Heart of Darkness (4 page)

Saiville headed towards the last of the rooms
on this floor, passing the chamber she assumed Wolfe would take,
and opened the door to the room she presumed would be her own and
with a flourish.

Isabeau took a hesitant step inwards and spun
around at Wolfe's voice.

"There are no possible exits in this room,
Isabeau. The windows are sealed and the door will be locked.
Please, do not try and destroy any part of this room. I would find
it most offensive to repay my friend's generosity with a chamber
ripped to shreds by an overset female."

She glared at him and had to fight the urge
to stamp her foot in frustration. He merely bowed and the door was
slowly returned to its jamb.

The click of the lock was loud in the
otherwise silent room. The clang of metal against metal had her
nerves rising and the thought that there was no escape, made her
even more anxious.

Of course, she couldn't trust his word and
so, with squinted eyes, Isabeau headed around the perimeter of the
room and encountered four. Each as locked as the next. When she
reached the fourth one, she frowned out at the darkened view before
her, realizing that it wasn't as dark as it had been. There was a
slightly back lit radiance to the sky that informed her, morning
was here.

Color had yet to shoot through the blacker
than black scape above them, but she could already feel the slight
sizzle of her powers recharging.

Her mind crossed to the sudden increase
of speed and the haste in which they had arrived here ...there had
been no other sounds, nothing that could have been of any danger to
them. Had there been and had
she
been in any danger, then she would have noticed. Her ring
would have reacted to it and warned her.

Therefore, there was another reason behind
their need to take shelter here.

Perhaps, it was the dawn.

The more she thought about it, the more she
realized it to be highly probable.

It would explain a few anomalies.

Such as how he had seen through her disguise,
when his fingers had brushed the ring.

He was like her.

Whatever she was.

Only, where she was at her strength during
the day, he was at his zenith, during the night.

It was how he had known that she was in an
inn, when there had been no troops of horsemen near the ale house.
It was how he had known to follow her into the woods, when he had
been far behind her and there were other options open to her and
other routes that she could easily have taken.

Suddenly, the term Night Rider took on a
deeper meaning.

Slowly, she walked towards the bed that was
slightly visible in the darkened room and when there, perched on
the edge and started to remove her boots.

Leaving them to lie slovenly on the hardwood
floor, she settled back against the mattress and sighed her
comfort. A down mattress, like the one she had had at home. It was
tenfold more comfortable than the bed she had slept in earlier and
as exhaustion rode her hard, her comfort and feeling of security,
which in the circumstances was laughable, had her lulled and soon,
she dropped into a fatigued and heavy slumber.

* * * *

With a slight grimace, Isabeau rolled on to
her side and realized that earlier that morning, before she had
fallen asleep, she had failed to heal her injuries entirely. The
pervasive ache of her buttocks against the mattress, the strain in
her spine as she had turned over ... they were unwelcome reminders
of the night before and the adventures in which she had been
involved.

Keeping her eyes closed and her mind on the
perch of sleep, she rubbed the onyx stone and allowed her body to
heal itself. The heat that always came from the healing process had
her toasty warm and nestling deeper into the cushioned comfort of
her bed. She sighed with relief as the rough kink in her back and
hips dissipated and she could move more freely and with less of the
pain that only moments before had plagued her.

A murmur escaped her lips as she heard the
click of the door only moments later.

Realizing that she was in the position of
hostage, something her tired brain had yet to process, Isabeau
slightly slitted her eyes and turned her gaze to focus on the
opening door. She could not possibly allow someone to enter her
chamber without monitoring their progress.

A man walked through. Young, in his late
twenties perhaps, tall and strong of chest. He appeared to be
dressed in refined cloth and even from this distance, she admired
the glinting fiery gem that sat snugly amongst the billowy folds of
his cravat and at the matching set of cufflinks at his wrist.

No butler or footman would have worn anything
so grand and she could only assume that it was either the Lord of
the manor or his son and heir.

He was handsome of face and well-proportioned
in the body, she would give him that.

In fact, he was almost a perfect opposite to
Wolfe. Where Wolfe was night, this man was day. Light blonde hair
grew thickly on his head and was only tamed by the cut, which was
in a Brutus style. From this distance, she could see the sparkling
blue eyes and the lightly tanned and golden flesh of his face,
throat and hands. Definite opposites.

She did not need to see Wolfe in the light to
know that he was dark of skin, almost bronze. Perhaps from exposure
to the sun, or the olive color could be his natural skin tone.
Either way, he was at the other end of the spectrum to the man
before her.

In his hands, there was a tray with food and
almost as though it were on cue, her stomach began to grumble its
hunger as the essence of whatever was upon the salver began to make
its presence known.

Rather than give him the upper hand, she slid
upwards and on to her elbows and in her usual, obstinate manner,
asked, "Who the devil are you?"

His head shot up and he looked down at her
with narrowed eyes. Before he spoke, his eyebrow also shot up as
his gaze traveled along her disheveled length. "I see Wolfe managed
to describe what seems like every inch of you and did not lie about
your attitude. I had hoped he was exaggerating."

Rather than be embarrassed by his statement
about her manners, she felt rather proud. Having been raised to be
a lady, it had taken years to produce this all-encompassing shell
and although it had been difficult, it was there for a reason.
Protection.

She shrugged and watched as his eyes fell to
her shoulders. From long experience, Isabeau knew that he would be
studying her hair. Even she realized that the locks about her head
were a curious mixture. Neither auburn, nor red, nor tinted with
orange. It had the appearance of all of them and yet not a one of
them. It was the color of the heart of a flame and was filled with
life thereof.

The more she thought about it, the more she
realized that both this stranger and herself had similar colorings.
They were both of the light, where Wolfe was of the dark.

Why that was of any significance, she didn't
know. But the thought rebounded around her brain like a bouncing
ball.

Cautiously, Isabeau watched him wet his lips
with the tip of his tongue and then saw the slight infinitesimal
twitch of his shoulders, which bespoke of his inner tension.
Curious now, she waited for him to speak.

"Unfortunately for me, I'm one of your kind."
He grimaced. "Wolfe always did have the luck of the dogs."

Frowning at him in confusion, for what
did he mean, one of her kind? Human? What other kind was there? Did
he mean that he too had the strange powers and talents she had
inherited? And why was he inferring that Wolfe was not of a
similar
kind
as this stranger
and herself?

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged and replied, "We are of the
light."

His words uncannily picked up on her earlier
thoughts, but again, what did he mean? Light as in good and dark as
in evil? If so, why would he be friends with Wolfe, who was
obviously of the dark and subsequently...evil?

Confused, Isabeau ducked her head and studied
the carved wood of the bed stand.

When he seemed quite content to simply hover
there, looking over her body with covetous eyes and saying little,
she licked her lips and murmured softly, "Please may I eat whatever
you've brought?"

A sheepish smile graced his lips and he
muttered apologetically, "More used to being served than being the
server, I'm afraid. Of course, you may eat and with my
pleasure."

He settled the tray on the bed and stepped
backwards, almost as though her proximity would tarnish him
somehow.

She tried not to be offended and had he not
come bearing gifts, she more than likely would have been. However,
she merely reached for the tray, set the legs either side of her
and tucked into the hearty slices of sirloin with a poached egg and
a chunk of churned butter, the color of spun gold, and two thick
slices of wheat and seed-filled bread. She had developed quite a
hunger during her slumber, she realized.

Eating with rather more relish than decorum
allowed, Isabeau enjoyed every morsel and ignored the
still-hovering man, who had yet to introduce himself to her.

When she eventually finished, he said, "Long
time since I've seen a lady your age actually eat anything beyond
slight wisps of vegetables."

"I'm not your average lady though, kind sir.
I can't afford to faint decorously in the parlor nor can I afford
to turn food down, when it is so generously given to me. I thank
you for allowing me to break my fast."

He nodded his acceptance but ducked his head,
when she continued, "Who are you?"

"A friend of Wolfe's," was all he said.

She tutted her tongue and replied, "That is
of little help. Considering I do not have a jot of an idea of who
this Wolfe Sinclair, so called Night Rider, actually is, I'm
therefore lost as to who you are as well! Is he friend or foe to me
though, I suppose is the question I should be asking you..."

When her voice trailed to a halt, he picked
up her words and answered quietly. "There are those who would wish
worse upon you than Wolfe does."

"How reassuring!" Isabeau had to hold back a
snort at this evasive and non-answer.

"Why has he asked you to do his bidding? Has
he left your manor?"

"My manor?" the man retorted with raised
eyebrows.

"The last time I saw a servant wear rubies as
red as those at your cravat and wrists, was in a particularly good
dream. Your shirt is of the finest linen, your jacket and breeches
tailored by the best." She smiled coldly. "My father may have died
four years ago, but he only wore the best that London's tailors
could produce. You, milord, are wearing the best. Your cravat has
been tied by a master and your hair styled and cut to the latest
fashions...If you aren't the Lord of this manor then I'm a
fairy."

For some reason, that seemed to make him
laugh, but he held up a hand and relayed, "You are indeed correct.
In more ways than one." The last was said with a slight smile. "Tis
my manor, ever since my father died ten years ago. Old bastard, I
was glad to see the back of him."

"I see that you did not share my love for my
parents with your own."

"He was a confounded tyrant. Mother was a
pussy cat. Not a damned hope of surviving the brute."

"It is strange indeed, milord, that you're
willing to discuss your dislike of your father and your mother's
intimate past, yet you will not tell me who you are to Wolfe
Sinclair or what he is to me."

"Ah, but then we live in a strange world, do
we not? And it is becoming stranger all the time." He smiled
faintly at her. "Drink your chocolate," he ordered.

With raised eyebrows, she complied and said,
"I thank you for your hospitality, milord."

"You're very welcome. Not often that I can
welcome such a beauty as yourself into my home and without the
matchmaking mamas and old tabbies coming along for the ride, as it
were."

Despite his loose words, she had a feeling
that she was entirely safe with him. Why, she did not know for
certain. Although Isabeau had the feeling that she was stamped with
the mark of Wolfe's possession and that to this man, was stronger
than any attraction he might have felt for her.

Whilst she did not appreciate it, if it kept
her safe from the man before her, then she was grateful. She did
not doubt that were she not stamped as such, he would have been
ripping through her petticoats and fondling her as soon as he'd
settled the salver upon the bed. Instead he had shied away from
her.

Why he had done so, she didn't know, but
again, was glad of it. Wolfe's possession, she might be to this
man, but surely placing a tray upon her lap was hardly dangerous!
Was she that great a temptation?

She ducked her head into the large pot of
chocolate to hide her face and the huge grin that had two dimples
cutting into the soft flesh of her cheeks.