Scarlet Shadows

by Elizabeth Darrell

  She knew what he meant. He saw it in her eyes. “There was nothing to forgive. Between the patroness of the regiment and its most brilliant officer there never could be. You told me that yourself.”

  He swallowed. “Those words were spoken foolishly, Victoria.”

  “Only if you do not live up to your boast.” The sadness in her expression increased as she stepped closer, lost to everything around her. “I heard you had been asked to leave the regiment, until a letter…”

  “You heard!”

  “Not from Charles,” she said quickly. “The officers talk among themselves. I know no details of the affair, only that the colonel had hardly increased his popularity.”

  “I see,” he said bitterly. “I forget that the regiment had the privilege of knowing you before I did and would naturally entertain you with garrison gossip.”

  She drew in a little breath and put out a hand. “Hugo, I…”

  “Captain Esterly, I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you,” said a clear voice from behind them. “Your duties as best man occupy you so fully, I just had to take this opportunity to approach you.”

  Charity Verewood glided up, a pale, lovely creature in silver-blue watered silk, wearing a vast representation of her fortune around her neck. She came to rest beside him with a ballooning swirl of her skirts.

  “Mrs. Stanford, I have seldom seen a more beautiful wedding. Does she not make the perfect bride, Captain Esterly?”

  When he did not answer, she put a hand delicately on the bridal veil. “The number of happy unions this must have witnessed, but none happier than this one, I am sure.” Her chaste blue eyes widened at Victoria. “I heard Mrs. Weathercourt-Chyne expressing the hope of a word with you as I passed a moment ago. A bride’s obligations are so numerous, are they not? You may safely leave Captain Esterly with me while you fulfill some of them, ma’am.” Smooth golden braids shone in the sunlight as she tilted her head to give Hugo a melting look. “You must tell me about your return visit to Vienna. It was unfortunate that duty called you away from Wychbourne at Christmas, but if his presence is so important to a general, an officer must put professional obligations before personal wishes. No one understands that better than I.”

  The moment was broken, and Victoria moved away, leaving him to follow her with his eyes despite the soft chatter of the girl beside him. She was still beside him when the bride and groom climbed into the carriage for their departure, but his gaze remained on the dark-haired girl in crimson velvet trimmed with ermine until the waving hand and pale face beneath the bonnet were hidden from his view.

  “What a happy pair. Plainly so devoted to each other,” said Charity softly, noting her companion’s silent abstraction with a shrewdness not often apparent in her dealings with others. She slipped a hand through his arm, and he looked down at her from his distant reverie. “A wedding becomes very tedious after the departure of the bridal pair, do you not think?” The smile was cool and sweet. “I know your duties will oblige you to dance attendance on those very youthful bridesmaids — poor man, six of them is a daunting prospect — but you must surely be set free tomorrow? I have to drive across to Commerford to see a bay mare Squire Partridge thinks would suit me. Do you care to accompany me? The Commerford hills are looking very attractive at the moment and are perfect for a long gallop.” She began walking, making it necessary for him to turn from a view of the now empty driveway. “I should also value your opinion of the mare.” Her round eyes grew soft and full of admiration. “There is no one whose word I would trust more than yours.”

  She had caught him at exactly the right moment. Her soft tones soothed his racked nerves, the blonde perfection of her features was restful after the vividness of a face that haunted him and the prospect of a wild gallop across the countryside of his youth tempted him. He had had a surfeit of emotions today; he longed for something purely physical.

  “At what time do you set out?” he asked.

  “At any time you wish to name. We need not go directly there. The whole day is at our disposal.”

  “Nine A.M.,” he said in fierce challenge.

  “You will not have to wait for me,” she replied calmly.

  “And if I had said eight?”

  “I should have been ready when you arrived.”

  They were about to enter the house, but Hugo was seized with a sudden reluctance to smell again the carnations that had filled his nostrils with their overpowering perfume. He veered away and led his companion along a side path to the stables.

  “You have not seen my latest hunter, I believe, Miss Verewood. You will be vastly impressed.”

  “But…will you not be expected in the house?” she asked in virtuous protest.

  “No doubt” was the grim reply, “but I have had rather more than I can stand of gushing matrons and giggling bridesmaids. A short spell of equine company will be far more agreeable to me.”

  “Captain Esterly!” Charity pulled up, and he turned to face her.

  “Do not say you do not agree with me, Miss Verewood.” His brilliant eyes flashed in a challenge. “Well? Do you return to the dullness of that garden of assembled flatterers or not?”

  Charity hesitated only a few seconds. With him in such a mood she must seize her opportunities. Mama could be conciliated later.

  “I am not sure that I dare,” she breathed. “You might not offer to show me the hunter again.”

  *

  Charles jumped to the ground and gave his orders, leaving Victoria to peer through the carriage window at her honeymoon abode. It was a far cry from London or Paris — her idea of the ideal place in which to conclude the ceremonial of marriage. The lamp above the entrance showed a metal-studded door recessed into a red brick archway. It stood open into a hall of wood-paneled walls and floor of polished blocks on which lay a dark-blue and scarlet rug of some age and value. The inevitable trophies adorned the walls: noble animals who had been born for a better purpose than to stare glassy-eyed at others of their species on the opposite side of the room.

  Her gaze traveled upward as far as the lamplight permitted. The outer walls of the lodge were dark-red brick with heavy stone lintels and leaded windows — more like a stronghold than a cozy hunting lodge, she thought with a heavy heart.

  She sank back against the cushion, closing her eyes against the anguish of her departure from Wychbourne. In all that crowd of well-wishers Hugo had stood taller than most, and she had kept her eyes locked to his until his face had become an indistinguishable blur. As the distance widened, Wychbourne, that vast house that had never seemed to her like a home, had become dear and familiar. Dear and familiar because he was part of it…yet it seemed fated to witness only their partings.

  The carriage door opened. “Come, my dearest,” said Charles gaily. “You will find it very snug inside.” He helped her to the ground with great tenderness. “Welcome to Brennen Lodge, my sweet bride.”

  Victoria found herself swung up in his arms with her cheek pressed against the stiff gold braiding across his chest as he bent over her, laughing softly. “I must hold you closely, my love, or you might float away from me.”

  Always handsome, there was a triumphant superlative to each of his features at this moment. Beneath the lights his hair had an aura of gilded softness, the blueness of his eyes had deepened with secrets, his smile as he set her on her feet inside and turned away to the servants held a story she could not even guess at. There was a youthful gaiety about her husband that contrasted strongly with his normal dignity; there was a daring about him tonight that should have appealed to her romantic nature. The love locked inside her ensured that it did not.

  They passed three-quarters of an hour sitting beside the great log fire while she sipped hot chocolate and Charles fortified himself with mulled wine. Then he crossed to her and raised her to her feet with his hands beneath her elbows.

  “It is growing late, my dear. I will conduct you to our room, then return when you have had time to prepare
yourself.” His arm slid around her waist, and she found herself being taken along a short dark corridor and up a flight of boxed-in stairs lit by flambeaux fixed to the dark paneling. The landing at the top was the approach to only six doors, set close together in a half-moon arrangement, and each lay in relative shade due to the poor lighting of the upper floor. The lodge catered to purely masculine tastes in decor, it seemed. There was even a mute antlered head nailed to the wall up here — a symbol of man’s delight in using his superiority to rid the earth of its most gentle creatures. Victoria turned her eyes away, knowing the creature had once stepped delicately in dappled sunshine, like those in the park at Wychbourne.

  Charles flung open a door and halted just outside. “Do not keep me waiting long, my beautiful wife,” he whispered, kissing her fingers with lingering pleasure.

  She could not answer; just backed into the room as he closed the door. The main bed chamber was designed with gentlemen in mind, but Rosie had all the candle brackets filled and alight, which, with the cheery dancing flames in the hearth, gave reassuring warmth to the shivering girl. Glencoe made her usual fuss of her mistress but received only mechanical pats in return. Rosie removed the attractive going-away dress and the starched petticoats beneath, then unlaced the stays and began to remove the chemise. Victoria’s hands went up to clutch the lace-trimmed bodice.

  “No. It is rather cold tonight, Rosie.”

  “But, ma’am, you cannot. I mean, will the major not think it odd of you?” stammered Rosie, wise in her knowledge of gentlemen’s requirements. “Your nightgown is nice and warm. I have had it before the fire this past half hour.”

  Victoria acquiesced and thought today had represented a fast-flowing stream into which she had fallen. Now, she was rushing toward the weir at the end of her helpless spinning. The long nightgown was warm, as Rosie said, with sleeves buttoned at the wrist and a frilled collar snugly around her throat, but never before had she been so aware of her own nakedness beneath it.

  The double bed she must share with Charles looked large enough, and she was slightly built…but suppose, in moving, she should accidentally touch against him? Heat broke out all over her at the thought. How she would ever manage to sleep with that dread in mind she did not know. It would be so very embarrassing. It was difficult to contemplate how she would cope with such a situation. As it was, her heart was pounding with nervousness. Charles was a pleasant, amusing companion when they were together, but to lie in bed with him, was another thing altogether. Whatever could she converse with him about? It did not seem polite to go to sleep without a few minutes of conversation. She and her cousin Maude had always chatted until they felt sleepy, but girlish fancies were not fit subjects for gentlemen. With Hugo it would be so much easier. They always had so much to say to each other.

  Suddenly, she was pulled into the inexorable glide of water that led straight to the dam, as the contemplation of being here with Hugo caught at her chest with an unbearable ache that extended down her body into her thighs. It was so strong she had to bite her lip to prevent a sigh from escaping. With the age-old wisdom of nature she instantly knew the things of which they spoke would be sweeter than any words ever exchanged between them. Her body was already melting toward his as she imagined him walking through the door to her. If his lips chased hers as Charles’s had, they would find willing captives tonight.

  The throbbing inside her awakening body was so strong now she pushed aside the hairbrush Rosie was wielding and went to one of the carved posts of the bed, clinging to it in a fever of longing. There before her spread the heavy brocade counterpane and white pillows, telling her something that at once elated and shocked her. If she were to lie in there with Hugo she would surely nestle within his arms in only her nightgown, even reach up to touch his beloved face with her fingertips in the darkness.

  She swung around until her back was against the post, unaware of her surroundings or of Rosie quietly hanging her clothes away as her head tilted back in despair. That revelation in the Mirror Room had merely hinted at her feelings for Hugo. She had known only a fierce desire to be in his company all the time and to be a happy partner in everything he did. Now that she had begun to imagine his taking Charles’s place here it opened a floodgate of emotion. Still uncertain of what her limbs and senses craved, she recalled Hugo in his room at Wychbourne coming toward her with blindfolded eyes and outstretched hands, laughing with the triumph of capture. She had run from an instinct her body recognized. If she had remained in her corner, what she now felt would have invaded her then. If she had remained in her corner…ah, Hugo, she cried silently across the miles that separated them, how foolish we were to run away. We can never escape it now.

  A knock fell on the door, and Rosie hastened across to her mistress with a smile on her country-girl face.

  “That’ll be the major, ma’am,” she giggled. “Let me arrange you against the pillows before I let him in.”

  Victoria climbed into the big bed and sat numbly while the maid twitched the curls into becoming positions and smoothed the counterpane free of wrinkles. The door opened, and she bobbed a curtsy as she went out past Charles, who was clad in a long crimson dressing gown.

  Victoria was shaken at the sight of him. Only in this minute did it occur to her that he might behave as Hugo would in this situation. With a dry throat and frozen face she watched him scoop up Glencoe from the foot of the bed and drop her outside the door.

  “I do not think we require company tonight,” he said with a smile, closing the door and coming toward her. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. “At last, my beloved. I do not know how I have waited for this moment.” He bent his fair head over her fingers and kissed them one by one. “How cold you are. I cannot have that.” Unknotting the cord of his dressing gown, he took it off and reached forward to place it around her shoulders.

  The whole of Victoria’s body was shaken by the pumping of her heart, and she could not help feeling the bed was moving with it, too. The sight of Charles in only a nightshirt hardly had time to fill her with acute embarrassment before he was wrapping her in his dressing gown, encompassing her with his arms. She was helpless, for his arms encircled her while his body began to press down on hers as he kissed her.

  Charles was a well-built, powerful man, and she found it impossible to move — difficult to breathe, even. Desperately she tried to twist her mouth away from the moist lips beneath the mustache, but success only brought more frenzied searching of her eyes, ears and throat with his mouth. The ache in her thighs returned. Trembling more with nervousness than the cold, she brought up her hands to push him away, but they were caught and held back against the pillow while he continued to caress her smooth throat with a mouth grown eager.

  “Victoria, you bring me a sweetness I have never before tasted,” he breathed against her shoulder. “You fill me with the desire of a dozen men, and we shall have sons. What sons we shall have!”

  She lay still holding herself rigid against the cold that reached into every nerve and fiber. So this was it! Only a few short hours after the ceremony she was expected to fulfill her part of the bargain. So soon after becoming his wife he was demanding the reward for giving her his noble name and its accompanying wealth. She had not expected it so soon, and she could not refuse… He had every right to expect from her something she hardly knew how to do — yet do it she must.

  He had lifted his head enough to look into her wide darkened eyes. That intensity she had seen in his was there now, stronger than ever.

  “I want you, Victoria. No man ever wanted you as I do. Have you seen it in my eyes? Have you guessed?”

  She took a deep breath and summoned up all her courage. “Yes,” she said as calmly as she could. “I know what it is you want, Charles.”

  He caught his breath. “You do?”

  She nodded against the pillow. “I…I will show you my ankles, if that is what you wish.”

  For a few seconds he looked at her with hungry, dazed d
elight, as if he could not believe such erotic innocence could be his fortune, then he stood and flung back the bedclothes with an exultant laugh. It happened so suddenly, Victoria’s new-found courage began to evaporate. When Charles began covering her feet and ankles with tiny kisses it fled.

  Her nightgown was no longer adequate. A great deal more than her ankles began to feel soft caresses. A hand reached her knee and began seeking higher as his fingers stroked her smooth skin. She gave a small cry and scrambled from the bed in a panic, to stand holding the bedpost tightly. Remembering those stories about theaters where officers went to see the ankles and knees of common actresses, she felt Charles had forgotten where he was.

  He was beside her in an instant, prying her fingers from their hold and urging her back to the bed.

  “Come, my dearest, there is no need for such teasing.”

  “No, Charles,” she cried shakily. “I do not care for it.”

  “Then I shall teach you to care for it,” he whispered, pulling her to him and sinking his teeth gently into the softness of her neck.

  She struggled. “Please. Charles, please do not treat me in this manner. I am not an actress, I am your wife.”

  Her struggles only deafened him to her pleas. “And you must be my wife. I will show you how to please me.” He made her walk across the candelabra, his arms tightly around her. “I know what it is, my sweet love. You wish the room were darker. Some cannot relax if it is too bright.” He blew out the candles, leaving only one faint flame, then swung her up in his arms to carry her back to the bed.

  There was no more thought in her head now of her duty to the noble house of Stanford. Charles had suddenly become a menacing stranger, and she was terrified of him. Every ounce of her energy was engaged in a battle against him. She cried aloud when he pulled the nightgown from her shoulders and begged him to recover his senses, but he only heightened his assault. He seemed to have lost all control of reason as he whispered of delights that would be hers very soon.