Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (13 page)

Looking at his face was a mistake. His pale eyes had become
pools of regret. “Will you forgive me for upsetting you earlier, dearest?”

 She wanted to forget this afternoon. “That depends. Does
Pearl still have skin on his back?”

A brief irritation marred his countenance. Well, if the man
thought she’d melt into a gooey puddle at his feet if he played the romantic
swain, he had another thing coming.

“It was a figure of speech, nothing more. I was concerned
Pearl may have allowed a bad element into the cabin in my absence.”

Elizabeth remained silent. She clutched her glass with both
hands.

Lean fingers lifted her chin to meet his gaze. She was
unprepared for the soulful expression therein. “I behaved badly. I frightened
you and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

As a nobleman, the fact that he would apologize at all was
remarkable. “Yes, my lord.”

“My name is Donovan.” He whispered, his breath caressing her
cheek.  

Elizabeth released her stilted breath, unsettled by his
nearness. Muscular arms surrounded her, drawing her close. The fragrance of
spices greeted her, and the faint scent of tobacco. Beneath the familiar, the
faint musky smell of his skin was alluring. Her eyes wandered to his lips. She
wondered how they might taste if he kissed her.

“Donovan.” They whispered and his rich lyrical voice added
to the seduction. “Say my name, Elizabeth.”

Apology or not, he was still very much in control, while she
was swiftly becoming the aforementioned puddle melting in his arms. “I like
calling you ‘my lord’.”

“Everyone calls me ‘my lord’.” Hovering an inch from her
face, his lips tantalized her as his warm breath caressed her mouth.

“Well, you are my lord, are you not?” Too late, she realized
her mistake.

“I am. Say my name.”

“Donovan.” She whispered, lifting her gaze from his lips to
those mesmerizing eyes. Elizabeth knew in that instant she’d been neatly
cornered by the wolf. All she could think of was that he might kiss her. She
hoped he would.

The water glass was pried from her hands. He set it on the
floor. A firm hand slid between the cushion and her bare bottom as he lifted
her onto his lap. He removed his hand from her bum as soon as he had her settled
and wrapped both his arms about her waist.

 “’And slowly, Beauty came to realize the Beast would not
devour her before the evening meal, perhaps not at all’.” A shiver ran down her
spine as she recognized the quote from Beauty and the Beast. “At least not in
one night. Such a delicious morsel should be savored slowly.”

“Where is your big knife?” She asked, her face growing hot.
She hoped to steer the conversation to a safer subject.

A deep rumbling laugh was his answer. Elizabeth started, and
stared at him with amazed pleasure. She’d never heard him laugh before. It was
a pleasant sound, but she failed to see what he found amusing. He’d had that
nasty dagger strapped to his thigh this afternoon. The sharp buckle should be
biting her bottom as it had when he held her like this earlier, but it was not.

“I put it away.” He said, grinning. “I noticed you had a
mark on your bottom when I put you to bed earlier.”

Elizabeth gasped her outrage and looked away as the color
rose fast and furious to her cheeks. “You’ve no business poking about down
there!”

“I beg to differ. As you pointed out, I am your lord.”

She’d never live down that stupid remark! “Stop it.” She
demanded. It came out as a plea.

His lips curled into a wicked smirk. “Your nightgown was
twisted about your hips when I put you to bed. As your delightful derriere is
typically flawless ivory, I couldn’t miss a nasty red welt glaring up at me,
now could I?”

Averting her gaze, she groaned at his casual description of
her undignified state, fearing her complexion could not turn a deeper shade of
crimson if she were standing naked before him now with her backside openly
displayed for his perusal. Did he have to be so bloody honest?

He rubbed her arm affectionately. “You should have said
something earlier, my sweet.”

She hadn’t noticed earlier. She’d been crying so hard
nothing else compared to the raw ache in her chest. It was only being on his
lap again that made her recall the small buckle hasp was not poking painfully
into her bottom as before.

“You blush so easily, my love. I’ll just have to find
another way to bring color to your cheeks.” He laughed as his palm cupped her
face. “I meant these cheeks, of course.”

Elizabeth didn’t reply to his saucy remark. Her hot cheeks
said quite enough. She was starting to feel weak and spent, not up to the task
of sparring verbally with him any longer.

Noting her weariness, he shifted beneath her and arranged
her so she was reclining across his lap with her head cradled in the crook of
his elbow as it rested against the sofa arm. “Would you like to hear the story
again of how we met?”

 Again? She didn’t remember him telling her before this.
Elizabeth nodded and settled into a comfortable repose as he explained their
first meeting. Michael brought him home for dinner one night. Not just any
night, it was her birthday, and Donovan was her ‘present’.

Elizabeth nibbled her lower lip and concentrated, very hard.
Nothing. He may as well have been telling her the events of another person’s
life. She couldn’t recall any of it. Apparently the man had gone to great
lengths to make her his wife—but it didn’t mean that he loved her. He wouldn’t
be the first to marry the descendent of a cast off heiress with the hope that
all would be mended within the family one day and a sizeable portion of the
inheritance might come to him.

“I see a question.” He prompted, watching her. “Share it
with me.”

“Well,” She began, fearing it was entirely too cheeky to
question the man’s motive for marrying her. “I can’t remember any of it. And
you didn’t actually say--” That you love me! She sucked in her breath. Oh,
Bollocks, there was no going forward and no going back. “I-I was
wondering—sir--if you ever . . . kissed me?”

“Yes, many times.” He replied with amusement. “It must be
terrible to not remember one’s first kiss or the man who gave it to you beneath
a canopy of summer stars.”

He made it sound so poetic. “Could you do it again, sir--so
I might have a sense of what it must have been like?”

Before she knew what he was about, he bent and his lips
brushed hers in a brief caress. “There, a typical first kiss from a devoted
suitor.” He said, smiling as he drew away.

“Is that how you kissed me before?” Elizabeth felt oddly
disappointed by the brief exchange. She sensed there was more to this kissing
business then he was letting on.

“I was holding back a little. I didn’t want to overwhelm
you. Would you like me to do it again, properly this time?”

She nodded. His face lowered and his lips caressed her with
more enthusiasm. Not merely his lips, but his whole body suddenly became
dedicated to the single purpose of kissing her. Powerful thighs tensed beneath
her bottom, strong arms tightened about her, enfolding her and cradling her
against his solid form as his sensual mouth teased and tantalized her lips.

A knowing thumb on the depression of her chin parted her
lips. Their lips formed a tight seal as his kiss deepened. She mimicked his
movements, and was rewarded as the pleasure intensified. His lips were soft,
yet insistent, his mouth warm and inviting as it melted into hers. It was an
exhilarating, deeply satisfying, and very intimate gesture.

He drew away, his smoky pale eyes measuring her response.
“Does that please my lady?”

“Yes.” She whispered through tingling, swollen lips.
Demented butterflies seemed intent on creating an exit through her abdomen.
Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath in a futile effort to calm her
shuddering heart.

The count’s satisfied smirk told her she’d just given him
the advantage in the war of wills between them. If this was the pleasant reward
of surrendering, then perhaps surrender was not as distasteful as she’d been
led to believe.

*******

Donovan gazed at the sleeping angel in his arms. These
incidents of narcolepsy were disconcerting. Ah, but she looked peaceful, his
own sweet Aphrodite fallen from Mt. Olympus, straight into his open arms.

He was content to sit with his goddess draped across his
lap, watch her sleep and savor the victory of engaging her in her very first
kiss--for the second time. It was a pleasant end to a harrowing day. In the
midst of her frantic weeping this afternoon, her eyes had rolled back and she
succumbed to the effects of a full blow grand mal seizure. When the convulsions
ceased he carried her to the bed, dreading the moment her eyes would open and
he’d have to explain what just occurred. But Elizabeth did not wake up. She
slept like the dead for six hours.

Tonight, she didn’t seem to recall the seizure.

He wasn’t about to tell her, it would frighten her
needlessly.

As for himself, he was not going to panic.

One seizure did not constitute epilepsy.

Chapter
Twelve

Another week passed with inescapable languor. After days of
coaxing, Donovan finally led his anxious bride into the invigorating world of
brilliant sunshine and crisp sea breezes snapping at full sails.

He’d taken the precaution of sending most of the crew below,
save the handful it took to mind the rigging. Still, Elizabeth scanned her
surroundings continually, keeping track of each man’s movements in proximity to
her own. Donovan ground his teeth to restrain the urge to comfort her. There
was nothing to be done except face her fear of strangers—of male strangers in
groups. His chest burned. It was his fault, this pervading fear haunting his
darling’s eyes.

He was well acquainted with that species of fear. He killed
because of it. That first year after his release from the Bastille all it took
was an unexpected hand on his shoulder. He didn’t think. He reacted, like the
cornered animal he’d been reduced to in the torturer’s den. His crew learned
quickly that it was not healthy to touch him without permission. He still
didn’t like being around people who he didn’t know well. He preferred to live
as a recluse. Lizzie would carry her aversion to men for a long time, perhaps
forever. It wasn’t her fault. It was his. He failed to protect her, and he
would never make that mistake again as long as he lived.

“Look down, darlin’.” He coaxed to distract her. “Sometimes
dolphins swim alongside.” Lizzie did as he asked, forgetting the men minding
the rigging above their heads.

“Oh, did you see that!” She rose on her tiptoes and leaned
over the rail.

“Don’t lean out so far.” He chastened, suffering a pang at
her quick movements. He placed a hand around her waist and pulled her back from
the dangerous precipice. “Two more.” He pointed out a pair surfacing beyond the
ship’s prow and hugged her securely about the waist with both arms, from behind
her.

They watched for half an hour before their aquatic escort
disappeared beneath the rolling seas. Elizabeth turned in his arms to look up
at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes vivacious with excitement for the first
time in many weeks. Donovan couldn’t resist. He lowered his face and captured
her lush pink lips in an exhilarating kiss. Elizabeth merely endured his caress
but did not return it. He drew back, deeply aware she was intimidated by her
new surroundings.

“What do you think of my winged horse?” He waved a hand
about the deck expansively. “The Pegasus glides through the winds and the
rolling waves. She bears us home, lass.”

 “It’s a grand ship, my lord.” Elizabeth forced herself to
smile. She could see that her husband was as proud of his ship as any boy might
be with an expensive toy. He talked about his ‘winged horse’ a little more and
held her hand on his arm as they strolled the main deck.

“My lord?” She ventured after several moments of silence
between them. “You said if I had concerns regarding my past you wished me to
share them with you.”

“I have also asked you to address me informally, my dear. Is
that so much to ask?”

“No sir.” She mumbled. Addressing him by his Christian name
was a form of intimacy, one she wasn’t certain she was willing to embrace. She
hadn’t the benefit of a long courtship to become as familiar with him as he
seemed to be with her. She’d awakened in his bed and was told they were
married. She was still trying to reconcile herself to the abruptness of it.
Thus corrected again, she retreated into silence.

“What troubles you, my sweet?” The count asked after a few
prickly moments.

“When did you start calling me Lizzie?”

“Since the day we met or shortly thereafter. Do you dislike
it?”

 “No, sir—Donovan.” She tested the name with her tongue. “I
was just curious.”

She liked his pet name for her. She liked the way he said
it, with a happy inflection that was full of warmth and affection as if they
were old chums.

“You mean, that night, when Michael brought you home.” She
clarified, mentally feeling about for the security of a stone wall as amnesia
had left her groping about in the darkness.

“Yes, my love.” He replied in his usual patient tone when
she quizzed him about their courtship. He seemed to understand her need to
review what he had told her from time to time to help solidify the events in her
mind. “It was your birthday. Michael asked me to dinner. He didn’t tell me that
I was to be your present.” He gave her a charming smile.

Thus fortified by the familiar conversational pattern, she
pushed herself to ask the unpleasant question nibbling away at her. “So then,
how did Sheila die?”

The count regarded her with arched brows and parted lips,
shocked by her odd inquiry. He quickly mastered his surprise and trained his
features into a practiced calm. “I’m not certain. I was in London arranging things
with Fletcher. It was probably her heart.”