiress to a great fortune would be so afraid of spending money.”

“I couldn't buy anything without my mother's permission. And she didn't like to walk on public streets—she said it made her feet ache. She had the merchants and jewelers come to the palace with their goods. I've never been shopping like this.”