Heart of Darkness (24 page)

Opening her eyes to smile sleepily at him,
she stretched a little and nodded slowly. He jumped to his feet and
walked over to the bell. Tugging it, he returned to her side within
moments but with the matching lightweight chair in his hands.

The sun was almost entirely gone by
now. Only purple and pink shards of light remained to slice through
the darkening sky and Isabeau's blood literally whined at its
loss.
But,
another part of
her, a part that she hadn't even known existed until last night,
started to buzz with life.

She licked her lips and turned to him,
wondering if he'd expected her to be here or if he'd expected her
to have attempted to escape.

Deciding to keep the mood pleasant, Isabeau
determined not to ask. Instead, she lowered her legs and resettled
her skirts as she said, “Did you rest well?”

Wolfe nodded and murmured, “I had the best
tonic for a good night's slumber.”

“You should keep your skirts up. I enjoy the
sight of your bare legs.”

Something about the way he said it had heat
climbing up her chest and neck.

“I like them even better wrapped around my
waist. Why don’t you come here and sit on my lap, my lady?” He
tugged her by her hand and pulled her to him.

She went without a fight, almost too eager to
see what he was about, though deep inside, she knew what he wanted,
almost as much as she.

Grasping her hips, he pulled her onto his
lap, hiking her legs up as she came. Her legs hung over the arms of
the chairs, leaving her splayed wide against him and utterly
defenseless to protect her from any intentions he may have.

The feeling of vulnerability was a heady
aphrodisiac. She found she liked the way he commanded her and bade
her do his will.

She bit back a moan when he pulled his hard
cock from his breeches and grasped her hips, pulling her hard down
onto his erection.

She was barely moist, and the friction of him
entering her tender hole without lubrication made her jerk. He held
her still, impaling her fully, digging his fingers into her hips as
he claimed her body.

He kissed the base of her neck, swirling his
tongue over her skin, his lips nibbling and tasting her as he
settled comfortably inside.

She arched her back, grinding down onto him,
grateful when her natural juices flooded her center to ease his
passage. She rose up and down with the leverage of the chair arms,
delighting in the rough feel of his possession. The ridge of his
cock was immense, stretching her tight. Her nether lips felt
swollen and tender, aching with need.

He gripped the small of her back to support
her, moving his other hand at her front to roughly caress her clit,
bringing it to life with his deft fingers. The maddening circular
rub he performed on her soon had her clenching and unclenching on
him, grasping for the ecstasy of his loving. He pushed himself up
and dragged her down, increasing the hardness of his strokes,
bumping her cervix with nearly bruising force.

She felt the tremors begin in her core,
driven there faster by the constant attention he paid to her clit.
It claimed her sudden and fast, drawing a whimper from deep inside
her that was soon echoed by his muffled groan as he buried his face
in her bosom and dragged his teeth across the tops of her
breasts.

Shivers of delight skimmed through every
nerve, leaving her drenched in passion as she milked his cock and
he exploded inside her, washing her slick channel with his seed. He
jerked and shuddered, removing his hand from her sex to hold her
tight against him.

She kissed the top of his head, willing her
heartbeat and breathing to return to normal, though it was slow to
return with his flaccid member trapped inside her. She liked having
him there, even like this. Her body singed with his heat.

Moving off his lap, she pulled free and felt
a sucking pop as he came out and left her empty. She was a mess and
needed to be cleaned up again, and he offered her a kerchief for
that purpose.

She couldn't stop the smile or the slight
blush that overtook her cheeks at what they’d just done outside of
the bedroom. She could not believe his boldness…or her own. “I
decided to make the best of the evening sun,” she said, trying not
to dwell on it.

“I can see.” He reached over and traced a
finger along the slight breadth of her forehead. “You're a tad pink
here.”

“Curse of the skin, I'm afraid. Even in the
dimmest of sunlight,” she replied with another faint smile. “Oh,
and the hair as well.” She watched as he lifted a strand of her
auburn-red locks and curled it about his fingers. There was
something curiously intimate about the gesture. Something that had
her heart skipping a beat and her teeth nervously nibbling the
flesh of her lower lip.

Her eyes dropped from contact with his and
she trailed a finger in a circle on her knee.

“Come,” he said and stood. “We'll eat in the
breakfast room and I'll show you around, if you'd like?”

She looked down at her knee again and said,
“I'd like that, Wolfe, but if you're too busy, then I
understand.”

He sounded amused and hearing that, she
looked up at him and noticed the slight smile. “I can afford to
dedicate a few hours to showing you around the castle. This is my
most favorite of homes.”

Nodding, she reached for the hand that he
held out for her and smoothly got to her feet. He tucked her arm in
the crook of his elbow and walked her to the room in which they'd
be dining.

She asked curiously, “How many homes do you
have?”

Isabeau realized that it was an impertinent
question, but she didn't care. Simply wanted to know as much about
him as was possible.

“Homes? Well, I suppose that I used the wrong
word to describe this place. This is the only home I have. The
place where I always try to spend the majority of my year. But I
have around six other properties on this scale and a myriad number
of townhouses in London and Bath.”

“Bath?” she questioned and wrinkled her nose.
Although she had known he was wealthy, she hadn't known the exact
scale. Messrs.’ Darcy and Bingley were obviously paupers in
comparison to this man's fortune! It was a wonder that he was not
pompous!

He laughed. “My grandmother loved Bath, I'll
have you know!”

Isabeau hid a smile. “I'm glad she did.”

“I take it that you, on the other hand, do
not?”

“Not particularly. I went there once, as a
young girl. Perhaps my opinion is biased by that. But come, you
cannot deny that you dislike it also! I remember my mama telling my
papa that the people were so inelegant and seemed to try and hook
themselves upon those with a title! She thought I had fallen asleep
in the carriage at the time, otherwise I know she would never have
made that remark.”

He grinned down at her. “You're right. Bath
is not my most favorite of places, but you should be kinder,
Isabeau!”

“Twas not I who was being unkind! But my
mama!” she retorted, amused.

Wolfe simply nodded, but she caught the
continued twitch of his lips once or twice more and deeply liked
that she had managed to tease him into laughter. At times, he was
far too somber. It was understandable, but she did not like to see
him that way.

As the light was dying, the castle literally
glowed with the orbs that Wolfe powered and because of that, halls
and corridors that should have been drab and dreary were filled
with light. She saw classic pieces of art that inwardly made her
gasp and she saw decorations that would have made her mother sigh
with their sheer beauty. From what looked like an original Grecian
marble sculpture that one of the ancient Goddesses would have
blessed, to gilt and rococo styled mirrors that enhanced the
light.

They broke their fast, regardless of the
time, on muffins and freshly churned butter with tea, which she
chose over the chocolate. But there was also a selection of meats
and some coddled eggs, which Wolfe ate. He’d kept her up all night
with his love-making, and though her normal schedule had been
thrown off, she found she could not fault him for that.

He was a creature of the night, after
all.

After they'd been served and had finished
eating, Wolfe led her around the ground floor of the castle and
gave her a slight tour of what felt like a small township!

She visited a chapel, but one styled with
ecclesiastical instruments that she had never before seen and could
only assume that it was no religion of which she had ever
heard.

More than likely, a pagan place of worship,
if the murals and sculpted stonework was anything to go by.

Inquisitively, she murmured, “What religion
is this chapel for? It's certainly not Catholic or even
Anglican!”

“The chapel is very old. We hardly use it
anymore. But it was for Sidhe rituals and ceremonies.”

“Are all of your ascendants Sidhe?”

He nodded. “A part from a few great
Grandmothers, who were human. But the Sidhe line was restocked
countless times,” Wolfe finished with a sardonic lift of the
brow.

There were numerous chambers, another
corridor lined with armor and another still with paintings. The
more she saw of the castle the more she realized the true scale of
the castle and again, how rich Wolfe was! It seemed vulgar to be so
focused on his wealth, but it was astounding! Even to Isabeau!

Whilst she had been born to wealthy parents,
who could have furnished her with whatever she required and when,
it was nothing in comparison to this. It was almost obscene, the
amount of funds Wolfe had at his fingertips to plough into this
castle.

Although, from the amount of staff that she
had seen around the castle, Isabeau realized that the castle gave
many a person a living.

It wasn't that the state of his riches were
attractive to her or that she was mercenary in anyway. It was
simply that she found it incredible. Having never been to court or
visited any of the Royal palaces, she could not say for definite,
but a part of her was sure that they could not be as resplendent as
Sinclair castle!

There were six towers and four of these were
decorated in different styles, with the remaining two seemingly
styled in the original mildewed décor of the medieval ages.

“But why?” Isabeau asked, puzzled as she
stared at a gruesomely green embrasure.

He shrugged. “It is tradition.”

“What kind of tradition?”

“The wife of the Duke decorates one of the
towers upon the announcement of her pregnancy.”

“Why?” she asked again, confused all the
more!

“It is merely a gift. Of sorts. It is said
that the Duchess who brings her son and the Sinclair heir into this
world in one of these towers shall lead a long and fruitful
life.”

Instantly, curiosity beset her and although
it was insensitive, she had to ask: “Which tower is your
mother's?”

He snorted. “Surprisingly, that does add some
credence to the so-called tradition. The last four Duchesses, prior
to my mother, all lived for many a year with their Dukes fighting
on into the golden age of seventy at their side. With a handful of
children and ultimately grandchildren to comfort them in their loss
of youth!

“Mama, on the other hand, refused to select a
tower room. Declared it as a piece of nonsense. But in reality, the
little I remember anyway, I knew that there was no love lost on her
part between my father and herself. And the tower rooms, well, once
they were decorated, thereafter both man and wife unfashionably
slept together here.”

“That is
most
unusual,” she commented with raised brows,
for even her own parents had kept up the pretense of two sleeping
chambers. She only knew differently from those cold winter mornings
as a child, when she'd escaped her nanny's clutches and headed for
the room in which they had always shared.

The horrid formality that existed between
some children and their parents, whilst perfectly normal, had never
subsisted in her family. While Isabeau was fully aware that
childhood experiences, such as Wolfe had known before his parents'
death, were more common than rare, it still saddened her greatly to
think that he hadn't experienced the wonder that she had.

The total and utter security of knowing that
one is loved and for oneself. That one exists and has been borne
from a love so strong that one's life is a manifestation of
feelings and sentiments that two people felt for another.

Not because one is a ducal heir, nor that one
has no other purpose apart from learning the role and becoming a
perfect suitor for the ducal coronets.

“Yes. Indeed. Well, mama apparently refused
and the rest as they say is history. She lived a short life that
ended with violent death. Perhaps that is fodder for the
traditions. According to some of the staff here, not all of which
are Dark Sidhe but of the Light as well, my grandparents were known
for their great love for each other. I think, perhaps, that is why
my father was so madly infatuated with my mother.