She nodded, one slow movement with a head that felt weighted down with granite. “They don’t give you any time to protect yourself, do they?”

“No. That’s the point, and they know it. They know our souls, that there’s something in us that will surrender to it.” Reaching down, he cupped her face with that tremendous hand. It was pure comfort, nothing else. “It’s hard at first, but those who are meant for it will embrace it after a time. It’s how you please your Master. That means everything.”

She’d figured that part out, even though now that it was over, she didn’t want to understand. She didn’t even want to think. Since he was going to stand there until she went into the bathroom, she did, closing the door. As soon as she heard his heavy tread back down the hallway, her knees gave out and she crumpled onto the tile floor. Pushing her fist hard against her mouth, she contained the sobs that welled up into her throat, her other arm wrapped around her body so the pressure didn’t break her ribs with their force.

She knew she shouldn’t be acting this way. If Mal decided to take a look inside her mind, it wouldn’t be good. He might not love her, but he did obviously care about her, the same way he cared about the well-being of his cats, the people at his station. She knuckled at her eyes, baring her teeth at herself. The only frustration he should feel was with her lack of sophistication. Lady Danny never cried, never broke down like this. In fact, if something flustered Lady Danny, she’d go rip that something’s head off its shoulders and then ask for a nice spot of tea afterward. With a biscuit.

When things were crumbling, she tried to make herself smile, but this time it didn’t work. Willis had been killed months ago, but all of a sudden it was as if she was grieving anew, not for him this time, but for her loss. The sobs were coming harder, and she could not come unglued like this, but she was.

It was a large bathroom, so she figured that was why she didn’t hear him come in, but suddenly Mal was kneeling behind her where she was crumpled beside the tub. His arms slid around her, his thighs spread in a squat so he was able to pull her into the vee they made. She turned in his arms, burying her face in his chest, curling her hands hard into the fine shirt she’d spent so much time ironing for him so he’d look properly respectable in front of Lord Marshall. Now she was going to wrinkle it and blotch it up with tears. And the tile was cold under her bare bottom.

“Here, now.” He gathered her up and lifted her, and was sitting on a small couch—a couch in a bathroom, imagine it—holding her so close in his arms she was sure he’d hold all the pieces together. “Easy, sweet girl. Easy.”

He did that soft singsong he did, the one with no real words. It was what he sang as he moved among the cats at night. Their ears would prick, following him with those mysterious cat’s eyes as he sang to them in his mother’s tongue that no one else got to hear. Except her.

“I miss him so. I miss being loved as me. As everything I am, nothing more, nothing less.”

He rubbed her back as her sobs became those tiny sentences, confessed to the safety of his damp, nonjudging shirtfront. “Sometimes I’m afraid, wherever he is, he’s angry at me, because his love for me is what got him killed. That maybe he wishes he had fallen for some other girl. And that thought’s unbearable. Early on, I had this awful dream, that I had died, and I came to the gates. It wasn’t like the Pearly Gates, not the way they say, but like the entrance to a wonderful sprawling station, with children running about, and laughing, busy people, and lots of sunshine. He was standing against those gates, and he told me I had to go, because I couldn’t be there. That he didn’t want me there. And his face was angry.”

“That was your worry, projecting itself in a dream. He doesn’t feel that way.”

“How do you know?” She lifted her face to him then, though she was sure her face was as blotchy and wet as his shirt.

“Because whatever waits for us after, once we get there we understand all the things we didn’t while we were alive.” He curled a lock of her hair around her ear. He didn’t look the least bit hurried or concerned, though she well knew he shouldn’t be in here. He gave her an admonishing look and continued. “There’s only acceptance and love, and when we come back together, we know it’s all as it was meant to be.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“For you, yes. Because you deserve such a place.” Tracing her brow, he moved along her temple to the curve of her cheek, gathering a new tear there. “My mother made me feel the way you described. She loved me as I was. I don’t remember it too much, because I had to let go of so many things to survive. But I remembered it better when you came along.”

“Why is that?”

He gave her that exasperated look now. “Because you make me feel that way. Though I can never return the gift, because I can never be all that for you, can I? Tonight proves that. But I thank you for reminding me of the feeling.”

“A gift isn’t something you have to return,” she said softly, though her heart hurt as she said it.

“It should be. I’m sorry, Elisa. I tried to stop regretting the things I couldn’t be, but there are times I deeply regret not being able to give you the gift Willis gave you. And that I have to demand more of you, because of what I am.”

Then that bleakness was gone from his voice and he was focused entirely on her again. “There’s more to this than your grief for what you’ve lost, though. I’m seeing shame in your mind, and fear. I won’t tolerate that. Tell me why you feel that way.”

It took Elisa a while, but at length she managed it, letting it unfold in her mind so he could see the full, embarrassing scope of it. “Before Lady Danny came, there was a girl, a maid in her mother’s house. Mary. Lord Ian took a liking to her, maybe even more than he liked Lady Constance, because he always preferred someone who would submit to him. And after Lady Constance died, he had no boundaries. He made Mary . . . He taught her to . . . become excited when she was humiliated and degraded. The worse he treated her, the more . . . excited she became.

“She didn’t start out that way. She just wanted to please him. He was this fine gentleman with his fine clothes who made her feel so different . . . But in the end, when Lady Danny came, she sent her away, with such a look of disgust. Like she was simply trash, good for nothing but to be spit upon and thrown away. Because Mary had no self-respect. She’d thrown it all away for the way he made her feel, a sick need she had to fill, like it was opium.”

Mal was silent for a bit; then he spoke in a quiet, conversational tone. “I’m rethinking William and Matthew. I think they’d be far better off with Kreager and Gustav.”

“What?” She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right, and pushed up to look at him. “Mr. Kreager isn’t the way you are with me. He’s cold, and a little cruel. I can see it in Gustav’s eyes. How could you think such a thing? Where is your mind?”

It was the slight twitch to Mal’s mouth, the way he tightened his hands on her arms so she couldn’t pull back, that brought her to a halt. She firmed her lips. “You’re teasing me.”

“No.” Now his gaze sobered. “I’m proving something to you, Elisa. What you described being done to Mary, it’s quite possible to do that to a submissive. It requires seduction of the baser parts of our personalities, those deep needs that we can’t deny in ourselves. Follow that with emotional manipulation, eventually reinforced with outright physical abuse, and at length, in her mind she deserves every bad thing done to her. She becomes a kicked dog, who only cringes and stays in place, waiting to be kicked some more. That’s not you, Elisa. You have passion and courage. Enough courage to face what’s really happening here.”

He curled a finger around a lock of her hair. “What bothered you so much about what just happened? That your body took pleasure in it? Elisa, the body has no morality. It enjoys sex, food, sleep, a warm sunny day or rain pattering against the skin. The body is purest innocence in its impulses.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I understand all that, and maybe there’s some of that, but it was more. I mean, you can read it from my mind, can’t you?”

He cocked his head, his touch gliding down from her chin to her neck, thumb sliding along the carotid in a meditative motion, stroking that mark of his in a way that had the pulse jumping beneath his touch. “I’d like to hear it from your lips.”

“Because how I choose to say it tells you things my mind can’t.”

His eyes crinkled with that faint smile. “Smart girl.”

She sighed. She wanted to look away, but of course he wouldn’t let her do that, made her hold his gaze. “Before, I could do it, because it was just one more thing. Let Mr. Collins lift my skirts, clean the china, dust the banister, make the beds. You know? It really didn’t mean any more or less than any of the rest of it. But you made it mean something different. Well, you and Willis. You made it matter to me, who was doing it. How it made me feel. And that seems so selfish, so different from what I’ve been taught, but all I could think when all that was going on just now was how . . . alone I felt, all in my head. I’ve never felt that way when you’ve . . . done things to me. It seemed like my body was betraying me, saying awful things about who I really am, when I only want to feel that way with you.”

She shivered. Shifting her, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her so she was snug inside it and it draped down to her knees. Bringing her close, he kissed her, something that started out warm and slow, then became heated so quickly she was gripping him hard with both hands when his head rose at last. “I like knowing you feel that way, Elisa. I like it very, very much.”

She saw it, in that possessive male look he gave her, flashes of what he’d sent Lord Marshall and Christophe. It made her tremble, and when he recognized it, he stroked her abused muscles. “But you need to understand something else, Elisa. When you follow my commands and submit to such things, it fires my blood, because you are serving me without question, with trust. There’s no greater gift a servant can give a vampire than that. You have awed me tonight.