Daughter of Darkness (16 page)

Color raced to her face. She turned her head against his chest, grateful for his warmth. It was hard to maintain anger when the very gait of the horse forced her to keep her arms around his waist for support. His body was hard and muscular, his thighs firmly molded to the horse, his hands strong and sensitive in their guidance. His masculine smell and closeness brought a disturbing weakness to her limbs, yet there was nothing threatening about it. Her ear lay against his chest, absorbing every beat of his heart. It quickened when they spotted Jeffrey in the distance. Circe was circling him with long stiff-legged strides, her tail plumed up high. She laughed with delight. ‘She’ s playing games with him. I beg you watch for a few moments, Gerard. Her antics will put you in good humor again.’

Gerard was chuckling a few minutes later when he urged his mount into a canter. As she clung tighter, she was drawn hard against his body and matched her movements to his. Anger dissipated, they began to enjoy the chase and were both laughing when they caught Jeffrey up.

Jeffrey grinned when Circe high-stepped towards Willow. Giving a high-pitched snicker that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, she tossed her head up and down. ‘I’ll be damned,’ Gerard breathed. ‘I’ve never seen the like of such a creature. Her disposition has improved since… He wasn’t about to admit he’d failed in trying to ride her, so finished lamely, ‘… she came to Lytton House.’

‘Circe was raised in the Irish countryside.’ Willow’s eyes grew distant. ‘She was not used to the harsh treatment she received in London, nor the confinement of the city. She loves it here as much as I do.’ Her voice lapsed into a soft lilt as she held out her hands to the horse. ‘She’s a wild and lovely creature to be sure, and the country suits her well. Come to me, Circe. We’ll fly together you and I, like we did at Coringal.’

Nervously, because she didn’t trust Gerard, Circe edged forward to Willow’s urging. ‘Come, girl,’ she whispered, he’ll not harm you.’

She slid from the horse when Circe held back, using Gerard’s arm to swing herself down. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, the movement unconsciously graceful.

Gerard glanced at his brother, and was transfixed by the expression in his eyes. A lump came into his throat. Jeffrey would always love her, and nothing would change that. He decided to gift Jeffrey the plantation in Virginia when the time was right. Distance would make the situation easier for all of them. Eventually, another woman would fulfill his dreams and needs. So intent was he in watching the play of emotion on his brother’s face, he missed what Willow was doing. Jeffrey dismounted, and making a stirrup with his hands tossed her lightly onto Circe’s back. Fear sprang like a tiger into his breast when he saw the discarded saddle.

‘I forbid you to do this,’ he shouted, as horse and rider moved away from him. ‘Stop! I command you.’

‘She cannot hear you.’ Jeffrey’s eyes were calm as he watched Gerard take off after Willow. He smiled sadly to himself. ‘No one will tame her wild spirit, not even you.’

Gerard intended to tame her. Angry at her recklessness, his pride took a beating when his attempts to catch her failed. She seemed to be one with the horse as she cleared obstacles he found daunting himself. She appeared to have no regard for either herself or the mare.

It seemed nothing short of a miracle that they both escaped injury. Willow must have realized it too. She’d prudently made herself scarce by the time he rode in, leaving her horse to the ministrations of the groom.

‘Lady Sommersley is no longer allowed to ride that mare,’ he ground out.

‘But, sir,’ Brian protested, ‘Circe has been ridden by the mistress since she could take her weight.’

‘Enough!’ Gerard snapped, his anger born from his fear for Willow’s safety, and fuelled by her refusal to heed him. That the fear seemed groundless now was of no consequence, yet the accusation in the groom’s eyes pricked his conscience. The woman was making a fool of him, he told himself, his pride inflated by his need to exert his authority. He intended to make her suffer by withdrawing from her that which she loved most. ‘You will exercise the mare yourself. Is that understood?’

‘It is.’ Brian’s voice was just within the range of civil. ‘Will there be anything else, My Lord?’

‘No, there will not.’ Ignoring the man’s surly tone and not bothering to wait for Jeffrey, he strode off towards the house at a blistering pace, determined to take Willow to task when time allowed.

‘Oh!’ Willow’s advance into the earl’s room was temporarily stilled when she saw Sapphire sitting by the bedside. ‘Forgive my intrusion. I didn’t realize you were visiting.’

‘Ambrose and I are old acquaintances.’ Sapphire removed her hand from that of Ambrose when Willow advanced. ‘He has been gravely ill, has he not?’

‘Yes, but he’s recovering.’ Giving her father-in-law a smile of greeting, she said. ‘I intended to read you another chapter from
Robinson Crusoe,
but as you have a visitor… ‘

‘Pray, do not let that prevent you.’

The woman’s faintly accented voice made Willow curious. ‘Are you French, Madam?’

‘I’m French born.’ There was a slight hesitation. ‘I was young when I left France, and have not been back since.’

‘My mother was French.’ Willow smiled at Sapphire. ‘Her name was Marietta Givanchy. She was very beautiful, I’m told. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?’

‘Willow?’
Ambrose spoke her name so clearly that she could hardly believe her own ears. She was even more astonished when Ambrose raised a shaking hand from the bed to indicate the decanter on the table.
‘A drink please.

‘Ambrose, you’re able to move and speak today.’ After informing him of the obvious she hastened to do his bidding, spilling most of it on the table in her excitement. ‘I must go and tell your sons as soon as I’ve finished reading to you. They’ll be overjoyed.’

Her daughter was radiating such light as she held the wine against Ambrose’s lips, that Sapphire’s energy was drained by it. Unaccustomed to using her powers for good, she had, in fact, journeyed to Lytton to expose Caroline for instigating her downfall.

Ambrose had made that impossible. Recognizing his one and only true love at once, such joy had filled his eyes she’d been powerless before him. All she’d felt for Ambrose had returned to smite her anew. Her desire to slander his late wife had shriveled inside her.

Taking his hands in hers she’d used her long dormant power for healing, giving him her strength, despite knowing she’d taken a step on the path to her own destruction.

Closing her eyes, she listened to Willow read from Daniel Defoe’ s adventure story, and smiled to herself. The trauma of her life had been worth this one precious moment, of being with the two people she’d loved and lost.

The affection existing between Ambrose and Willow was almost tangible. Sapphire rejoiced in the fact. If death took her tomorrow instead of the appointed hour, then every dark moment of her life would have been worth just this one of contentment.

‘Your reputation preceded you here,’ Willow whispered when she finished reading and noticed Ambrose had fallen into a doze. Her awe for the woman was evident in her voice, and there were tears in her eyes when she knelt and kissed Sapphire’s hand. ‘God surely must have guided you to our door. I believe you’ve woven some spell about the earl, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Is there anything you would ask of me in return?’

‘I’d like you to call me Sapphire, my dear.’ Longing to take her in her arms, Sapphire bade her rise. ‘If Ambrose recovers it’s because he’s surrounded with love. Love is the most powerful force on earth.’

Something drained from her heart, an old, embittered anger that had sustained her through her years of darkness. It left her feeling light-headed and close to tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself the luxury of tears, and now was not the time to weaken.

Excusing herself, she rose to her feet and left the room. ‘Bring me my crystal,’ she said to Bella as soon as she reached her chamber. ‘I must see what time has been granted, and how best to use it.’ But Sapphire had been weakened and the crystal remained as dark as the revelation of her own destruction.

Gerard was annoyed when Willow disturbed his meeting with Bascombe and his son Robert. Brow furrowed in a frown, he curtly nodded towards a chair and bade her wait. He’d been trying to catch her alone since her escapade on Circe, and had no intention of allowing her to escape.

Her very presence proved to be a distraction. She brought with her a subtle fragrance, and the silky fabric of her peach-tinted gown whispered seductively every time she moved.

The aura of excitement surrounding her affected everyone. Bascombe and son seemed unable to concentrate, and he glanced her way on more than one occasion himself.

One brocaded slipper tapped in impatient silence on the carpet, her violet eyes gleamed with inner radiance as they consciously studied the paintings. His annoyance fled when their eyes met. The firm curve of his mouth softened when she smiled. He’d found it was impossible to remain annoyed with her for long. She was a delectable creature, he mused, experiencing a sense of unreality when he realized, once again, she was his for the taking. He swallowed as his glance slipped to the pale swell of her breasts, almost tasting the luscious buds of her nipples as they swelled into ripeness under the ministration of his tongue. He imagined her tiny waist spanned by his hands, his mouth pressed against the taut stomach, then sliding down into the dark silky beard that guarded the precious gift of her maidenhood. I’ll make you beg me to take your gift, little lady, he promised silently. You’ll enjoy my assault.

His pleasurable reverie was shattered when Bascombe coughed, bringing him back to the present. He tore his eyes away from the charms of his temptress and tried to gather his wits together. What the hell had they been talking about? He gazed at the steward, expression bemused.

‘Sheep, Sir. You indicated the meat yield can be improved by a program of inbreeding.’

‘That’s right, Bascombe.’ He ran a tongue over dry lips. ‘Robert Blakewell advocated the method, and has achieved excellent results. I want ours to be equally as good.’ Beset by a sudden desire to be alone with his wife, he rose to his feet and indicated the meeting was at an end. The door had hardly closed behind the two men when she captured his glance.

‘You’ll never guess what’s happened, Gerard?’ She paused, unconsciously heightening the suspense by making a game out of the news. ‘No, you’ll never guess in a thousand years.’

He tried not to smile at the quivering excitement in her voice. ‘Then you’d better tell me. One thousand years is too long to be kept in suspense.’

‘You make fun of me.’ Her attempt to pout failed when she smiled again. Rising gracefully from her chair she crossed to where he stood, her eyes shining with happiness. ‘Your father spoke quite clearly today, and he moved his hand without any help.’

Her eyes drew Gerard’s into their jewel bright depths, enchanting him. So bedazzled was he, her words hardly registered in his ears. Nevertheless, he managed to murmur what he hoped was the correct response.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Puzzlement flirted in the depths of her eyes. ‘You do not sound very interested, Gerard.’

How could he take the bearer of such glad tidings to task? ‘Of course I’m interested.’ Taking her hand he raised it to his lips and murmured. ‘Your beauty robs me of coherent thought. My interest is concentrated on your appearance, and not your words.’

Her eyes sparkled at his compliment, her cheeks dimpled in a most comely manner as she caressed the lace at her wrists, softly inviting further comment. ‘Do you like this gown?’

‘The gown is pretty enough.’ How naive she was, he thought, his fingertips lightly caressing the curve of her bottom lip. He smiled when she hung her head and blushed. ‘Its wearer puts it in the shade, however. You’re just as beautiful in pink velvet and rosebuds.’

He watched her blush deepen. Her eyes touched against his in modest confusion before her lashes shaded their beauty again. So soft was her voice, he only just caught her words.

‘You were awake?’

Tipping her chin up he forced her to look at him. ‘Why did you run away?’

‘I thought you slept and did not wish to disturb you.’ She looked a trifle desperate when he smiled. ‘I was scared. I’m not used to being married.’

Her expression contained such a plea for understanding that it moved him.

‘You’re a stranger to me, Gerard. Actually I… I do not feel married to you.’

‘I admit, ours was a short courtship.’

The irony in his voice caused pain to flare in her eyes and he wished he’d never spoken. She’d not been a willing party to the marriage either.
The lessor of two evils,
she’d said at the time. ‘Perhaps I should give you time to get used to me. I’m loathe to embark of a relationship with a reluctant wife.’

‘That’s exactly what grandmother thought you would say.’

A frown knotted his brow, until he remembered there was no other married female available to advise her. If his grandmother was Willow’s
confidante
, he’d better make sure the act of union was pleasing. Inwardly, he cursed. Willow was a fetching little thing, and his physical response to her healthily normal. He’d have to proceed with extreme caution though. He smiled, his mind already planning her slow seduction. He could find relief in Dorchester, should the need become urgent.

Bending to the sensuous curves of her mouth he kissed it into trembling awareness. His voice was husky with desire when he released her. ‘You’ll be all the sweeter for the seduction.’ Drawing from his pocket the betrothal ring, he slid it on to her finger. ‘This is the Lytton betrothal ring. The stone signifies the purity of the wearer, and it will remind you of the promise between us.’

Despite the diamond’s great beauty, Willow’s heart sank like a stone. The last time she’d seen the ring it had graced the finger of Daphne de Vere, the woman her husband loved.

With no pomp, and hardly any ceremony, Daphne de Vere buried her husband in the grounds of St James. Few braved the bitterly cold weather to pay their respects. Those who had were indebted to the marquis in some way, and feared reprisal if they didn’t put in an appearance.