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disappear. So close were they that she could feel the warmth coming off his skin and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. His thumb slid over a fragile petal, a slow hypnotic gesture that she followed with her eyes.
    “How did you add the blue color into the steel?” she asked.
    “Chemical reaction.” His soft reply was like a breath against her lips, and she found herself leaning in closer.
    “I want to see you work,” she said in a hushed rush. His thumb stopped, and the pendant slipped away to fall with a thud upon her chest.
    Pain, yearning, and regret tightened his expression. “I want nothing more than to please you, Bit. But my work… The smithy…” He scratched behind his neck and scowled. “I don’t do well with people watching me work.”
    “I understand,” she said, even though a lump of disappointment lodged beneath her breastbone.
    He didn’t look pleased but miserable, and Lu touched his wrist. “Honestly, Eamon. I do. Artists are a temperamental lot. Everyone knows that.”
    Eamon snorted. “I’m hardly an artist.”
    “Oh, but you are. I’ve never seen your equal.”
    His mulish, ruddy expression did not abate. Stubborn man. Then he caught her eye, and a wry smile curled over his lips. The moment held, and slowly that smile turned into something quite different, something darker, hotter, and Lu’s breath caught as his deep voice slid smooth and warm over her skin. “Nor have I seen yours, Bit.”
    Before she could answer, he stood abruptly and gave her a formal nod. “I’ve some house business to settle. I’ll see you tonight.” At that his face went violent red up to the tips of his flame-bright hair. Lu felt herself redden too, for she knew precisely what Eamon was thinking of now, and the knowledge filled her thoughts as well. Tonight, they’d consummate their marriage.

Chapter Eight
    Night was far from falling, and Eamon’s nerves were swiftly rising. When he thought of what awaited him in just a few hours, his cock grew hard and hot, and his stomach dipped down to his toes.
    Shite, shite, shite.
    Would he be able to please her? Would he make a fool of himself and spend at the first touch? Given how twitchy he was, he just might.
    Pacing his room was of little help. Nor did he want to drink; that might make him sloppy, and he wanted his full faculties when he finally got to touch Lu. Ah, gods, but she was lovely. The mere sight of the graceful curve of her neck where it swooped down to meet her shoulder could hold him in thrall. She’d be soft there. Warm and fragrant. He imagined her breast would be soft too, soft and plump and waiting to be suckled.
    A groan left him, and his hand drifted down to the ache in his trousers. He’d suckle the sweet pillow of her bottom lip first. Lick his way along her jaw and down to her collarbone. Perhaps she’d open her legs for him, and his hand would slide up her tender thighs.
    Eamon gave himself a squeeze and shuddered. “Shite.”
    The knock upon his door nearly had him jumping out of his skin, and his voice was not quite steady when he finally managed to say, “Enter.”
    George entered. As usual, the man wore a frown of worry and disapproval.
    “What is it now?” Eamon bit out.
    “Two things.” George handed him a thick envelope. “This came for you. From London,” he added unnecessarily, as the postmark was apparent. It was from the family’s solicitor and the Evernight family trustee, Mr. Sawyer.
    Eamon opened the missive and scanned through the documents inside. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he finished.
    “Bad news?” As usual, George’s curiosity rivaled ten cats. And while Eamon kept his own counsel on many things, this wasn’t one such instance. Not when his head was reeling and he had the great urge to hunt Aidan down and throttle him.
    “The little shite has given me Evernight Hall and over half of the family fortune.”
    George’s thick white brows knitted. “And this is a