Heart of Darkness (8 page)

Again, she cringed at the thought of how easy
it would be to simply discard her, if she became too much of a
handful.

Tilting her head upwards, she noticed that
they were leaving a wood, if the heavy canopy of leaves above them
was anything to go by, at least. She turned to the side and felt
the grip of Wolfe's hands at her waist again as she looked at the
route they had been taking.

“Sit back, Isabeau. You will fall off and be
trampled. Unless you would prefer that fate to what lies ahead,” he
murmured silkily.

With a huff of breath, Isabeau retorted, “I
was merely ascertaining to my whereabouts, Wolfe. Nothing more. I
think you mistake me for a regular maiden. One who would prefer to
be trampled to death than face the fate that lies ahead.”

“I'm glad you are courageous, fair lady.”

Unsaid were the words, you shall need it.

Isabeau licked her dry lips again and wished
for something to drink. Inwardly she wondered why on Earth he
needed her. He had yet to return her ring and she could feel the
loss of it in the despair that sluggishly crawled through her body.
She wished that she could withhold the words, but they burst free
regardless. “What do you want with me, Wolfe?”

“That is for me to know, milady.”

The acknowledgment of her status in the
nobility had her flinching. She had not been called by her title
since the day of her parents' deaths.

She licked her lips and murmured, “If that is
supposed to frighten me, then you're mistaken. It merely tells me
that you are currently unsure as to what to do with me!”

He laughed and she grimaced, but their
positions meant that he could not see it.

“It has been a long time since you have been
called by your status, is it not, Isabeau?”

A slight jerk of her neck meant that her body
answered him before she verbally could. “No. Yes. The day after my
parents...I had to go into hiding.”

“Why was that necessary? Did someone advise
you of that?”

She scowled at the curiosity in his voice.
“No. I managed to think for myself. Believe it or not, Mr.
Sinclair, some females are capable of having and culturing an
intelligent thought in their tiny brains.”

“Ah, so it's Mr. Sinclair now, is it?” he
said, amused.

“It should always have been,” she
replied angrily. “Forgive me for behaving without propriety. Having
been away from the
ton
for far
too long, I'm afraid my manners are not what they ought to be. And
would you not run away? When your house is decimated by a fire that
has been purposely started? Which has killed your
parents?”

“I prefer Wolfe,” he said, the tone was a
rumble and it shuddered along nerve endings that she hadn't even
known existed. What, who, was this man to her? Why did he affect
her so? “It is my given name, Isabeau. Let's shuck propriety, after
all, if I were a gentleman...”

“Which you're not,” Isabeau interrupted with
a snort.

“No, I'm not but if I were, then you
would not be allowed within two yards of me without a
duenna.
And you are correct. If I had
been your age, and a woman, and had learned that my parents had
been killed, I would indeed flee. But even though I can understand,
it was not the best option open to you.”

“Hmm, well, we can agree to disagree. As I
was unaware at the time that I'd even had more than one option! So,
where are we?”

“My castle.”

Ah, it was a castle. “Why are we here? What
am I to you?”

He was silent for so long, that she thought
he was merely ignoring her question. By the time he eventually did
respond, they had stepped from the forest and had moved on to the
driveway that led to his property.

“You will soon learn,” was his answer, but it
was hardly helpful.

Sensing that any chatter she might have
engaged in would only be ignored, Isabeau kept quiet and watched
with slightly awed eyes as the nearer they moved to the castle, the
larger it seemed to become. Even in the darkness, she could tell
that it was in a grand state. So many of these properties around
England had been damaged and were in terrible need of repair.

Once free from the dense forest, which almost
overran and landed on to his property, it was a lot easier to see
the castle as the moon seemed to shine behind it, leaving the
frontage in complete shadow but detailing the shapes and sheer size
of the place.

It was a complex mixture of squat buildings,
which interconnected with large towers and turrets. Its grandeur
was most impressive and informed her definitely and without words
that Wolfe Sinclair was a wealthy man. She tried to wrack her
brains to a time before their move to the North, when like any
upcoming debutante she had known Debrett's practically from back to
front and had known the richest men in England. Isabeau was sure
she would remember a Wolfe Sinclair, but she couldn't.

Years had passed since that time, and
he could be very easily have been a cit and this castle purchased
from a noble family who had lost their fortune, but she was sure
that the accent of his voice was as pure and as well-bred as her
own. There had been no elocution lessons to improve his tone of
voice for the
ton.

The question still remained--who was he?

She wished that she knew. Instead of feeling
as though she were hovering between confusion and fear and a
relatively ridiculous sensation of security. There was nothing
secure about her life and hadn't been for a long, long time. It
would stand her well not to forget that!

Isabeau rolled her eyes but recognized the
truth behind the thought. She sat quietly as the horse suddenly
came to a halt without any prompting, verbal or physical, from
Wolfe. “What is happening?” she asked hesitantly.

“We are here,” he replied simply.

She nodded, then stiffened her back as
Isabeau knew she was about to lose his support. When he jumped to
the ground, Wolfe promptly reached for her. The pressure of his
fingers around her small waist had her heart galloping wildly and
when he placed her securely on the ground, she bit her bottom lip
as the move pressed her close against him.

To a point, she had grown accustomed to her
back feeling every inch of his torso as they rode atop the horse,
but this...this was entirely different.

The press of her breasts against him was a
shock and she felt the tips start to tingle as they reacted to his
nearness. Although it was not firm, she also felt his softened
manhood against her lower body and her innards reacted to that as
though it were aroused.

Rather than inspiring fear or fright, it
inspired languorous warmth that had her feeling highly peculiar.
This man inspired a welter of myriad emotions and not one of them,
did she even comprehend!

He took an abrupt step backwards and then
grabbed a fierce hold of her forearm. “Come, I shall take you to
your quarters.”

The door to the castle was awash in
candlelight and it made it more difficult to walk up the steps to
the entrance as she was blinded by the darkness then blinded by the
light. Stumbling against the last one, she sucked in a breath as
she was yanked to safety by Wolfe's sudden gripping of her arm. The
action jerked her elbow uncomfortably, but she was grateful for not
having fallen flat on her face. That would not have been an
auspicious start!

The door opened suddenly and even more light
flooded out. As she stepped into the entrance, she was amazed at
the sheer amount of candles that were being used to illuminate the
enormous Great Hall.

Blinking the remnants of the dark away, she
looked around the hall and was surprised by the huge windows of
stained glass against the back wall. As the moon sat hunched at the
back of the castle, the light shone through and illuminated the
windows. Gulping as she realized they portrayed magical creatures,
Isabeau's eyes darted from the unicorn to the asrais, to a gytrash
and a lynx.

All of them preferred the darkness, she
recalled. Her education had been widespread and had depended
heavily upon the books in her father's library. As such, she had
read hundreds of words on mythological and legendary beasts. It had
been one of her father's hobbies and she had shared it with a
passion.

The four huge stained glass windows portrayed
each animal. But in the center of the four, was a smaller one of a
griffin. Almost as though the lack of size gave it more importance,
she realized that her eyes were prone to focus on that particular
work of art than its larger counterparts.

Her eyes trailed over the cut glass, which
perfectly delineated each of the griffin's remarkable features and
before she even had a chance to study any of the others, her arm
was taken once more. Although this time, it was not in a
stronghold, it still felt as though it were, as Wolfe tucked her
hand in between his elbow and his body and kept it trapped there by
pressure from his arm.

He walked her up the stairs, of which there
appeared to be at least a dozen sets and when she looked upwards, a
staircase seemed to reach the very top of the highest turret. She
had to hold back the childish desire to call out and hear her words
echoed, but Isabeau could honestly say, that regardless of her own
parents' huge properties and wealth, never in her life had she seen
such an enormous edifice. It was large enough to rival even the
Royal holdings! At least, she thought so. She had only ever seen
pictures of the Royal castles in books, but she could not imagine
anything that could possibly be larger than this!

She longed to ask why the Griffin took
central stage and yet was smaller, longed to learn the significance
of such a move, but instead kept quiet. They traversed three sets
of stairs, which took them halfway up the tower and then Wolfe came
to a standstill. At the head of this staircase, was yet another
stained glass window of a Griffin. It merely deepened the urge to
ask him why the mythological creature was so important to his
family.

She was part-dragged, part-walked along the
length of the landing and this floor was awash with candle light as
well. At the very bottom was a rather grand set of doors, which
were almost double her own diminutive length and something told her
that behind that particular opening, was Wolfe's chamber. He came
to a stop outside the room that was next to the one she believed to
be his.

He unlocked the door, then opened it for her
and waited for her to walk in to the darkened gloom. There was
absolutely no light in there. It was as black as the sky outside.
Although she hesitated, spying the frown as he waited longer and
longer for her to comply with his unspoken order, Isabeau entered
the room and felt unbearably nervous as the darkness seemed to
envelop her.

Suddenly the door closed with a bang and she
cried out. “Wolfe! Are you there?”

“I'm here,” he replied mildly.

There was a sudden whoosh of air and
instantly, the room was filled with light.

Blinking away the black dots in her vision,
she spun around and sought Wolfe's position. She was far too angry
to even think about the splendor of this room.

“What is this?” she asked, somewhat
nonsensically and literally fizzed with fury as he merely commented
on her question.

“What is what?”

“The room next to this...it is your sleeping
chamber, is it not?”

“What if it is?”

“What do you mean, what if it is? It is a
gross outrage that's what it is!”

“Would you prefer the dungeon?” he retorted
silkily and she stomped her foot in outrage at his reply.

“Perhaps I would! Anything but be treated as
though I'm your damned concubine!”

“It can be arranged. Easily, so do not push
me, Isabeau. You will stay here and appreciate the beauty of what
was once my mother's suite,” he told her grimly.

“I refuse to allow this to continue. Take me
somewhere else. Your servants...they will gossip! My reputation is
already a non-entity, but that does not mean it is something I do
not guard highly. Why do you think I'm still a maiden? I will not
have the world believing me to be your mistress!”

“If you want your ring, then you shall just
have to be quiet and live through the shame,” he mocked.

She watched with hate in her eyes as he
slipped his hand inside his overcoat and pulled out her ring.
Crying out as she saw it, Isabeau felt every nerve ending in her
body react to the sizzle of power that launched through her as the
long, thin slivers of magic crept out of the stone and sought the
matching power inside her.

“Give it to me,” she ordered huskily.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, she grimaced as a pain suddenly
overtook her.

“No. For the moment, I find that it is in my
best interests to keep it in my possession, after all, it seems to
be the only way I can actually control you, is it not?”

She licked her lips, but could not lie. Even
if it would prompt him to return the ring to her keeping.