by james
“Here?” Removing her shoes was one thing, but taking off her stockings seemed indecent.
He looked at her and laughed. “Go ahead. There’s only the three of us here, and I promise not to tell that you were traipsing about half-dressed."
“Go ahead, Bridgett. It only makes sense.” Marie addressed her with eyes closed, then yawned hugely. “I think I’ll take a nap.”
It was awkward, but Bridgett managed to slip out of her hose without baring too much in the process. She placed them neatly on top of her boots, then stood fora moment, marveling at the sensation of warm sand between her toes.
“Shall we go, madam?” The Count made an elaborate show of offering her his arm.
“Why, yes, Milord, I would be pleased to stroll with you.”
She took his arm and they started down the shoreline.“It’s so peaceful here, and so beautiful. I never could have imagined such a place.”
“There are beaches in other parts of the world that would take your breath away. Wide expanses of white sand that sparkle in the sun like brilliant diamonds. And oceans so clear and blue you can see the fish swimming beneath the waves.”
Bridgett sighed longingly. How little she had experienced in her lifetime.
Still, she could be thankful for this day, and the chance to see the ocean at all. They were memories she would treasure forever.
“You have traveled a great deal?”
“I have been gone more than I have been at home this past year, I’m afraid.
“The mound of paperwork and tasks to be completed attest to the fact that I’ve neglected my duties here.”
“Then why did you stay away?”
He gazed out at the ocean. “I suppose I inherited my mother’s wish to escape.”
“Escape?” She could understand a woman’s wish to leave an oppressive husband, but the Count had no such excuse. She remembered what Marie had told her, about his chasing demons. What evils plagued a man who obviously had so much to be thankful for?
He shook his head. “It’s not important.”
They had walked a good distance from the where they’d eaten, and he turned to look back.
“Perhaps we should return and wake my sister. If she lies in the sun like that for much longer, she’ll end up with freckles all over her face.”
“That would be terrible.” Bridgett feigned distaste.
“Only for me. Likely she would find some way to lay the blame for her ‘disfigurement’ at my feet.” He laughed. “She had tons of freckles when she was a little girl, and was actually quite adorable.”
“She is still adorable.”
“Yes, she is.” He suddenly pulled her into his arms. “And so are you.”
Bridgett stared up at him, shocked by the kind words and the warmth she heard in his voice. Why couldn’t he treat her thus when they were alone at night?
She was beginning to feel as if he were two men. One who looked at her and spoke to her with gentleness and charm, and another who treated her feelings like they were irrelevant.
“I…thank you, milord. No one has ever called me ‘adorable’ before.”
“I find that hard to believe, for you are quite beautiful. I’ve never seen eyes quite the color of yours. They change into a deep, dusty blue when you are aroused. Did you know that?”
He held her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.
“And yours turn the color of smoke. A dark and smoldering gray.” She tilted her head further back and licked her lips, hoping he would recognize the invitation. “Like they are now.”
He chuckled and bent his head to brush a light kiss across her lips. “You are very transparent, cara mia. Why not just ask for a kiss?”
Bridgett shook her head at his smug tone.
“All right, milord. If I must ask, then I shall.” She tried to keep her tone playful, but the subject matter caused her voice to turn husky. “Will you kiss me, milord?”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than his lips were upon her, teasing, insisting she open. She returned the kiss, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking it gently.
He groaned and she swallowed the sound, reaching up to entwine her fingers in his hair.
She grew dizzy with the emotion he managed to transmit with just a simple kiss. It spoke of a great need, a hunger that caused her heart to race. She clung to him, giving herself over to his passion, trembling with her own.
When he broke the kiss, she would have fallen had he not had his hands about her waist.
“Remind me to ask you for things more often, milord. It would appear that you take joy in the giving.”
“I have never overly-enjoyed kissing, bella mia, until quite recently.” He took her arm and began to lead her back towards the picnic area.
She barely caught his next words; they were spoken so softly.
“But I believe it’s becoming one of my favorite pastimes.”
Bridgett smiled and remained silent, content to ponder his behavior of the last few moments. Perhaps he was changing toward her. Surely he could not continue his double-sided treatment of her for very much longer. She was anxious for nightfall. Anxious to test her newfound theory that he’d come to care for her in ways that made her spirit soar and which heightened her desire. Tonight, perhaps, he would show her the same affection that he did during the light of day.
She glanced up, drinking in the sight of his strong, dark profile. A tremor of uncertainty ruffled her confidence. What if he insisted on repeating their activities of the prior night? Could she tolerate such abuse, even for him?
She frowned. Based on her limited knowledge, she’d expected to find pleasure and joy in such conduct. She couldn’t imagine it.
When they were within a few feet of Marie, Vincent pulled back on Bridgett’s arm and placed a finger against his lips.
“Wait here,” he whispered.
She watched as he bent to scoop something from the sand at his feet. It appeared to be a plant of some sort, with long, brown, slimy-looking tendrils.
He crept over to his sleeping sister and dangled the plant above her face, just inches away.
Bridgett had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing aloud when Marie wrinkled her nose. Obviously, the nasty thing smelled as bad as it looked.
“Marie, I brought you dessert.” Vincent wiggled his treasure in the air and bits of sand drifted down to land on her face.
“What? Oh, you cad! Vincent, I’m going to throttle you!” Marie bolted upright and slapped at her brother’s hand. The plant flew through the air, landing in a heap on the blanket.
Vincent pretended to be hurt, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. “Why Marie, I thought you would appreciate my small gift.”
“Of course you did.” She got to her feet and brushed at the sand on her dress. “Be careful, brother dear, or you may find it on your plate come dinner!”
“As long as you don’t attempt to cook it, for I’m sure you’d end up wearing it, instead!”
“Oh, you!” Marie started forward, but Vincent ducked out of her reach. He turned to run down the beach, his sister close on his heels.
Bridgett smiled at their antics, and bent to fold the picnic blanket. The sun had begun to sink on the horizon; they would have to return soon.
She had everything neatly packed up and ready to go by the time they returned.
They strolled up, arm in arm, but their voices were raised in a heated debate over Marie’s abilities, or lack thereof, in womanly arts.
“You cannot cook, you cannot sew, and I don’t believe you have ever lifted a hand to clean in your entire life,” Vincent goaded.
Marie looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned. “You are correct. But I’m very good at telling others how to do things, and to be honest, I like it that way!”
Vincent nodded, obviously pleased that he’d won the argument. “And that is as it should be, for a woman of your station.”
Bridgett turned away and untied her horse’s reins.
Cooking, sewing, cleaning – she could do all of those things. And that is as it should be, for a woman of your station.
She brushed the thought aside. Things were different now. She lived in a beautiful home, with servants to tend her every need.
“Let me help you.”
She turned to find the Count standing behind her. He picked her up and placed her carefully atop the mare.
Bridgett smiled her thanks and watched through lowered lashes as he went to assist his sister.
The muscles in his arms and back rippled beneath his shirt when he lifted Marie onto her horse. Bridgett’s mouth grew dry at the sight, and she turned her head. If only she could discern his intentions toward her, if only he would admit to having grown to care for her, even a little, life would be perfect.
“We should hurry. The path up the cliff can be treacherous in the dark.” The Count leapt onto Tempest’s back.
Bridgett guided her horse in line, bringing up the rear. They began to climb up the steep section of the passage, had only gone a few feet, when, without warning, Bridgett slid backwards.
“Help!” she screamed as she flew off, over the horse’s rump. The ground rushed to greet her, the impact forcing the air from her lungs in a rush. She lay still, eyes closed, trying to assess the damage to her body.
“Oh my Lord, Bridgett!”
Marie’s voices seemed to come from far away. Bridgett opened her eyes and tried to rise, but could not catch her breath. She was vaguely aware of a commotion, and then the Count’s face appeared above her.
“Don’t move,” he said. “Let me see if anything is broken.”
He slid his hands down each of her limbs. Bridgett remained motionless and concentrated on regulating her breathing.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
Her whole backside ached, but she didn’t think she’d suffered any serious injuries. “I think I’m all right. Would you help me up?”
He stood and took her outstretched hand, and gently pulled her to her feet.
“You’ll ride with me.” He did not release her. “Marie, can you lead her horse back to the stables?”
“Of course.”
“And send someone back to fetch the saddle.”
Bridgett frowned at his tone. He sounded angry, but she could not imagine why.
* * * * *
“The strap was cut.”
Bridgett snapped her head up to gape at the Count. Her hands shook, rattling her cup and saucer.
“Cut?” she repeated, and placed her tea on the tray.
Marie shook her head. “You must be mistaken.”
The Count dropped into a chair next to the fire, his brow creased with worry.
“I examined the saddle myself. It’s a clean slice; there is no sign of wear.”
“Do you know what you’re implying?” Marie asked. “That someone deliberately set out to harm Bridgett.
Why would someone do such a thing?”
“Who would do such a thing?” Bridgett looked from Marie to the Count.
“I don’t know.” He seemed genuinely perplexed. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Then it must be a mistake. Perhaps the strap caught on something in the stable?”
“Perhaps.” He conceded. “I trust my servants implicitly. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation. However, from now on, you are to have someone check your tack before you ride. Understood?”
Bridgett nodded and stood, happy to dismiss such a disturbing idea. “As you wish, milord.”
She gave him a searching look. “I believe I shall retire. It’s been a very long day.”
He did not respond, but continued staring into the fire, apparently deep in thought. Marie cleared her throat and stood up.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” she said, and crossed to the door. “Come along, Bridgett. I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Good-night, milord.” She whispered, then turned away, following Marie from the library.
Chapter Nine
Bridgett spent more time than usual preparing for bed. She lit all of the numerous candles throughout the room, bathed, and brushed her hair before the fire until it floated about her shoulders in silky waves. After slipping into the peignoir that the Count had bought her their second evening together, she curled up in a chair to await his arrival.
She must have fallen asleep, for when she next opened her eyes most of the candles had burned low and the fire had become nothing more than glowing embers.
Blinking to clear her sleep-clouded vision, she gazed into the darkness and tried to recall what had awakened her. She’d thought she had heard a noise, but everything was quiet and still.
Then, from the connecting door to the Count’s suite, came a faint rattle. It sounded like someone jiggling a key in a lock, or fumbling with the latch.
Curious, she rose from the chair and crept silently across the room, only to be knocked backwards as the door swung open.
“Ah, Bridgett, you waited up for me.”
His voice was thick and slurred. She took one look at his flushed face and knew he’d been drinking. From the way he shuffled forward, bumping into the doorjamb, he must have consumed a great deal.
She backed away. This was something she’d grown up with, but it surprised her to find that her Count had such a disgusting and wasteful habit.
Any thoughts she’d had about enjoying his presence this evening vanished as she watched him stumble toward her bed.
“C’mere, bella mia. I have a need for your services.” He collapsed upon the mattress with a grunt.
Bridgett cringed at his crass words. A need for her services? Gone was his concern for her well-being of earlier that evening. He had not even bothered to ask how she felt.
When she hesitated, he rolled onto his side and glared at her. “I said get over here, and I mean this instant!”
Bridgett notched her chin up higher, refusing to submit to his brutish behavior. “I do not wish for your company tonight, milord. You are inebriated, and I have no desire to share my bed with a drunk.”
“You don’t wish?” His laugh sounded more like a growl. “Think you it matters what you wish? You forget your place, girl.”
“You would force me?” She took a step back, though he made no move to come toward her.
He stared at her, his face a mask of fury, then rolled onto his back. “I had thought the transformation to be complete. It appears I was wrong.”
She barely heard him, and watched as his eyes slipped closed. Experience told her he would soon fall into a deep sleep, but she had to ask.
“The transformation?”
“Didn’t work…like me…your hunger…doesn’t burn.”
Bridgett struggled to follow his disjointed ramblings.
“By now…should crave…” His words suddenly dissolved into a loud snore.
She crumpled into a chair, filled with both relief and painful disappointment. She was not sorry that he’d passed out, given his condition, yet she’d had such high hopes for this evening.
He snorted in his sleep and she glanced toward the bed in disgust. What had caused him to imbibe so heavily? Surely it was not something he did on a regular basis.
She frowned. Having only been in his presence a few short days, she could not be so sure. After all, he’d met her stepfather in a tavern. She made a mental note to ask a few discreet questions of Marie sometime soon.
Her thoughts turned to his senseless words. What did he mean by her ‘transformation’? What an odd choice of words… Especially when combined with the rest.
She shook her head and got up. All of a sudden, she wanted nothing more than to be away from him. His abusive and lewd suggestions were like razors cutting at her heart. Nothing between them had changed.
After donning a robe, she slipped out the door and into the dark hallway. A faint glow of light emanated up the stairwell from the bottom floor. Curious as to who might be awake at such an hour, she crept forward and tiptoed down
the stairs.
The door to the library stood open and she stepped inside.
“Marie. Why aren’t you asleep?”
Marie lowered her book and smiled wearily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I tossed and turned for several hours before finally giving up. Why are you still awake?”
Bridgett took the opposite chair before the fire. “I…um…Marie, does your brother drink?”
She flushed. So much for discreet.
Her friend did not seem offended by the abrupt question, but rather surprised. “Vincent? I think I have seen him over-indulge perhaps twice in my life. Why do you ask?”
“He, ah, came to my room just a little bit ago.”
“Drunk?” Marie’s disbelief was evident.
“I’m afraid so. He passed out in my bed.” She felt guilty in saying as much, but it couldn’t be helped. It was high time she learned a bit more about the man whose life had become entangled with her own.
“My brother is asleep in your bed? Can you not rouse him?”
Bridgett looked away. Waking him was the last thing she wanted to do. “I would rather not.”
Marie seemed to sense her discomfort. “If you’d like, I can awaken his valet and have him do it.”
“No, really. Just let him sleep.”
“And what of you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I will take the master’s suite.” She shrugged. “Or curl up on a sofa in here. It makes no difference.”
The two women were silent for a bit. Bridgett gathered her courage, then cleared her throat.
“Marie, can I ask you something else?”
“You may. Let me guess… This, too, concerns my beloved brother.”
“He said some things tonight. Things that made no sense to me. I thought, perhaps, you could shed some light on his meaning.”
“I can try.”
“He spoke of my ‘transformation’, and hunger and several other bits and pieces that seemed unconnected.”
Marie’s eyes grew wide and she paled. “Can you remember his exact words?”
Bridgett shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Except… Something about ‘by now your transformation should be complete’.”
Marie stared at the fire, and Bridgett waited patiently for her to respond.