Ariadne's Diadem (25 page)

Gervase knew she was there, for he heard the lightness of her tread on the gravel. He thought she still expected Hugh and longed to stretch out his hand to draw her safely into the protection of his embrace, but until darkness fell, he was helpless.

Anne forgot her fear as she approached the rotunda, which had an almost unearthly appearance in the lazily warm shadows. She wondered if she’d feel foolish because the statue wasn’t the image of Charles Danby after all, but as she gazed up at the finely chiseled face, she knew the opposite was true, for the white marble seemed to be him down to the very last detail. The eyes were his, so were the lips, and if the hair were brushed back... Yet it couldn’t actually
be
him—it couldn’t! Could it? If she inspected its hand, would she find the scratch Mog had left that night in the kitchen passage? She swallowed as this struck her. The scratch had been a bad one, requiring bandaging with a handkerchief, and would still be evident now, even in marble.

She was afraid to look, for if the scratch was there, the impossible would become cold sober fact, and fantasy would not only invade the safe haven of logic, but triumph decisively over it. Yet she had no choice but to look. This had to be settled once and for all, and the presence of the scratch would provide all the evidence she needed. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the hand. Her breath caught, and an enervating weakness swept over her, for there, defined unmistakably across the marble knuckles, was the mark of Mog’s frightened leap from the shelf. Logic was vanquished. This
was
Charles Danby!

As her shaking fingers brushed his rigid, unyielding skin, Gervase knew his secret was out, and a maelstrom of helplessness spun through him. Trapped in his marble cocoon, he could only watch the incredulous emotions on her face. He saw how pale she went. What was she feeling? Was she horrified? Repulsed? Did she think she had lost her mind? Dear God, what else
could
she think, for the truth was beyond reason. He wanted the moment to stop, and all he could think of was appealing to the faun for help.
“Sylvanus? Are you still here? Can you hear me? Don’t let this go further! She must tell me she loves me, not be frightened into believing her wits have deserted her!”

Unable to watch because of the thickness of the hedge Sylvanus had been taking comfort from Gervase’s silence, but as the anguished plea rang silently out, the faun was startled into hasty action. He scrambled to the edge of the central clearing and was dismayed to see Anne’s ashen face as she stared down at Gervase’s hand. The horrified faun’s only thought was to petrify her, but in his panic he applied instead his forbidden power to cause irresistible attraction. He realized his mistake almost immediately and glanced up fearfully at the sky, but there was no flash of lightning, just a shooting star that signaled that Bacchus acknowledged the extenuating circumstances. Sylvanus’s reassured glance flew back toward the rotunda, for he needed time to think, so it really didn’t matter which power he used, and in his decidedly earthy opinion, there had always been much to gain from a little sexual bewitchment.

Anne was aware of the fading of all fear and confusion. What did the impossible matter? What nonsense it was to fight facts when all that was really of consequence was how she felt about Charles Danby. She gazed at the statue, but instead of marble saw the warm, flesh-and-blood lover who’d held her in his arms and made her feel as she’d never felt before. It had been wonderful when he’d held her in the study, and again when he’d gently lifted her from her feet on the jetty and allowed her to sink against the hard exciting contours of his body. Her beloved Charles, ruggedly handsome, tanned from the sun, with eyes as clear and blue as the heavens, and lips that could sweep her to ecstasy, was with her again now. With a sigh she linked her arms around his neck and put her mouth adoringly to the smooth white marble.

There was such sensuous seduction in her kiss that Gervase felt almost as if he were coming to life in her arms, but it was only a cruel illusion, for his flesh remained cold and hard. He was engulfed by desire as her breasts pressed sweetly to him, her aroused nipples tangible even to a man of marble. He loved her so much that the agony of feeling he knew now was the most remorseless pain imaginable. If she would only whisper those three words, he would be liberated and able to consummate the passion that burned through them both.

Anne’s exhilaration was totally wanton. She neither knew nor cared what was happening; all she could think of was Charles Danby. To her his lips were warm and responsive, and as she moved against him, the pleasure was intoxicating. This was the realization of the yearning that had beckoned her through the long nights, the final clarification of the half-captured images that had flashed fragmentedly through her days. This was enlightenment, ravishment itself...

The sound of hooves came from beyond the maze, and Sylvanus tore his interested gaze from the rotunda to turn perplexedly. Who could be arriving? Gervase was lost in Anne’s beguilement and heard nothing, but after a few minutes Mrs. Jenkins’s flustered voice penetrated his joy with words that shattered his magic.

“Miss Anne! Oh, Miss Anne, please come, for His Grace is here!”

Sylvanus withdrew his power from Anne, then scampered back to his blind alley, where he pressed down beneath the hedge and curled up into the tightest of balls so that she wouldn’t see him when she hurried past.

She came to in a state of utter confusion. The rotunda seemed to be spinning. Or maybe the maze was revolving around it. Whatever it was, she felt giddy and uncertain of what was real and what was fantasy. Her memory was wiped clean from the moment she’d seen the telltale scratch on the statue’s hand, so she knew nothing of what had passed during the past few moments. As she glanced again at the scratch, the true implications surged through her, and she could not even begin to comprehend what was going on in this peaceful Monmouthshire backwater that until now had always been so placid and ordinary. She looked at Gervase’s face. “I’m not going mad, am I? It really
is
you, Charles?” she whispered.

“Yes, it’s me! Say what’s in your heart, my love!”
he begged.

“Miss Anne? The duke is here!” Mrs. Jenkins called again.

Anne’s lips parted in dismay. Hugh? But why had he called after all? Surely she’d made her wishes plain in her note? There was no time now to think of the whys and wherefores, for somehow she had to speak to him. She really didn’t know how she was going to achieve it with decorum after the astonishing discovery here in the rotunda, for she felt more like giving way to hysteria. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then hurried from the rotunda.

“Anne! Just say you love me and this will all be over! Beware of my cousin, for he means you the greatest harm imaginable!”
Gervase’s agonized imploration winged desperately after her, but did not even begin to touch upon her consciousness. She neither sensed nor heard anything, and as she passed the end of the blind alley, she didn’t see Sylvanus in his hiding place either.

At the edge of the maze she paused to compose herself, then walked sedately toward the castle, where Hugh, sinister and malevolent behind an open smile, was waiting in the hall.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Good evening, Anne, may I waste no time in wishing you the very happiest of birthdays?” Hugh murmured as he took her hand and drew it warmly to his lips.

She looked urgently behind him at Mrs. Jenkins, seeking a hint as to why he had called after all, but the housekeeper, who was hastily lighting candles because the daylight had now virtually gone, could only spread her hands perplexedly, for the note had been taken to the White Boar in ample time. Anne withdrew her hand a little distractedly. “Your Grace, I—”

He interrupted with a gentle reproof that could not have sounded more warmly sincere. “I thought we had agreed to dispense with disagreeable formality?”

“Yes,
but—”

He broke in again as he held the cloth-wrapped diadem out to her. “Please accept this, not only as a birthday gift, but as a token of my regard. I have no doubt that in the coming years I will take great pride in seeing you wear it.”

Anne stared at him in increasing dismay, for this unexpected development was a great strain, coming as it did so hard on the heels of her incredible discovery in the maze. “Sir, I sent word to you which I fear you cannot have received.”

He didn’t seem to hear as he pressed the diadem into her hands. “I chose it especially for you.”

Unable to think what else to do, she unwrapped the cloth, and as the diadem’s glory caught the candlelight, her parted lips betrayed reluctant admiration.

Mrs. Jenkins gasped. “Oh, my, what a beautiful thing,” she declared.

Anne turned the wedding crown gently so that the jewels flashed. “It’s exquisite,” she murmured.

“Exquisite indeed, and you are more than worthy of it,” he said gallantly.

She gazed at the matchless workmanship. That it was very valuable she did not doubt, just as she did not doubt her inability to accept it. Slowly, she rewrapped it and held it out to him again. “Greatly as I find it to my liking, sir, I fear I cannot accept.”

“Cannot? I don’t understand.” At last he pretended to notice what she was saying.

“I sent you a note today, sir, but it is clear that you cannot have received it.” She continued to hold out the diadem.

“What note was this?” he asked, ignoring the returned gift.

As she placed the diadem on the table, she struggled to find the right words. “This is a little awkward, sir...”

“Maybe you would find it easier if we went for a walk? To the jetty and back, perhaps?” he suggested.

“Th-the jetty?” She smiled with relief. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

He offered her his arm. “Er, what of you, Mrs. Jenkins?” he inquired, for he needed the housekeeper to witness his apparent heroism.

But Mrs. Jenkins cast an unhappy glance at Anne and shook her head uncomfortably. “I think not this time. Your Grace.”

“As you wish.” Damn! Still, he had no choice; he
had
to
proceed tonight, because by tomorrow a letter would surely be on its way to Critchley, advising of her withdrawal.

As they went out, the housekeeper gathered her skirts and hurried up to Mr. and Mrs. Willowby’s bedroom, from where she observed as best she could through the telescope, although in the encroaching darkness it wasn’t easy to make out any detail.

Anne didn’t speak as she and Hugh walked past the maze, but time and time again her haunted glace stole toward the soaring hedges, which to her were now so very much more mysterious than before. She could not know that from within those high leafy walls, Gervase was watching anxiously. Brought to life again by Sylvanus the moment the last of the sunset had disappeared, he was at the entrance to the maze as Anne and Hugh went by. The impulse to step out and save her by confronting his cousin was almost overwhelming, but he was mindful that Anne had to confess her love
without
knowing who he really was. Hugh was certain to identify him and thus the chance of escaping from Bacchus’s magic would be lost forever. So, for the moment at least, all he dared do was appoint himself her determined guardian, revealing himself to Hugh only if her life was in peril.

He waited impatiently for Sylvanus, who had stolen into the castle to get Penelope, and the moment the faun and nymph returned, unseen by Mrs. Jenkins, who was on the point of giving up with the telescope because she couldn’t see anything much, all three hastened stealthily across the park to some thick bushes on the riverbank close to the jetty. As they crouched low among the leaves and reeds, a trick of the night breeze carried the sound of the rapids downstream, an ominous roar that echoed the emotion engulfing Gervase now that he saw Hugh properly for the first time since Naples. Here at last was the despised cousin, who not only threatened his beloved Anne, but had also usurped his title and position by the foul means of leaving him to drown. No, it was more than just leaving him to drown! Gervase recalled that moment in the grove when the heel of Hugh’s riding boot had cruelly crushed his helpless fingers. There hadn’t been any hesitation, just the unspeakable act that would gain Hugh Mowbray a few seconds more in which to escape, and which would also bring him the dukedom he’d always craved. Now Anne stood in the way too, and her life was only too dispensable. Hugh’s decision in the grove had been made on the spur of the moment, but this was cold-blooded premeditation. It was often said that everything was easier the second time, and from Hugh’s relaxed manner and easy smile, the old adage was only too true, for no one looking at him now would guess that he had murder in mind.

Sylvanus sensed Gervase’s justifiable rage. “For Jupiter’s sake, don’t do anything rash. If need be, we can see she comes to no harm.”

“Would
you
be calm if Penelope were the one in danger?” Gervase demanded resentfully.

The faun didn’t answer, but Penelope leaned across to put a soothing hand on Gervase’s arm. “We won’t let anything befall her—truly we won’t.”

“I just want to go up to my cousin and knock that evil smile from his face!” Gervase breathed as he looked at Hugh again.

“And so you will, at the proper time,” the nymph said quietly. “Remember that Anne must tell you she loves you
without
realizing who you really are.”

“I know, but I’d still like to tear Hugh Mowbray’s head from his shoulders,” Gervase breathed.

Sylvanus gave him a reassuring smile. “If we keep
our
heads and think everything through properly, we’ll
both
meet Bacchus’s conditions.”

Penelope had been watching the jetty, and suddenly her breath caught. “Oh, no! They’re getting into one of the boats!”

As Hugh untied the rope and then took up the oars, Gervase’s heart almost stopped with dread for Anne. “We can’t let her go with him!” he cried.

Penelope put a hand on his arm again. “Yes, we can. I’ll swim after them.”

“Swim? But—”