by Cari Hislop
“Thank you Davis…” The single piece of paper was only folded in four.
My Heart,
I envy the chair you’re sitting in, the cup you just pressed to your lips, the fabric caressing your skin. You must be freezing in that thin dress. I hope you’ll accept this shawl with my compliments and wear it as a reminder that my arms ache to hold you. Curse my ugly face, I wish it was nightfall!
Adam and his panting heart
Eve sighed with pleasure and tucked the folded note into a pocket. “Davis…?”
“Yes my Lady?”
“How did you find Lord Latham? Did he look well?”
Davis glanced across at his glum fellow footman as if for help. “I don’t think he’s in very good spirits today my Lady.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is he ill? Is he upset?”
“I fear I’m inadequately educated to make a guess my Lady.”
“Did he ask about me?”
Davis once again glanced at his fellow servant. “I don’t think his Lordship would be satisfied with a second hand account my Lady.”
“Well said Davis…where is he?”
“I couldn’t say my Lady.”
“Would you find Lord Latham and tell him, ‘I don’t care if you look like Herbert or the devil.’ He’ll know what I mean.”
“Consider it done my Lady.”
“It is rather cold in here. John, if you’ll be so good as to drape His Lordship’s shawl around my shoulders?” Eve felt her spine tingle as the large silk Indian shawl enveloped her like a blanket of love that conveniently covered her charms. “Thank you John. Oh Davis, I overheard you reprimanding John.” She glanced up at the beautiful unhappy profile on her left and was struck by the impression that it was oddly familiar, that she’d seen it hundreds of times before. She shook the thought from her mind and turned her attention to Davis. “We are not all good at learning new things quickly. John looks rather old to be starting as a footman. Life has doubtless given him a few blows; be hard on him if you must, but try not to call him names. I wouldn’t want to be called stupid, would you?”
“No my Lady…”
“Good, that will be all.” The servants were forgotten as she unpinned the green eye from her dress and stared at it. The real eye was no longer watching her; he’d probably gone back to the library and locked the door. His love note was a promise of future kisses, but her heart didn’t want to wait. It ignored her silent rebuffs and continued calling for its new Master. If she couldn’t be held in his arms she decided the next best thing was to return to his bedchamber. She could lie on his bed and stare at the large painting of Adam and Eve and think about him. Her heart agreed with the plan and urged her to hurry; he might visit his chamber and find her there. He might give into temptation and kiss her. She abruptly left the table and hurried upstairs wondering if a servant would let her into her husband’s room if the demon had closed up her end of the secret passage.
…
Eve passed by her bed with a shiver of disgust. The pink and white stripes seemed to gleam with a sinister shine as if the evil Mr Roberts had left an imprint of his soul on her bed curtains. Thankfully no one had closed her secret door. As she moved into the darkness she heard a faint moaning that made her heart jump in hope. Was Adam in his room? His end of the secret passage was closed. Bumping against the door she put her ear to the door. The moaning had stopped. “Adam?” Knocking on the thin piece of wood she listened carefully for a whispered reply. “Adam? Are you ill? May I come in? I can’t wait ‘till nightfall.” The silence was either an emphatic no or her demon-husband was unconscious and bleeding to death. She knocked one more time. What if he was dying and she was standing there asking him if he was ill? Her heart found that reason enough to panic. It was several minutes before she could find the release mechanism with her shaking hand. The door slid open and she leapt into the room looking at the floor for a body. Her eyes jerked off the empty rug to the footman sitting on the edge of the bed, left elbow resting on his leg as his head rested in his left hand. The familiar beautiful profile fractionally started in her direction and then slowly turned away. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he audibly moaned in horror at being found.
Her relief at not finding her husband dead on the floor was forgotten in the heat of indignation. “What are you doing in here? Lord Latham doesn’t pay you to sit on his bed and moan like a sick dog. Did you think you’d pocket a few valuables and then disappear? Empty your pockets at once and then pack your bags. I don’t wonder you can’t keep employment if this is your idea of working.” The man’s only response was another heavy sigh. “Did you hear me? Empty your pockets!” Eve suddenly realised she was alone with a strange man who might be mentally unsound. “If you don’t leave immediately I’ll…I’ll scream…” Her panic was now for her safety as her thoughts filled with horror at being attacked again in her own home, but this time with her husband out of earshot. Her limbs felt cold as she started backing into the dark passage. “…and you’d better not touch me or Lord Latham will whip you like a dog.” The man muttered something under his breath before abruptly turning his whole face in her direction. He didn’t have to introduce himself. The beautiful face had a large puckered scar slashing across his face through the remains of his left eye. Her mouth fell open in disbelief as the gaze of his right eye caused the familiar tingling and waves of sweet relief. “Adam?”
“Eve.”
She felt her face burn as the familiar whisper confirmed he was her demon-lover. She sighed in relief and then shivered in dread as conflicting emotions left her confused. He was so beautiful…he was so hideous. He was a complete stranger…he was so intimately familiar. His right eye was so green…his left eye was so white. Her heart ordered her to run into his arms…her mind said run away. How could knowing what a man looked like make him more frightening? Her throat ached with the unspeakable request that he put on his black cloak and cover that frightening face.
The demon was safer, less complicated than this expressive face filled with pain and longing. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell him that she liked his face; she’d never be able to lie with enough conviction. She clenched her fists and refused her legs any movement. This was her husband? This was the man she’d impulsively decided to remain married to? This was the man she ached to kiss? The thought made her blush with horror. Her eyes darted around the room in-between quick glances at the white eye. “You frightened me; I thought you were a deranged footman. I heard you moaning; are you ill? Shall I fetch the housekeeper?” She tried not to look at the white fleshy ball, but her eyes kept swirling back to stare at it in gruesome fascination. She could understand why he hadn’t wanted her to see him in candlelight. He’d be a living nightmare.
“The cure for my ailment can’t be found in an apothecary’s box.” The soft words were filled with bitterness.
Eve moved her legs toward the bed and awkwardly sat down beside the green eye. She tried to stare at the floor, but her attention was riveted by handsome legs in taut silk. She’d touched those legs; how had she found the nerve to do something so wanton? Her heart moaned with longing, ‘Touch his leg, tell him he owns me! Tell him…tell him…tell him…’ Her tongue was lead; her throat felt swollen and tight. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Last night when you fell asleep in my arms.”
The whispered words were filled with irony. Did he want her to remember clutching him for comfort and craving his kisses? Could he see in her face that she was having difficulty imagining herself being intimate with him? “No, I’ve seen you; I dropped my umbrella, you picked it up. You wore a broad brimmed black hat tipped low over your left eye. I used to see you everywhere; in the park, out shopping, after church. I wondered who you were. I’d feel like I was being watched and when I looked I’d see you…turning away. I wondered why I never saw your whole face, why you were always turning away.”
“Now you know.” Eve didn’t know wha
t else to say so she said nothing feeling ashamed of her reaction. A clock cheerfully ticked away the minutes as if the two people on the bed weren’t miserable. Eve quickly glanced at Adam and was relieved to see the ugly half of his face was hidden in his left hand. She stared at his profile in disbelief; he must have once been the most beautiful boy in England. “You find me repulsive…” He paused obviously hoping she’d deny it, but she couldn’t. “…I’ll write to the archbishop and request an annulment. He knows what I look like. I’m sure he’ll understand why you can’t…be my wife.”
Eve flinched as her heart screamed in horror. The thought of never kissing her demon-lord again caused her heart to slump in its cage and sob in despair. “I don’t want an annulment.”
“Good.” It was a word devoid of hope. “Thank you for sparing me the public humiliation of being repudiated.” The words sharp with sarcasm. “In future, when my foolish heart desires an audience with its mistress, I’ll wait until after dark. I’ll send a note to give you time to drink enough sherry to numb the horror of my touch.”
“Adam…I’m…”
“I wish to be alone.”
Eve flinched as his icy command made her shiver with the pain of rejection. “As you wish my Lord.” It was several more minutes before her rubbery legs obeyed, lifting her off the bed and carrying her back down the secret passage into her room. Her spine tingled as he followed a few steps behind. What was he doing? The secret door silently closed behind her answering her unspoken question.
Sunlight poured into the room sneering at her misery. She viciously slammed the shutters and pulled the curtains closed causing a comfortable darkness. She’d told him he could demand his conjugal rights after she’d seen his face. The thought of being naked with the man in the next room made her shudder with longing and dread. Slumped at her dressing table holding her shawl tightly around her, she stared at the reflection of her bed in the mirror. If only she hadn’t opened that door.
She’d partaken of the forbidden fruit; she’d seen his face, his beautiful repulsive face. If only she could rewind the hands of the clock and choose not to open that door. She’d leave the discovery of his features to some far future date. She’d never doubt his word that he was hideous.
This morning he adored her more than life. He now probably wished he’d never attended the ball where she’d unwittingly captivated him. Would he smother his feelings? Would he punish his heart for loving a woman who was no different to the unkind ladies who refused to dance with him? She moaned in pain as her wailing heart cracked with grief. Resting her head on her arms she sat there listening for forgiving footsteps in the secret passage, but the only footsteps were those of servants hurrying to and from the Master’s chamber. What was he doing?
Chapter 21
Adam paced his chamber wiping away blinding tears until a servant answered his bell. “Bring me twelve uncorked bottles of claret and don’t bother to decant them. I don’t need a pretty glass jug; I’ll be pouring the wine straight down my gullet.”
He’d never asked for more than one. “Don’t you mean two bottles my Lord?”
“I want a dozen and I want them now.” The maid looked at the angry green eye shimmering with rage and ran. Half an hour later six frightened servants unhappily delivered his wine. He snatched the first bottle and threw the loosened cork into the fire. Turning his back on his servants he tipped the contents down his throat. Other than shooting himself in the head it seemed the most immediate way to muffle his wailing heart. His hope of being loved had evaporated with one look of revulsion. He’d never wake up, pull his wife into his arms and make love to her in morning sunlight. He’d be visiting his wife in the dark till he died, like an illicit lover sneaking in the window to taste happiness that would never be his.
Clutching a second bottle to his chest he hid his face in his sleeve as the servants closed the door praying their master would pass out before accidentally drowning himself. None of them wanted his fastidious brother Jonah as a master. Life was so much easier serving the quiet easy going incumbent.
Three hours later Adam was still conscious of the pain as the sixth bottle fell from his hand and rolled away spilling a trail of light red liquid over his Abusson carpet. Having filled his chamber pot a second time he couldn’t bother to button his unmentionables or his trouser flap. Tucking his male member back into his smalls seemed sufficient modesty. His knees buckled forcing him to sit on the edge of his bed. He wavered before safely falling back onto the mattress. Moaning for Eve, he stared at the green silk canopy of his lonely bed as a door opened. It was the door to his heart or the door to hell. No it was the door to heaven. He’d drunk himself to death and the angels were coming for him. It had to be the angels; they were closing the door quietly with care unlike his thoughtless servants. “Ready… …take me…heaven…”
The mattress moved making him feel seasick as someone climbed onto the bed beside him. “Adam?”
An angel Eve had come to take him away; she’d love him and think him handsome. “Eve…heaven!”
“Mrs Good is hysterical. She says you’re trying to drink yourself to death. I don’t want you to die!”
“Good…death…heaven!” He could hear the angel crying as a handkerchief lovingly skimmed over his chest wiping off sick. “Heaven!” Why was the angel buttoning his trouser flap? He didn’t need trousers in heaven…he was going to make love to Eve forever and she’d love him.
The angel rolled off the bed making him momentarily seasick. “Don’t move…”
“Can’t…” The angel’s loving tone was a soothing balm. At last he could draw breath without wanting to die. He was safe in heaven. The angel Eve would take care of him. He’d never be alone again. A few minutes later angel footmen lifted him off the bed, removed his coat and cravat and laid him back down so his head was resting on his pillow. He watched the blurry angel Eve remove his shoes and throw them over her shoulder. He winced as they landed with two noisy thumps. He didn’t notice the footmen clearing the room of his chamber pot, and remaining bottles; his bleary eye was fixed on the angel Eve. Her hair was escaping the braid wrapped around her head forming a golden brown halo. He’d never seen anything so lovely. “Eve…” He groaned in dismay as she stretched out beside his blind eye. With his remaining strength he turned onto his side and smiled as she came back into view. “Heaven…” The angel put her hand on his face causing his heart to purr with pleasure.
“Heaven is off limits for at least forty years my Lord.”
“I’m not forty!”
“No, you’re drunk.”
“I’m half beautiful…half better than ugly…hates me.”
The angel Eve was lovingly caressing his cheek; he was definitely in heaven. “I don’t hate you.”
“I’m ugly…can’t love me…” His eyes filled with tears as he choked on his words. “Hurts…”
“You’re only half ugly, but it doesn’t matter. Adam I should have told you last night…”
“Last night…in my arms.”
“Yes, and I’d sleep in your arms tonight, but you stink.”
“Hates me…”
“Adam you’re hideous, but my heart doesn’t care. I admit it’ll take me a while to get used to the scar and your white eye, but I think my heart loves you. Do you understand? I think I love you and I don’t want you to drink yourself to death.”
The bleary green eye tried to find her face but couldn’t rise above the charms spilling out of her bodice. “Heaven…” He pressed his face against warm naked flesh and closed his eyes. This was the way to die; with his right hand possessing warm soft curves and his heart purring in contentment as adoring fingers combed through his hair kneading him into sweet oblivion.
Chapter 22
Eve woke up in her own bed, her eyes red and sore from crying in her sleep. Sitting up she looked for a note, but there was nothing pinned to her pillow or bed curtains. Without proof of forgiveness she started to fret. What if he was still upset with he
r? Her heart rudely insisted that she throw her shawl over her nightdress and go find the man. There was no point in arguing; her heart was chanting for its master. She had to deliver it into his arms.
Wrapping the Indian shawl around her shoulders, she slipped on a pair of shoes. Stepping out into the hall she hurried to his door and blushed as she knocked. Facing a sober Adam was daunting; he was no longer a comfortable shadow whose pleasurable kisses made her heart sing. He was flesh and blood; a beautiful hideous dangerous stranger. She shivered in fear as her heart sneered in contempt, ‘Who cares what he looks like, find my master before I die…die…die…’