Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (32 page)

Barnaby’s arrogant presumption revealed another sobering
implication. “Do you think this is why Captain Fletcher sold me as an indenture
and had me shipped to the Indies?”

Barnaby gave a grave nod. “Once you were out of the way, all
he had to do was produce a son with your mother, a son who would inherit Lord
Greystowe’s title and fortune in your place. Your sister would pose little
threat to Fletcher’s schemes. That is, until she was old enough to marry and
produce a son that might threaten his claim.” The apothecary made a sour face
and gestured at the society page. “You know how these things become twisted
when people have fortunes to bestow. Affections change. Promises settled upon
one heir can be revoked in favor of a more promising one.”

“You make it sound like a chess game; rooks blocking knights
to steal the queen.”

“Ah.” Barnaby nodded, fingering his snowy goatee. “When
money is involved, you’d be surprised at how often family interactions mimic
the movements of a chessboard.”

“I have to go to her. I have to see her.” Kieran rose, as
the sense of urgency he’d felt earlier returned.

“You should write to her first.” Barnaby placed a hand on
Kieran’s arm to restrain him. “One does not simply sail across the bay to
Ravencrest and knock on the front door. Our count does not welcome visitors.
It’s invitation only. Those who tried when he first came were driven off--at
gunpoint.”

“She’s my sister. And she’s suffering. I can’t wait for an
invitation to Ravencrest.”

******

Elizabeth recalled little after the captain left. She
recalled trying to tell Donovan the truth and then being given a strong
sedative that made her sleep until morning.

She experienced a wondrous dream under the opiate’s sway.
Sheila would say she’d been visited by the fairy folk while she slept. She had
been lying on a bed of soft moss in a dark forest. A dim light nearby allowed
her to make out tree trunks laden with verdant foliage. She wasn’t afraid to be
in the forest alone at night. The Oak King was guarding her. Oddly, the ancient
lord of the woodlands looked just like her husband. In the dream Donovan possessed
arched brows, luminous eyes and quick, unnatural movements of one from the
magical realm.

The dream was disjointed. One moment, she was floating on a
feather, buoyed up on a breeze and the next she was falling from the sky,
sinking into that incredibly soft, mossy bed. The Celtic god of the forests had
worked some enchantment over her. At one point, he was weeping as he held her
close and pledged his love to her.

Her insides grew warm as she recalled the tender-sweet
dream. She wished she could go to sleep and return to that secret glen and be
in the arms of her fairy lover who looked so much like Donovan. She rubbed the
sleep from her eyes and with it the absurdity; men like Donovan didn’t become
spoony over a woman!

It was a hallucination, conjured by loneliness, longing and
a heavy dose of Laudanum.

Presently, Elizabeth was reclining on several plump pillows
in her husband’s bed with a breakfast tray across her lap. Puck was beside her,
purring, and busily grooming his face after enjoying his breakfast of chopped
meat and a saucer of milk.

Chloe was sitting in the chair next to the bed, declaring
her gratitude for being raised to the position of lady’s companion. Elizabeth
listened with bewildered apathy as she tried to banish the cobwebs in her head
with a bracing cup of tea. Chloe’s advancement was news to her. Apparently
Donovan made the decision yesterday, while she was sleeping. It seemed a great
deal happened while she was asleep these days. Elizabeth sipped her tea, hoping
to make it out later.

“And that old Tabby cat has been dismissed!” Chloe informed
her brightly.

“Tabby’s been let go?” She asked, uncertain she’d heard
correctly.

“It happened while we were all in the servant’s hall last
night, just finishing our dinner. Duchamp and O’Leary marched her out the back
kitchen door, each holding an arm.”

“Why?”

The doe eyes sharpened. “She was stealing from his lordship.
Fudging the household accounts, for years, apparently! Giles wouldn’t say a
word, but I asked Mr. O’Donovan about it this morning—oh, he is such a handsome
man.” Chloe waved her hand about as she spoke with her usual animation. “We had
breakfast in the dining room, just the two of us. Gareth said--“

Chloe placed a hand over her mouth and giggled as she looked
askance at Elizabeth.

“Mr. O’Donovan,” She corrected, “Said we must not use the
breakfast room until you are recovered as you are responsible ‘for its rescue
from darkness, dust and neglect’. Oooh, that man has the soul of a poet!” She
placed a hand on her breast dramatically, as if ready to swoon.

Elizabeth stretched, attempting to shake off this annoying languor.
She usually didn’t mind Chloe’s chattiness. Today, it was just too much to keep
up with the exuberant woman. She longed for silence with her tea. She yearned for
her husband’s quiet, soothing presence.

Where was Donovan? More importantly, what might his mood be
after the upset she’d caused him with the captain? She searched the forest
green canopy above, uncertain how her lord might be feeling toward her after
such high dramatics. A queer impression made her do a quick review of the four
solid oak bedposts festooned with luxuriant green curtains. Her fingers brushed
the velvet coverlet that could easily be mistaken for a bed of moss.

Oh, Bollocks! The bed bore an uncanny resemblance to the
fairy bower in her dream. And her ‘enchanted lover’ looked too much like
Donovan to be a coincidence— and hadn’t the lord of the woodlands been
demanding to know her deepest, most disgusting secret?

Sunshine was streaming in the open windows. A refreshing sea
breeze wafted in from the veranda doors. The birds were singing. Everything
appeared just as it should be, and yet, Elizabeth knew everything had changed
in the past hours.

 “Where is my lord?” She asked when Chloe paused in her
nattering. “Did he seem angry? Did he tell you where he was going, or when he
would return?” Her hand trembled. She set the teacup on the tray before she
doused herself with the tepid liquid.

“I forgot to tell you, he made Mr. Duchamp the steward of the
estates to replace Mr. O’Rourke. He was meeting with Duchamp at ten this
morning. He said that he was going to speak to Alice after that. She is to be
your new maid. I am so relieved, Madame. It would be a shame if Sally were
given that position. She’s lazy and a terrible gossip.”

“Yes—but--did my lord seem unduly upset when you spoke to
him?”

“Well, he was not our sunny O’Rourke, if that’s what you
mean. His lordship left strict orders that you must not become distressed and
agitate your poor nerves. ‘She needs rest and quiet’, he said to me.” Chloe
mimicked the count’s stern, deep voice. “He was most adamant about that. Oh, is
this not the most wonderful of news, Madame?” Chloe clutched Elizabeth’s hand,
jubilant and irritatingly pleased.

Elizabeth blinked. What was so wonderful about her husband
believing she was a pathetic twit needing to be coddled by the household staff?

“Is it not wonderful that I am to be your lady?” Chloe
clarified, swinging their clasped hands as she gushed on with unspoiled
delight. “I’ve been given a room on this floor instead of the servant’s
quarters, directly across from Mr. O’Donovan’s room. It overlooks the back
courtyard and the stables, but I don’t mind. It’s a lovely room. And I’m to
have new gowns made, suitable for my position and am to be called Miss Ramirez
by everyone. Papa would be pleased, he had hoped to take me to Cadiz once I was
of an age and present me . . . “

Chloe kept blathering on about her father’s family in Spain,
oblivious to her lady’s distress. Where was Donovan? She needed to feel his
arms about her. She needed to hear his voice assuring her once more that he
loved her and nothing could ever change his love, just as he promised so sweetly
last night—in that peculiar . . . dream?

 “Madame, you’re shivering. Are you cold?” Chloe removed the
uneaten tray from Elizabeth’s lap and tugged the blankets up about her bosom.
“What is wrong?”

“I’m afraid. What am I going to do?”

“You are safe in his lordship’s room. The spirit will not
attack you here.”

“The spirit?” Elizabeth gasped, having forgotten about her
mother’s harassment in her distress over Donovan’s absence. Mama’s behavior was
becoming more malevolent with each encounter. Perhaps Chloe was right; Mama
wouldn’t trouble her with Donovan nearby.

“Do not be frightened, Madame. I will make a charm of
protection for you. I know plenty of spells for warding off evil spirits. My
grandmother taught me--”

 “What the devil is going on?” A voice boomed like
cannon-fire from the opened veranda doors. “I left you with the admonition that
my lady is not to be upset for any reason.”

“My lord!” Chloe dropped Elizabeth’s hand and backed away
from the bed. “I-I tried to talk only of cheerful things. Still, she became
upset. I do not know why. I think she is frightened by her illness, yes, is
that not so, Madame?” Chloe’s eyes were beggars, silently imploring Elizabeth
to agree with her.

Elizabeth stared at the woman, not sure why Chloe should
feel threatened by Donovan’s appearance. And then it came to her; being
overheard in a conversation about magic. Chloe didn’t know that Donovan did not
believe in magic or fear those who claimed to practice it.

“C-Chloe didn’t upset me!” She stammered, attempting to
deflect his ire from her friend. “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry—I-I-I” Oh, Bollocks! Why
was it so difficult to form words?

“Don’t apologize, my sweet.” Donovan’s tone softened as he
addressed her. “You’ve done nothing that warrants an apology.”

Elizabeth nodded. His words held a deeper meaning than the
woman between them could know. Her face burned. She didn’t think she’d ever be
able to look at him without turning scarlet.

“Chloe, you may go, for now.” Donovan addressed the maid.
“Come back in an hour.”

Elizabeth studied her hands and choked on the pain rising in
her throat. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Not now. Whatever could she
say? And there were those penetrating eyes to contend with, eyes that seemed to
look right through her. He knew. He knew she was tainted.

“How are you today?” Donovan’s strangely cheerful voice
invaded her panic.

Elizabeth didn’t answer. She kept looking at her lap. Puck
stood, stretched, and came to stand on her legs. She stroked the tabby’s back,
desperate for distraction to avoid meeting that pale blue gaze. Puck turned
about beneath her hand, raising his rump higher beneath her attentions and
me-owing his pleasure.

The dark figure at the edge of her vision moved closer. Puck
stiffened, and poised himself to investigate the huge bouquet of tropical
flowers edging beneath Elizabeth’s downcast gaze. “I found these outside my
laboratory. They’re Frangipani, a local bloom.”

The kitten rose on tiptoes and sniffed reverently, as if the
offering were meant for him.

The petals were a deep, vibrant pink. “They’re beautiful.
I’m sure Puck will enjoy shredding them.” She whispered, her voice having
deepened with pain. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to cause so much
trouble, sir, I honestly didn’t think the captain—“

Two long, lean fingers covered her lips. “Don’t apologize.
And don’t call me sir. You know I despise such formality from you.”

Thus corrected, she sat holding the flowers, wishing she
could wilt into the mattress.

“Sweet Lizzie.” Donovan sank down before her on the bed and
bracketed her face with his big hands. “You remember last night, don’t you? I
hoped you wouldn’t. Don’t do this. Don’t torment yourself over something you
couldn’t control.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice warbled with
emotion. “My precious girl, that man raped you—“

“No--I told you--he didn’t. He didn’t rape me. I’m still— a
maid!” A flush of hot tears made her world blur. And thus she was spared the
agony of looking into the pale, penetrating blue eyes of the man she loved,
eyes that knew her most wretched secret.

“He raped you.” Donovan insisted. “He forced himself on you
against your will, the same as if he’d forced himself on you in the traditional
manner.”

“You weren’t supposed to know!” She squeaked, as her throat
clogged up with thick, hot, mortifying emotion. “No one was ever supposed to
know.”

“I needed to know. And you needed to tell me.” Donovan
pulled her against him. He hugged her fiercely. His hand guided her head to
rest in the familiar nook beneath his chin. “We’ll get through this, my love. I
promise. We’ll get through this, together.”

*******

Donovan steeled himself against the searing pain in his
heart as her anguished cries filled the room. The tears were necessary to bring
healing, just as one needed to lance a festering wound and allow the infected
material to be released. He let go of her for a moment and piled the pillows
against the headboard so he could recline sitting upright. He turned about,
extending his legs, boots and all, on the bed and then drew his wounded goddess
into his arms.

Gradually, her sobs ceased and she slept.

He closed his eyes for a moment, content to lay with his
darling cradled in his arms.

An eerie presentiment jarred him. Donovan opened his eyes. A
pale woman with long, dark hair stood next to his bed. She was peering down at
him while he lay asleep. She wore a white gown and seemed so forlorn he
immediately felt pity for her.

And then, her face transformed from fragile waif to harpy as
malice filled soulless black eyes. Before he could utter a sound the woman
disappeared like mist before his eyes.

It was a dream, he decided as his heart cantered past the
gateposts of logic and reason. He’d hardly slept for two nights running. He’d
simply dozed off without realizing it and had a nightmare. Donovan settled a
sleeping Lizzie on the pillows, and rose with reluctance.