Page 6 of The Flesh Remembers
He slid one hand along the curve of her waist, the pressure light but possessive, as though claiming his place there. Her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch even as her mind screamed caution. “Do you feel it?” he asked, his lips brushing against her ear. “The current between us? It’s no mere chance, Eleanor. This is the essence of what we need to bring him back.”
Her pulse surged like a raging river as his hand wandered lower, resting just above the curve of her hip. “I… I don’t understand,” she stammered. She knew precisely what he meant but could not admit it aloud.
“James is gone from you,” he whispered, his voice a hypnotic drawl. “Yet you ache for him so deeply that it trembles through your every breath. That ache is your greatest resource. But to unlock its true potential, you must allow yourself to feel, to give in to the boundary between agony and desire.”
The words sent a shiver cascading down her spine, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his proximity. His hand slid beneath her chin, tilting her face upward until their eyes met. His eyes were impossibly dark, fathomless, and brimming with an authority she could not challenge. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers.
Her heart screamed for her to retreat, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. This unbidden desire welled up from within her and threatened to consume her fully. Why was the feeling so strong here? Why did she feel she would completely come undone at any moment? She did not want this man, just as she had not wanted Frye earlier, but the proximity of their warm flesh, the promise of a touch of fingers or lips had made her feel weak enough to faint.
But along with that inexplicable passion was a great sense of guilt. She loved James; she wanted James. So then, how could she feel this way for someone else? Eleanor hated herself even as she felt herself inching closer to Lord Blackwood, desperate to feel the heat of his lips upon her own.
When his mouth finally claimed hers, it was not the gentle exploration of a lover but the deliberate possession of a predator. The kiss was molten, a clash of dominance and surrender that left her breathless. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, until the heat of his body threatened to sear through the thin fabric of her gown.
She gasped against his lips, a sound that only seemed to embolden him. His tongue teased hers, demanding a response, and when she gave it, a low growl of approval rumbled from his chest. Her hands, which had hovered uncertainly at her sides, now found his shoulders, clutching at the delicate fabric of his coat as though he were the only thing anchoring her to reality.
A sharp tug at her waist brought her flush against him, and she could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing into her. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her, shame and arousal intertwining in a way that left her dizzy. This was not James, she knew that, but at this moment, with his lips devouring hers and his hands mapping every curve of her body, she could not summon the strength to push him away, nor was she sure she wanted to.She knew that she did not want him in the way she wanted James, but her body at least wanted his touch, begging for it in a purely carnal sense.
He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving her gasping for air, her lips tingling and swollen from the force of it. “And so you prove you are not a porcelain doll,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You can be stirred.”
She stumbled back, her legs trembling as she collapsed onto the settee. Her chest heaved, and her mind raced with conflicting emotions: shame, anger, but above all, a desperate, aching need that refused to be ignored.
“How dare you kiss me!” Eleanor hissed at him through clenched teeth, hoping Blackwood did not notice how hard she was breathing. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he had affected her. But, from the silky, seductive smile on his lips, it seemed clear that Blackwood knew exactly what effect he had on her.
“Oh, come now, Eleanor, you’ll need to be made of stronger stuff if you plan to survive the next few weeks. You will face every moral dilemma you can imagine, and you will need to decide now if you have the stomach for what we must do here to achieve our goals. Will you be a proper London lady or will you wallow down in the mud with the rest of us heathens?”
Lord Blackwood loomed over her, the corner of his lips curving up into a knowing smile. “This is only the beginning, Eleanor. If you truly wish to bring him back, you must embrace this. The passion. The longing. Let it consume you, for you can only channel it fully.”
A soft knock at the door interrupted the charged silence. Assistant Frye entered, his expression carefully neutral, though there was still that same wild flash in his eyes when he caught her gaze. In his hands, he carried a small velvet box. “Mylord,” he said, addressing Blackwood with a rather blatant bite to his voice, “shall I present it to her?”
Blackwood nodded, stepping back as Frye approached. The box opened to reveal a silver chain, its centrepiece a polished metal disk humming faintly with energy. “An amplification instrument,” Blackwood explained, watching her intently. “It is something I discovered in my travels. I purchased it from a shaman of dark magic while traveling through the jungles in the East Indies. He certainly did not want to part with it, but I knew it would prove useful whenhe showed me how it worked and amplified any emotion or feeling.”
“If he didn’t wish to part with it, how did you manage to purchase it?” Eleanor asked, her eyes glued to the gleaming disc.
“You will learn very quickly, my dear Dr. Ashcroft, that I am a man who gets what he wants. I simply offered the man more money than he had ever seen in his lifetime. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, has a price. Even you, Eleanor.”
Blackwood’s gaze lingered on the box as he extended it toward her. "It sharpens the senses, weaving them into the apparatus’s hunger, even in your absence," he murmured, his tone a velvet caress. "Think of it as a pledge, a quiet bond to the work we’ve begun."
Eleanor’s hands shook as she lifted the chain, nearly dropping it altogether when the disk’s subtle vibration sent a sensation coursing through her fingers. She glanced at Blackwood, who watched her with undisguised satisfaction, and then at Frye, whose lingering gaze sent a fresh flush of heat to her cheeks.
Though her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own at that moment, she managed to fasten the chain around her neck, the disk settling against her clavicle. A pulse of energy radiated outward, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. Blackwood’s smile widened, dark and triumphant. “Wear it well, Dr. Ashcroft. Let it remind you of the power you hold and the passion you must harness.”
She touched the disk, feeling the warmth of the energy emanating from it. A mild shock tingled along her flesh, making her start. Lord Blackwood’s approving nod felt laden with dark promise. A pulse echoed through her bones as the disk settled against her chest. Not mechanical, somethingdeeper, older. Like the heartbeat of a thing that had been waiting for her.
“Keep it close, Dr. Ashcroft," he murmured, his voice velvet smooth. "With each spark of longing, the apparatus hungers, a delicate symbiosis, drawing your essence into something... greater." A shadow of a smile played on his lips. "And perhaps it will serve as a gentle nudge, a reminder to embrace your desires. After all, the fiercer the flame, the more formidable the offering."
Eleanor swallowed hard, her breath unsteady. She hadn’t told anyone what she’d heard. During the demonstration, a voice, his voice, had whispered her name. James. She was certain. She had heard it too many times before to mistake it. But it wasn’t possible. They hadn’t even begun the process on him. And yet, she had heard him just as clearly as Fairfax, Marian, and Frye. A trick of her mind? A desperate illusion? She didn’t know. But whether real or imagined, the promise of what might come made the whole thing feel far less monstrous.
Excerpt from the Diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
I can scarcely write these words, but I must unburden myself. Blackwood kissed me. Passionately, hungrily. But worse than that, worse than anything, I kissed him back. I didn’t pull away. I let him kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me.
When his lips met mine, I did not pull away. I betrayed my heart, my James, whose memory I vowed to keep sacred. The guilt is unbearable. How could I let myself be so weak, so drawn to another? Was it his charm, or the hope he dangles before me? Or, God forbid, what if I just wanted it for no other reason than that?
Whatever the reason, I fear I am a woman torn in two.
Dancing with Devils
Eleanor thought back to that first day she had met him in the anatomy lab. Eleanor had to work in the lab late into the night after all the other students had gone home to avoid the cruel remarks and vicious looks from the primarily male students in her class at medical school. There were only three women in the entire class of three hundred, and of those three, the chances were good that one or more of them might not make it till graduation. But Eleanor persisted. She had wanted to be a doctor from a young age and follow in her beloved father's steps.
