Dark Before the Rising Sun (49 page)

“Miles? I'm cold. Are we goin' to sit here all day? My teeth are chatterin' and I'm beginnin' to shiver. If ye'd bought me that fur like I was askin' then I wouldn't be complainin', now would I?” a petulant voice sounded from inside the darkened coach. It seemed to break the spell.

Sir Miles smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile, Francis thought, especially when those dark eyes of Sir Miles's lingered on Rhea.

“Ah, Lady Jacqobi, how beautiful you look. What a pity that soon those lovely eyes will be red-rimmed with tears.”

“Indeed, Sir Miles.”

“Yes. I fear that your husband is not at all well liked in these parts. And I do fear that some harm must surely befall him one of these days. 'Twill be such a pity for one so young and pretty to become a widow. But do not despair, for I am certain that some handsome young gentleman—perhaps one much like that gentleman there”—he pointed to an indignant Alastair—“will come along and help you forget your unfortunate first marriage. In fact, since you are a Dominick, and your son is the first grandson of the Duke of Camareigh, your new lover will be more than pleased to raise Dante's son as his own…much as I did Dante. And being so young, the child will have no memory of his real father,” Sir Miles speculated with a sad, understanding smile. “Please, Lady Jacqobi, feel free to come to Wolfingwold anytime. You are always welcome in my home.”

And with that, he withdrew back into the darkness. With the tapping of his cane on the roof, the coach pulled away.

“What a horrible man,” Rhea murmured, her gloved hands shaking slightly as she held the reins. The gentle little mare could feel her mistress's distress and neighed uneasily. “He frightens me.”

“The man's contemptible, and certainly no gentleman,” Francis expostulated angrily. As a member of a highly respected family and the heir to a dukedom, he had never experienced such rudeness. “Why, he actually threatened you, Dante. It's disgraceful! I shall personally see that he is never invited to Camareigh again,” Francis promised with a glint in his eye, and Rhea, glancing at his profile, thought he not only sounded like her father but looked like him as well.

Alastair risked a sideways glance at Dante, for the captain had yet to say anything, and that was when he was at his most dangerous. Dante's face looked cast in bronze. Not a muscle moved as he continued to stare after the coach, which disappeared along a narrow street leading off the square. His pale gray eyes were as light and clear as crystal, and just as cold.

“Dante?” Rhea reached out her hand to him, and for a moment it remained outstretched between them before Dante became aware of it and reached out to grasp it. For what seemed an eternity, he stared down at that small, gloved hand clasped in his, that hand which always seemed to be there for him, reaching out to comfort. It was as if Rhea knew that Sir Miles had wounded Dante, that he was vulnerable in his possessive love for her and his son. And to hear Miles's vicious words about another man taking his place in the hearts of Rhea and their son must have hurt him terribly.

But even Rhea did not know how deeply scarred Dante had been by his unhappy childhood and by never having known the security of a loving family around him.

Glancing up, Dante met her gentle stare and knew a return of peace. The look that was exchanged between them caused Alastair a brief moment of sadness and envy, for the glance included deep love and mutual respect and understanding, and it excluded the rest of the world. A love such as that which Rhea and Dante shared was wholly unknown to Alastair, and he wondered if he would ever meet someone he could share his life with and know that his love was returned as deeply as it was given.

“Come, let us go home,” Dante said softly, and the memory of Sir Miles's hurtful words was put aside as they sent their horses through the empty streets of Westlea Abbot.

The winds blew more fiercely as they rode along the winding road toward Merdraco, racing the storm-driven clouds. With the storm so close, it was something of a surprise to overtake three riders approaching them on the road leading to Merdraco. Most people had taken to shelter. As they drew closer, they could see that one of the riders had dismounted and was leading a lame horse.

Lady Bess Seacombe was relieved to see the other riders, but relief turned to dismay when she saw who the riders were. She cursed beneath her breath. Her hair was in tangles, her boots were dusty, and she felt hot and bothered.

“Bess?” the voice Bess both desired and dreaded called to her. “Are you all right? You weren't thrown, were you?” Dante asked, confirming Bess's fears that she must look a poor sight indeed.

“No, this old boy wouldn't throw me, would you?” Bess asked, her voice softening for a moment while she patted the stallion's velvety nose. “We were hurrying back from Westlea Abbot, trying to beat the storm, when he came up lame. I debated waiting at the Bishop until the storm blew over, but then I thought it might last until darkness, and I didn't want to travel with the children after dark. We were going to take one of the paths across that wild bit of moorland between here and Merleigh and save some time, but then Bristol Boy started limping. I'm afraid he's sprained a tendon.” She sounded worried.

Dante dismounted. Handing his reins to Francis, he approached the agitated stallion, his sleek coat shiny with sweat. Squatting down beside him while Bess tried to hold her horse steady, Dante took the beautifully tapered foreleg in his hands and gently felt it.

“You're right, Bess,” he said, carefully placing the injured leg down. “It's beginning to swell and there's heat. Hurts, doesn't it, boy?” he asked, rubbing the horse behind the ears before patting his strong-muscled neck. “I am afraid you wouldn't have gotten far with him if you'd continued cross-country. But why were you heading back this way? Merdraco is far closer,” Dante said, gazing at Bess with those pale eyes she had dreamed about for so long.

Raising a haughty chin, she said shortly, “I did not wish to intrude. In fact, if we are to make the Bishop before it begins to pour, then we should be on our way,” Bess said, for already several raindrops had started to fall.

“Bess, you—”

“We cannot allow you to get caught in this storm,” Rhea interrupted Dante, her voice nearly drowned out by the thunder overhead. “And think of poor Bristol Boy. If you do not want him lame, then we'd better get some kaolin paste on his leg. I really think we should have Clauson look at it. He worked with Butterick, who has been in charge of the stables at Camareigh for ages, and your horse really could not be in more competent hands, Lady Bess,” Rhea suggested kindly, irritating Bess Seacombe all the more. But the wisdom of the younger woman's words was inescapable, as well as the fact that the rain was beginning to fall in earnest.

“Thank you,” Bess said between tight lips. “Anne, up behind your brother, now,” Bess ordered, for their plan had been for the two lighter children to ride double while she rode Anne's horse.

“I think it might be better if Anne rode with one of us,” Dante suggested, for the thunder was already making the horses nervous, and the narrow track running along the edge of the cliff could be dangerous even in fair weather. During a thunderstorm, with a young, inexperienced rider, it was too much of a risk. “And I think it would be wise if one of us took Charles's reins, just in case his horse frightens and bolts.”

Dante glanced around, making his decision. “Alastair, you take Anne up behind you and take the lead. Francis, you take the reins of Charles's horse and follow Alastair. Rhea, you can follow me. Bess, you bring up the rear with Bristol Boy.” Dante gave his orders, expecting compliance, but Bess wasn't accustomed to taking orders, nor indeed was she used to hearing Dante barking them out, and it left her standing immobile.

“Well, really, who the devil gave you leave to decide what—”

“Let's get a move on, Bessie,” Dante said impatiently as she continued to stand there staring at him. He was in no mood to humor her. Without further ado, he lifted Anne from her mount's back and placed her up behind Alastair. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he placed his hands around Bess's waist and lifted her onto Anne's horse.

Bess swallowed painfully when she felt those strong hands touching her and smelled the familiar scent of him, something else she'd not been able to forget over the long, empty years, not even when she'd lain in her husband's arms. Harry had favored a cloying sweet scent which he'd used without restraint, yet still managed to reek of the snuff he couldn't seem to do without. With Dante you'd hardly been aware of the subtle spicy scent he used so sparingly.

Rhea did not miss the look of anguished longing which Bess could not hide while being held in Dante's arms, and Rhea felt a moment's jealousy. She did not need to be a soothsayer to know that Bess would welcome Dante's embrace.

Dante, however, seemed oblivious to the emotions of Bess Seacombe. He released her almost as soon as he placed her on horseback, making certain she'd hooked her knee over the pommel before handing her the reins.

They wasted no time in traveling along the lane winding up to Merdraco, and Dante promised himself that soon he would see that there was a new road leading there. The old marquis had been drawing up plans for a safer, wider road inland when he died, and then, afterward, Sir Miles had shown no interest in the project. But as Dante stared down at the angry sea, the waves boiling up over the place where the beach had been, he vowed to rebuild Merdraco with a good, new road.

The sweet pungency of wood smoke drifted down into the mists as they neared the lodge. Welcoming lights shone into the gloom of a stormy afternoon, and Rhea knew that Kirby would most likely have hot chocolate and warm buns waiting for them in front of the fire. She knew a sudden longing to hold Kit's snuggling body against her breast and hear the sounds of Robin and Conny giggling while they played leapfrog or hide-and-seek. Yes, she had come to think of the lodge as her home.

Like the good apprentice he'd been, Clauson was patiently awaiting their arrival, a concerned expression on his young face. Francis wasn't fooled. He suspected that Clauson was more concerned about the condition of the horses than about their riders. And, sure enough, when Clauson caught sight of the limping, sleek-coated black stallion, his face went through several contortions—from amazement to admiration to horrified dismay.

They left him shouting orders to footmen and grooms, sounding just like Butterick.

“Ah, m'lord, m'lady, 'tis good to see ye safely back,” Kirby greeted them with genuine relief, for he'd been watching the blackening clouds on the horizon, then glancing down the empty lane, all the while worrying about everything under the sun. Both Conny and Robin had gone out in the storm too.

“How is Kit?” Rhea asked as she pulled off her hat, shaking it free of raindrops.

“Sleeping like the innocent babe he is, m'lady,” Kirby responded with a wide grin, which faded when he caught sight of the dark-haired woman with the scarlet plumed hat entering the lodge beside Dante.

“And Conny and Robin? I hope they didn't wander off and get caught out in this rain,” Rhea asked while pulling off her gloves and glancing around, hoping to see them sitting before the fire blazing at the end of the hall.

Much to her relief, she saw them sitting exactly where Dante had predicted they would be, sipping steaming hot chocolate. Their dark heads were close together while they whispered whatever secrets the young boys apparently thought too important to share with adults.

“Well, I must admit I was gettin' kind of worried on that score, m'lady. They were out for a powerful long time, and I could see that the storm was growin' worse by the minute. I'd been up in the tower watchin' for ye and had hoped to spy them two rascals at the same time, but I didn't have any luck. Then in they come, soaked to the skin,” Kirby confirmed Rhea's fears, “and not more than a half an hour past. Shiverin' and shakin' and as pale as ghosts. Why, ye'd have thought they'd been to hell and back, they were so jittery,” Kirby said with a chuckle, thinking he'd never seen such round eyes as those boys' when they came walking in from the back of the lodge, every step leaving a puddle of water.

“Where had they been?” Rhea asked, but her eyes were watching Bess, who had moved closer to Dante as they stood before the fire. Her dark eyes were laughing up at him while she said something amusing, or at least it seemed to amuse Dante, for he smiled and cocked his head lower to catch the rest of her softly spoken words.

“Said they'd been out explorin' the woods,” Kirby said with a shake of his head. “Sent them right up to get out of them wet clothes, I did.”

“And had they been out exploring the woods?” Rhea questioned doubtfully, knowing that Robin's first answers were sometimes in need of closer scrutiny.

Kirby sniffed, apparently annoyed at himself, for he said, “D'ye know, I didn't even see them come into the lodge. Goin' blind as well as deaf, I'm beginnin' to think,” Kirby grumbled, for he'd been staring all around the property, right at the woods they'd claimed they'd been exploring, and yet he hadn't caught sight of them. “I'll set out more cups, seein' as how we've got unexpected guests,” he said with obvious disapproval as he glanced over at Bess Seacombe.

“Please, Kirby, see that
everyone
is made comfortable,” Rhea said with a smile as she started up the stairs. “I want to see Kit. Then I'll be back down.”

Rhea's steps carried her along the corridor past the room that Robin and Conny shared. She paused before the half-open door, for on the floor lay a pile of hastily discarded clothing. With a sigh, Rhea went in and started to pick up the wet cambric shirts before they were faded on by the other clothes. Then something Kirby had said struck her.