A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4) (3 page)

“Dear, heavens,” she said, sinking into the tub. “What have I done?”

O
lympia awoke with a start
, her hand flying to her heart and a scream hovering behind her clenched teeth. It hadn’t been the familiar nightmare of her last nights in London that had woken her, but something else.

Sitting up in bed, she surveyed her surroundings with dismay as the reality of where she was sank in. Darkwood Hall. In
her husband’s
chamber. With her heart pounding and her blood racing in her veins, she struggled to calm her labored breathing. It was as if she’d run up and down the craggy hills and across the moors that surrounded her here at Darkwood.

Fear was an ugly emotion. And yet it was one she’d become painfully accustomed to over the last few months. But her uncle was not lurking outside her bedchamber door, she reminded herself. She had not dodged his drunken advances after dinner to narrowly escape ruin at his hands. So what had woken her?

Getting out of the bed, she winced as she put weight on her ankle. Testing it, she breathed a sigh of relief when it actually held her weight. Had she imagined the noise? Had it simply been a dream, after all?

No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she heard it again, that same terrifying sound that had pulled her from sleep. The low, animalistic wail echoed over the heavy stone walls and sent shivers down her spine. Was someone injured or ill?

Reaching for her wrapper, she donned it and moved toward the door. In the dark, disoriented as she was, she couldn’t be certain which door led to the hall. She tried the first one and drew up short. It was not the corridor, after all, but her husband’s dressing room. It was also occupied.

Olympia stared in dawning horror at the man before her. Her face flamed with embarrassment. He wore only breeches and his shirt, open at the neck, revealed a swath of dark skin and crisp black hair. Averting her gaze, she stammered out an apology. “Forgive me. I was unsure which door led to the corridor.”

“Why would you be going into the corridor?” he asked. Clearly he was not as perturbed by his state of undress as she was.

“I heard something,” she confessed breathlessly. She felt warm, her face flushed and her blood thick in her veins. It wasn’t entirely embarrassment that she felt at having caught him in such a state, but it would be foolhardy to lay a name to it. The man was too handsome by far, but his temperament left her uncertain. “It sounded like a scream or a cry for help.”

He moved closer to her. So close, in fact, that she could feel the heat emanating from his body and she could smell the scent of him. Leather and sandalwood and something that was just him. It made her nervous, but it also made her curious. Neither was a welcome emotion.

“It is only the wind,” he said softly.

She frowned at that too pat answer and glanced up at him, meeting his gaze directly. “I’ve never heard the wind make such a chilling sound,” she stated emphatically. “It sounds like a woman… screaming.”

He shook his head, and offered a smile that did not reach his eyes. “In the upper floors of the house, it whistles between cracks in the stone, old archers’ slits… It plays tricks on the mind if one permits it to do so.”

Lies. They were uttered with practiced ease, but a lack of conviction. Olympia scanned his face, taking in every nuance of his expression. He appeared the soul of sincerity. Uncertain of precisely how she knew that he wasn’t speaking the truth, she didn’t doubt her instinct on the matter. If she believed him to be lying, he undoubtedly was. Without hesitation, she was utterly certain of it. Challenging him further would not help her cause. Clearly, based on his tone earlier and the fact that he couldn’t have left her in his servants’ care quickly enough, he was less than pleased with his solicitor’s choice of a bride. Questioning his honor so directly would have her sent packing, back to London and the all too certain fate that awaited her in her aunt and uncle’s home. “Then I’ll learn to ignore it I suppose.”

“If you remain here,” he answered softly.

Her heartbeat quickened then for a very different reason. Had he already decided to send her away then? The terror that swarmed inside her at that pronouncement left her weak. She’d committed herself fully to making a life at Darkwood Hall. While it was primarily because she had no other option, a part of her had exalted at the idea of having her own home again, of making a life without a falsely pious, drunken and lecherous man stalking her every moment of the day and night.

Forcing herself to speak, to face that terrifying outcome, Olympia asked pointedly, “Where would I go, my lord? I realize we have not spoken about the arrangement handled by your solicitor, but I am your wife. Where else would I reside?” Recalling the ordeal of completing the proxy marriage, crossing the channel to France where the service could be performed legally, then traveling all the way to Yorkshire to meet a husband who was clearly perturbed at his solicitor’s choice—it was all too much, she thought. She’d done all of those things just to have some sense of security and it was simply not to be.

“I meant nothing by it,” he offered soothingly. “Only that perhaps we may go to London or into Liverpool at times and be far from Darkwood Hall.”

More lies, she thought. It hadn’t been what he meant at all. He wasn’t just displeased with his solicitor’s choice. He meant to cast her off. On top of the very practical reasons why that terrified her, such as being homeless, impoverished and her reputation never recovering from it, it also stung her already beleaguered pride.

“I do not think that it is what you meant at all. I feel that you meant we would live separately. Or that perhaps you mean to end our arrangement. Am I mistaken, my lord?” It was a bold tactic to address the issue so directly but she had to know.

His heavy sigh was answer enough, as was his downcast gaze. She surmised that he didn’t want to look at her directly when he told her he found her wanting.

“I will have to admit that I am considering the possibility, Olympia,” he finally uttered in a tone that was far softer than anything she’d yet heard from him. But when he looked up, meeting her gaze so intently, there was a sadness in his voice. “Darkwood Hall is no place for you.”

It wasn’t that Darkwood Hall wasn’t for her. It was that she wasn’t for him, she thought bitterly. She’d had a few suitors when she’d been younger, before her parents had passed and her aunt and uncle had relegated her to the role of servant. One she’d been quite hopeful of in fact, but in the end, he’d passed her over for another. A younger woman, prettier, with a slim and petite figure so different from her own overly curved one. Even with the meager rations provided by her relatives, her figure had remained undeniably plump.

It had to be said, to be acknowledged. They were both perfectly aware of what he really meant, she thought. “Your solicitor, Mr. Swindon, led me to believe that you were not concerned with either the beauty or fortune of the woman you chose to marry… but rather that expedience was the most important quality. Was he mistaken, then? We have yet to discuss my lack of fortune, which leaves only my appearance as your point of contention… I am sorry you find me displeasing.”

***

It took Griffin a moment to process what she’d said. The truth of the matter was that any higher functioning of his mind had ceased the moment she’d appeared in the doorway, dressed in a borrowed nightrail and a wrapper that had seen better days. He was acutely aware of the lush curves hidden beneath those thin layers of cloth. His palms itched with the need to trace each hill and valley, to learn the contours of her waist and the flare of her hips, to test the weight of her breasts in his hands. The need was so sharp it rendered him near senseless.

She’d been on his mind for the better part of the evening as he labored over his decisions. What was he to do with her? Could he set her up in a house in London or Liverpool and allow her to live an independent life? Swindon had been instructed to find a spinster, a woman with no prospects for whom the sham he offered would be a blessing. Olympia was young, lovely, and should have a husband to dote on her and children to spoil. Those were things he could never give her.

And yet, he couldn’t forget the sensation of her in his arms, or the porcelain perfection of her skin as he’d stared down at her. If he touched her, would it be as soft as it appeared?
If
he touched her? From the moment she’d entered his dressing room, his thoughts had been preoccupied with how few layers of clothing stood between them and with the thought that it was the first night he would be under the same roof with his new bride. And she had been in his bed. Alone.

As her words penetrated the fog of lust that had robbed him of the ability to speak coherently, he shook his head. “You mistake me, Olympia. There is nothing about you that is displeasing… Did Swindon not mention to you that my bride’s lack of fortune or beauty was of no import because this was to be a marriage in name only?”

Her eyebrows arched and her eyes widened in surprise. “That was
not
mentioned, my lord. Whyever would you seek such an arrangement?”

“My reasons are not entirely my own and thus I am not at liberty to share them,” he replied. Even if he were, he wouldn’t tell her. The very idea of seeing either pity for him or fear of him in her eyes was more than he could bear. “I had instructed Swindon that he should seek out a plain woman, a spinster… one who would have no other prospects and for whom this would be a boon.”

“And so he did,” she replied.

“No. He most assuredly did not. Olympia, you are many things, but plain could never be one of them… and that will only make our arrangement more difficult,” he continued. How did one tell an innocent woman that their marriage could not possibly work precisely because he desired her too much? He’d wanted her from the moment he’d first laid eyes upon her—facing him down in the rain, refusing to be cowed by him in spite of all she’d been through. He’d thought her utterly magnificent, if mad. And then she’d fainted. Recalling the weight of her in his arms, the sensation of her breath fanning over his cheek as he’d carried her to his horse, his body responded in a way that should have shamed him. His desire for her had been instant and intense. Every encounter with her, every moment in her present, only amplified it.

“You have been too long without the company of women if you do not find me plain,” she replied. “Plain, plump, and poor. Those have been my defining features for the better part of my life. And at five and twenty without a suitor in sight, I can assure you, I most definitely qualify as a spinster.”

He had no argument for that. “I could tell you that you are beautiful but you would not believe me. So I will tell you that I find you quite pretty, instead… Appealing to me in a way that no woman has for a very long time. It is a paltry compliment, but true enough I suppose. You have a quiet prettiness that draws a man, but I cannot afford to be drawn to you.
You
cannot afford it.”

“What a strange thing to say!” She stared up at him quizzically. Whether she moved closer or he did, he could not say, but they were standing so near that he could see the gooseflesh rise on her skin as another round of wails filtered down the darkened halls. She turned in the direction of the sound and swayed on her feet. He reached out to steady her, but as his hands closed over her forearms, feeling the delicate bones beneath soft, silken skin, he instantly regretted it.

The spark between them flared to glorious life, or perhaps he simply wished to believe that to be true. It justified his actions when he dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers. The taste of her lips was impossibly sweet. Soft and pliant beneath him, she didn’t resist, but perhaps out of shock or ignorance, she did not immediately respond either. He wanted her to. The need to awaken that fire in her, though it was a horrible mistake, compelled him. He wanted her to burn for him just as he burned for her.

Griffin tugged her closer, pressing their bodies together as he explored the tender curve of her mouth. A shudder rippled through her and she sank against him, her lush curves molding against him. It was the worst kind of folly, but for that moment, he was beyond caring.

His hands moved from her forearms, down to her waist, settled on the curve of her hips. Boldly, he swept his tongue beyond the seam of her lips, tasting her fully. She gasped and the spell was broken. Her abrupt retreat had her stumbling, but as he reached for her, she held up one hand to still him.

“I’m quite all right,” she said. “I’ve no need of your assistance.”

“Olympia, it was only a kiss,” he said. The lie burned on his tongue. There was no
‘only’
between the two of them. That simple kiss had incited his passion beyond any trick employed by the most skilled of courtesans. Olympia, innocent, untried and all the sweeter for it, was driving him to the brink of madness. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She glared at him. “Do I appear frightened? Am I cowed? No, my lord, I am not, but neither am I a fool. You’ve said yourself that this was never to be a real marriage… more to the point, you’ve said you aren’t certain if you mean to continue this marriage at all.”

“I did,” he admitted grudgingly. Her anger was entirely justified. She’d upended her entire life so that he might claim an inheritance contingent upon his marriage. Now, because he could not control his own ravenous libido, he threatened to upend it yet again.

“Then I suggest, my lord,” she continued, each word bitten out in quiet indignation, “that before you bestow any more kisses, you decide once and for all whether or not you mean to cast me off. I can be rejected or I can be ruined, but I refuse to be both.”

There was nothing he could say in response to that. He’d acted rashly and abominably. He should see it as a blessing that she possessed more sense than he did at the moment. “I wish this were simpler… or that I were at liberty to share these ugly truths with you.”

“Then do so. Or do not. But do not feel entitled to a husband’s rights if you refuse to be a husband at all.”

“I do not feel entitled,” he corrected. “It was an impulse. As much as I should regret it, I do not. That single moment has been brighter than any other in my life for sometime. I am sorry you are upset, but find myself incapable of being sorry for my actions.”