Heart of Darkness (9 page)

“Nothing to say, sweet Venus? I find that I
have plenty...There once was a legend about a ring of onyx. Have
you heard of it, Isabeau?”

Gulping, she shook her head and quietly
mouthed, “No.”

“It's rather interesting. The power it
contains within its band of minerals is astonishing. Darkness
against light,” he murmured as he twisted the ring between two
fingers. She knew he would be looking at the contrasting black and
white bands of color that was almost a cross-section of dark and
light. “Everything must be balanced, Isabeau. For light to exist at
all, there must be a contrast. Something to maintain the status quo
of the world. As Newton said, for every action there is a reaction.
One life saved, another destroyed. One child born, an adult
dies.”

She licked her lips. “It is not a destructive
power. It is for good. Not bad!”

“No, that is where you are wrong, Isabeau. It
depends on who contains the source of the magic and if he or she is
intrinsically good or evil.”

“I'm the last of my family. The last Hart. I
am good. Not evil,” she stated confidently, although her voice
shook.

“Magic is destructive. In whatever guise it
is couched.”

“No! It is not! And it's not magic!”

His head slowly lifted and he seared her with
his gaze. “The onyx ring of legends past is said to bind men's
minds to the wearer. Is this the same ring, do you think, last
Hart? Does it give you the power of an asrai over men's hearts?
Your beauty is such that it is possible, no? Can you bewitch them
like the mythical creatures of old?”

She nibbled her lip anxiously. “I do not
know. I have only ever used it for healing purposes,” she replied
earnestly. “And to hide myself from danger. But I am not an asrai,
of all things!”

“The legend says it heals as it ensorcels. I
wonder...” he murmured, ignoring the rest of her words.

Despite herself, she had to ask, “What do you
wonder?”

“If the ring that has channeled your
magic...”

She sucked in a breath. “It isn't magic,”
Isabeau repeated.

He ignored her. “...for such a long period of
time, would turn against you? Magic is never loyal.” Wolfe paused.
“If you do not believe in magic and have been yielding it for five
years, then you are deluded, my dear.”

“It isn't magic,” she said, shaking her
head.

“No? Then what is it?”

“I-I don't know. A gift! A talent I
possess.”

“You need not fear that I will send you to
the ducking pond, Isabeau. You can admit your powers here and will
be perfectly safe.”

“Safe?” she scorned, with a return of her
usual spirit. “After you have just threatened to turn the ring
against me!”

“Why are you scared about something you
purport not to understand?”

He stepped towards her and the stalking
menace in that action had nerves shuttling through her system until
a horde of butterflies began to flicker and quake inside her.

She had never believed that the ring could
turn against her, as it was hers and her mother had said that it
would always protect her...Perhaps her mama had been incorrect. Or
perhaps it would always protect her, but only when it was upon her
fingers.

The predatory nature of his movement had her
steadily taking steps away from him. His swift advance made her
move all the faster and suddenly, she felt the press of what could
only be the bed at the back of her knees. It was too late to brake;
her momentum pushed her backwards until she fell on the lushly
covered bed.

* * * *

Quickly, shoving herself upwards, she watched
and shuddered as she noticed he was even closer and all the time,
he was moving, his fingers rubbed the onyx stone.

She was certain that unless he had the same
power as she possessed, he would not be able to hurt her with the
onyx ring, but there was a distinct possibility that she was wrong.
That he could.

She already believed there was something in
his nature that ensured he could only move around at night time and
she had to believe that it was some power he had...When that belief
was combined with those windows of animals that also felt at peace
during the hours of darkness, her opinion solidified even
further.

She was unsure of what his next action would
be, but there was a slumberous look in his eyes that warned her it
involved some kind of intimacy. If she remembered rightly, although
the door had slammed shut, Isabeau could not remember hearing the
click of the lock. If she could play him at his own charade, if she
could manipulate him into believing that she was lost in his
caresses, then perhaps there would be a chance of escape. Either
that, or the opportunity to snatch the ring back.

At this moment in time, she would have
preferred to have the ring rather than her freedom. For all the
years she had been running away, that ring had been there, perched
upon her finger and guiding
and
guarding her. Protecting her from the perils of the life she
had been dropped into and without an ounce of knowledge of how to
survive.

From the cosseted, only daughter of a wealthy
Earl to a renegade woman without a penny to her name.

That ring had kept her from death countless
times. If she were to ever escape this place, she would be as
helpless as before without that ring.

She was uncertain if her plan had any merit,
or if it was even worthy of enacting, but if there was a
possibility of retrieving her ring, then Isabeau had to do it. She
was completely inexperienced in all kinds of intimacy. Whilst she
had once befriended a prostitute during her journey around the
country, who had taken great pleasure in shocking her with some of
the clients' requests, and while she knew the details of what
occurred in the marriage bed, Isabeau had no practical idea of what
actually happened or how.

For her, marriage always had and always would
be the place in which to explore any desires she had. She did not
appreciate having to retreat from her principles in an effort to
regain possession of her ring, but she had taken part in far worse
to survive.

She sat silently as he continued to stalk
ever closer to her and when he stood directly before her, Isabeau
felt contrasting emotions quiver through her. Even though he was
upon her, he somehow continued to press onwards and she ended up
falling backwards and sprawled inelegantly upon the cushioned
feather bed.

Although she felt slightly fearful, the
female in her was relaxed and felt almost predatory. While she lay
supine on the bed, she could turn his presumptions against him and
play his game and surprise him.

His hands came down and were pressed beside
her arms. He leaned over her and his head hung low and close to her
own. Her eyes traced his handsome features, before halting at his
own and spying the thundering and riotous emotions there.

Slowly, purposely, she licked her lips and
watched his reaction to that gesture. His eyes, already black as
night, were suddenly shot through with gleaming strands of
appreciation that turned the orbs into an even darker shade of
obsidian. It was like seeing a shard of a lightning bolt run across
the breadth of the sky. Sharp, shocking and at the same time,
exhilaratingly exciting.

His head dropped lower and she could tell,
although this had been her intention all along, his emotions were
in control and not his head. That in itself sent a peculiar
sensation of arousal shuddering through her.

Before his mouth could reach her, her hand
quickly shot up to curl around his neck and she pressed him against
her. The sudden touch of his lips against hers made her blood start
to shoot through her veins like quicksilver. At first, it was
hesitant. A gentle press of his to hers and then, his tongue
escaped and he flickered it around the perimeter of her mouth. Then
he slipped it back and forth against the central line of her closed
lips until she opened up and it slid in between to press against
her own.

Gently at first, then a little faster until
she shuddered as the new reaction made her heart pump harder, she
pressed her tongue against his and gasped as the small muscle
seemed to pulse with life in reaction.

When his hands slid over the shabby material
of her dress, rather than pushing him away, she accepted the touch,
improper as it was, and enjoyed the sensation of his rough hands
cupping her waist and sliding along the length of her arms.

Every inch of her seemed to grow nerve
endings that were so supremely sensitive, a slight quiver
continually danced along her flesh until she felt as though she
were nothing but a bundle of aroused vitality. His hands cupped her
calves, this time skin to skin and she gasped against his mouth as
they slid to her knees. A small voice urged her to tell him to
stop, to order him to leave her alone, for never had she been in
such a dangerous position as this. But she couldn't. Even if his
mouth hadn't engaged hers, Isabeau wouldn't have wanted to tell him
to stop.

Despite that, her uncertainty over his next
move had her feeling slightly anxious. Would he attempt to touch
her intimately...or, what else could he be intending to do?

Nerves balled in her stomach and before she
could feel even more anxious, he started to spread her legs but his
hands halted at her knee. She froze, wondering what he was about,
when suddenly he settled himself in between her legs so that their
nether regions met. They were covered by cloth, but it was the most
powerful of meetings regardless of that. His lips supped at the
moans that escaped her throat and her fingers came to a halt at his
shoulders. They dug into the hardened muscles they found there and
when his hips rocked against her, she cried out again.

Suddenly, his mouth snatched away from her.
His hands moved from her legs and rushed to the bodice of her
chest. He ripped at the material that covered her and rather than
denounce his actions and call him a rake, she dove into his touch
and welcomed whatever he intended to do to her. Whimpers burst free
from her mouth as his hands, those roughened, callused palms and
the strong, firm fingers pressed against the sensitive flesh of her
bosom. The skin there had never been touched by anyone but herself
and the press of her own hand to her breasts had never caused any
sensation to rush through her, but now, she felt as though she was
riding the crest of a wave. And it was marvelous.

Her chemise was pulled away and that left her
bare to his gaze. Only her mama and nanny had seen this part of her
and she licked her lips, as his eyes roved over the abundance of
her flesh.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice gruff,
deep and husky.

In the pit of her belly, warmth broke out and
engulfed her at his words. When his head dropped down and she felt
the sudden slickness of his tongue wet the peak of her breast, a
deep groan that came from the very depth of her being escaped her.
Her nails dug into him again, as he continued to flick flesh that
she had not even realized to be sensitive, and drove her higher and
higher until she felt literally shaky with emotion.

When his lips suddenly opened and sucked at
the tip of her breast, she gasped and everything that had happened
prior to this, suddenly felt as unimportant as the touch of his
finger to her hand. The sensations it caused to feel him suckling
at this area, were so unbearably powerful that it felt almost as
wondrous as when the onyx ring healed her of whatever ailed
her.

The rake of his teeth on one and then the
pinch of his fingers on the other, pushed her to cling to him. Her
legs cupped him and held him to her with a ferocity that shocked
even her. She had not meant for anything of this nature to happen.
There was no way that with these emotions rushing through her, she
would have the wherewithal to try and steal the ring or rush away
from him and attempt to escape.

Her reaction to him told her that there was
something between them that she had not yet acknowledged. Something
powerful and beyond her understanding, but vital all the same.
There was no way on this Earth that she would have reacted in this
way, had she been frightened or fearful or scared of the most basic
and intrinsic parts of him.

Everything about what was happening
between them, seemed
honest
and
real.
Perhaps that
was strange, but it was how she felt. And a part of her hoped that
the way she felt, was shared by him.

In the back of her mind, she recalled the way
her mama had described that first kiss with her papa. Although
Isabeau knew that it would not have been as explicit as the one she
was currently sharing with Wolfe, somehow she knew that it would
have felt the same. The thought had her heart thudding in her
chest, because her mama had always said that she had known her
husband was the love of her life within moments of meeting and
their first kiss had been upon the announcement of their
engagement.

What did that mean?

Suddenly, he nipped then quickly sucked at
the peak of her breast and it jolted her from her thoughts. Her
hands came up to cup his head and her back arched as he nibbled a
little harder at her nipples and she rocked her hips against him.
Needing something, but unsure what, she groaned and the sound was
loud in the otherwise quiet room.