Free Lady in Red by Máire Claremont

him a hundred years and nothing would crack that proud carriage. If only she could lean upon it. If only she could allow herself to give herself unto that protection.
    “Edward?” she called impulsively, pulling the sheet tight about her frame. “You insist on helping me to become better?”
    He let his fingers rest upon the gold-plated door handle, his broad shoulders tensing under his linen shirt before he turned back. His profile appeared cut from stone as the light from the hall bathed him in a holy glow. With his black hair, cold eyes, and defined body, one might have said it was an un holy fire that encompassed him. He smiled, an unnatural expression on his daunting, chiseled face. “Yes.”
    “And you?” Dear god. Each word that dropped from her tongue dripped with foolishness. Still, that desire to be truthful with him compelled her to speak. “Do you need no help?” Her hands dug into the sheet, knowing the answer already, but needing to hear him admit the truth. “Do you allow anyone to help you ?”
    Edward stared back at her, the spark in his eyes dimming until they were two flat black pools. “Good night, Calypso.”

Chapter 8
    T he instant of waking was one of unerring recrimination. Mary knew it well. That moment when her eyes snapped open from a black, mindless sleep only to realize she couldn’t recall significant amounts of time. The wish echoed in her hopeless soul then. That long ago she had had the strength to spit her laudanum in her keepers’ faces or not swallow when they forced it into her mouth and plugged her nose.
    If only death were truly preferable to this poisonous feeling, she would have allowed herself to be beaten into oblivion rather than take the laudanum. But every time she had taken it instead of choosing to die. Now she needed it. In fact, she’d come to welcome it down her throat with great greedy swallows and the anticipation of a child desperately longing to wake from a nightmare. Only, her waking was the hell of visions and regret.
    That unforgiving need for laudanum was what held her here, terrified and awake in a baroque bed of beautifully carved wood, where she stared up at the intricately swirled gold in the plaster ceiling.
    Her fingers brushed over the silken sheets. The fabric felt so perfect against her tainted skin. Was there nothing she could do to free herself from this jagged path?
    Gingerly, she rolled onto her side, testing how badly battered her body was. Her insides still ached with a dull, throbbing wave, but at least her stomach no longer felt as if it might suddenly hurtle out of her skin.
    She pushed back the heavy goose down covers and swung her shaking legs over the bedside. Cold air swallowed her, prickling her skin, and her bare feet dangled six inches above the floor.
    It was an immense bed, meant for the great old lords. There had been several in her father’s ducal mansion in Kent. Once, she’d skipped from room to room, playing on the towering beds, pretending she was Queen Elizabeth sending Sir Walter Raleigh off to claim as much treasure for her queenly estates as possible.
    The only thing she was queen of now was of the mad.
    Blinking down at her pale skin, she frowned. Carefully, she lifted the blanket higher, revealing more white skin. Naked. She was completely naked. Mary sucked in a slow breath and her gaze darted toward the door as if she might see him now even through the mahogany wood.
    The beat of her heart thumped fast and loud to her own ears. Her fingers tightened about the sheet, drawing it closer to her naked body, as if she could turn the silk to armor.
    Had he seen her?
    Of course he had. He’d been the one to strip her bare. She turned her attention to the floor. Her corset and gown had been removed; she could still recall seeing them scattered on the woven wool carpet the night before.
    She should have been filled with mortification and resentment. After all, she’d hated the men who had stripped her, dumping buckets of