Jill Noelle - The Dark Count (Ellora's Cave)

by james

  “I have an idea, but I can not be sure.”

  “Can you share it with me?”

  “I would rather be certain before I speak of it.” Marie stood and tossed her book on the chair. “I will get to the bottom of this in the morning, I assure you.”

  Bridgett wondered at the other girl’s agitation. “I didn’t mean to upset you, really. Perhaps we should simply forget the whole thing.”

  “It is not you who upsets me. You could never upset anyone. You are too kind and honest and good-natured.” She paused and closed her eyes, as if pained by some private thought. “But I’m afraid those are exactly the qualities that will land you in trouble. If I don’t do something about it.”

  Bridgett didn’t know what to say. She’d searched for answers, only to come away more confused than ever.

  “I’m going to bed. Will you be all right? Would you like me to escort you to an empty suite?”

  An image of the room with the faux painting flashed in her mind and Bridgett shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine, really. I think I will read for a bit and then I will sleep in milord’s chamber. It will serve him right, for invading my own.”

  Marie laughed. “Perhaps there is hope for you, after all. Goodnight, my friend, and do not worry. Tomorrow I will find us some answers.”

  * * * * *

  Vincent put his fingers to his throbbing temples. He’d awakened with a rolling stomach that had kept him leaning over the chamber pot half the morning, wishing he were dead.

  Now, to make matters worse, his sister had waylaid him when he’d gone for coffee, and insisted that she speak with him immediately.

  She paced before him, her face set, her eyes sparkling with anger. She whirled to face him, hands on hips.

  “I know what you are up to, Vincent, and I demand that you stop this instant.”

  He closed his eyes against the pain in his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Bridgett. What you’re doing to her is unconscionable.”

  “Bridgett?” His lovely houseguest was the last topic he wished to discuss. He’d done enough thinking about her last night. It had driven him to lose himself in a bottle. “I told you, it doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong.” Marie’s tone turned venomous. “I have grown to care for her a great deal, and I’ll not tolerate the abuse you have planned for her.”

  He searched her face. “Abuse? What ‘plan’?”

  “You really shouldn’t drink, brother dear. It seems you become quite talkative when you’re drunk. I believe you spoke of her ‘transformation’.”

  He winced, the pain in his head suddenly doubling. So, he’d done more than make a fool out of himself by passing out in Bridgett’s bed last night.

  “It’s none of your business, and I don’t want to talk about it.” He stood and headed for the door.

  “Vincent, don’t you dare walk out on me.”

  He kept going.

  “I’ll tell her. I swear, I’ll tell her everything.”

  She’d raised her voice to gain his attention, but she needn’t have bothered. Her words made him stop in his tracks.

  * * * * *

  Bridgett awoke to the sound of Marie’s voice, raised in anger in the next room. She carefully lowered her legs to the floor, wrinkling her brow at the stiffness of her joints. She’d fallen asleep in the wing chair by the fire, book in hand, and every muscle in her body screamed in displeasure as she got up and stretched.

  Wondering what, or who, Marie could be yelling at this early in the morning, she went out into the hall to investigate. The dining room doors were only half-closed.

  “All right. I will listen to what you have to say.”

  The Count spoke softly, but Bridgett, standing just outside the room, heard him quite clearly. So Marie had confronted him already. She’d certainly wasted no time.

  “My demand is simple,” came Marie’s reply. “Whatever ‘transformation’ you had planned for her, I want you to forget about it.”

  “I can’t be responsible for anything I might have said while intoxicated, Marie. I don’t even remember saying anything about a ‘plan’ or ‘transformation’.” He sounded irritated, and Bridgett could imagine him running his hand through his hair in an impatient gesture.

  “Besides, she’s perfectly content with her position here.”

  “Her position? What position?” Marie asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Oh! You must mean the one where she’s flat on her back, beneath you!”

  Bridgett felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Mortified, she held her breath and listened for the Count’s reply.

  “Might I remind you that women of your stature do not think of such things, let alone speak of them?”

  “You hypocrite! Don’t you dare lecture me, Vincent. In light of our upbringing, it took me only a moment to realize why you’d installed her in our home. You put her in the room next to yours! You dress her like a prostitute. Do you think I’m a half-wit? No. Don’t answer that. You obviously do, else you wouldn’t think you could get away with this behavior under my very nose.”

  “She’s been here four days. Why did you wait until now to say something?”

  “Because I didn’t mind, truly. I thought her to be someone you cared about, even if only a little, but when she came to me last night…”

  Bridgett waited out the silence that followed. Every fiber of her being told her Marie’s next statement would prove important.

  “Transformation, Vincent. That’s what papa called it, you know? Did you think I’d forgotten?”

  “I told you, I can’t be responsible for the rants of a drunk. Bridgett is perfectly safe in my care."

  “Oh, but you are responsible. I’m holding you responsible. A mistress is one thing… I’ll not pretend to morals I don’t hold. But you will not break her or treat her like a whore; you will not destroy her as you were destroyed.”

  “I’m not hurting her.”

  Bridgett barely heard him. Had he walked away, or merely lowered his voice?

  “Do you care for her?”

  “Of course I care for her.”

  He didn’t sound very convincing, and Marie’s next statement verified the fact.

  “Like you care for your horse. Or the servants. Oh, Vincent, why don’t you let her go? She’s too sweet and naïve to even realize what you’re about. The poor girl probably believes that you love her, by now. She’s no match for your charm.”

  Bridgett put her hands to her face. Only then did she notice her tears. Tears of shame. How could she have been such a fool?

  “I told you I won’t hurt her, but she belongs to me, Marie. I’ll not let her go.”

  His voice grew louder, as if he walked near the door, and Bridgett backed away. She could not face either one of them this moment.

  “I’ll be watching you, Vincent. If you hurt her, you will answer to me.”

  “I am the master here, dear sister. I will not hurt her – not in the manner you imagine – but I will not stand for your interference in my dealings with the girl.”

  Bridgett turned and fled. Before she was discovered. Before she lost complete control and could no longer stifle her sobs.

  She eased closed the door to her chamber, then leaned against it, trying to catch her breath. Marie’s statements echoed in her mind. A prostitute. A mistress. Why had it taken hearing the words to open her eyes? Was she really as naïve as that? She’d gone blithely along with the Count’s instructions thinking…what? It came to her in a rush, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to hide from her own childishness. Her white knight. Her dreams of becoming a ‘lady’. With sudden clarity, she knew exactly why she’d allowed herself to become the plaything of an aristocrat. She’d not managed to let go of her dreams, after all. They were still there, buried deep, but alive enough to fool her into thinking they could become a reality.

  A whore.

  She glanced down at her gown, seeing it for the first
time with eyes wide open. The flashy color, the indecently tight and low neckline, the gaudy trim.

  Rage, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, forced her into action and she snatched the paring knife from the plate of fruit on the table. She stalked to the armoire, flung open the doors, gathered an armful of gowns and tossed them on the bed.

  She slashed at them, slicing the long skirts to ribbons, ripping the bodices clear to the waist. She vented all of her anger, all of her humiliation, all of her pain on her wardrobe until nothing remained but tattered strips of silk, satin and velvet.

  The sun broke through the curtains and glinted off the blade of the knife. The brilliant flash penetrated the haze of her anger and she blinked rapidly, taking in the destruction before her.

  With a sob, she flung the knife away from her and spun around.

  There was no one there to stop her as she ran from the castle.

  Chapter Ten

  “Marie?”

  His sister looked up and placed her writing quill on the desk before her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “And what on earth is that?”

  “Have you seen Bridgett?” Vincent tried to keep his voice calm.

  “No, not since last night. What happened?” She looked from the object he held in his hands, to his face, and paled.

  “Oh Lord,” she whispered, “you don’t think…”

  “I’m afraid so. I’ve searched the castle and she’s gone.” He tossed the torn gown onto a nearby chair and spun on his heels. “I’m going to look for her. You stay here, in case she comes back.”

  “Vincent! Wait!”

  He stopped and turned back abruptly, impatient to be gone. “What is it?”

  “If you find her… When you find her, be gentle. If she overheard our conversation this morning, she’s undoubtedly hurt.”

  “If she overheard, she’s probably feeling more than just hurt,” he muttered.

  “Be that as it may, I will brook no interference from you, Marie. The girl is mine. I must handle her as I see fit.”

  “You will not hurt her.”

  “I will not harm a hair on her pretty head, but nor will I permit her to leave. She belongs to me.” He slammed the door behind him, unwilling to listen to any more of her demands.

  Marie stared into space for several moments, then grinned. Perhaps he cared for the girl a bit more than his horse, after all.

  * * * * *

  Vincent drew Tempest to a stop and cocked his head, listening for any sound that might betray her whereabouts. There was only one logical direction in which Bridgett could have gone. She surely would not care to follow any of the other smaller, more overgrown passages, and he didn’t believe she would head toward the sea. He’d taken the main path into the forest, had gone perhaps a mile, before he’d discovered a strip of lace, caught on the limb of a low-hanging bush. With shaking hands, he had paused to untangle it. He’d held it to his face, breathing in her scent. After saying a quick prayer for her safety, he’d continued on.

  A full hour had passed since then, and anxiety gnawed at his gut. The sun was on its downward slide; even now, daylight barely penetrated the dense foliage of tall trees that surrounded him. If he did not find her soon, she would be alone in the dark.

  A soft cry came from his right, somewhere off the path. He dismounted and tethered Tempest to a tree before venturing into the thick underbrush.

  “Who’s there?” Her attempt at bravery was only marred by the slight tremor in her voice.

  Vincent didn’t answer, but proceeded toward the spot where he guessed her to be. Let her worry, the little fool. It was the least she deserved for running off alone. What could she possibly have been thinking? That she would walk all the way home on foot?

  “I have a weapon.”

  This time, her panic was clearly evident, and he softened. Deciding to ease her distress, he called out. “It’s only me, Bridgett. Stay where you are and keep talking so I can find you.”

  “Oh!” Her cry of outrage came from the other direction, and he adjusted his course appropriately, smiling at her obvious dismay at being discovered. Peeling back the feathery limb of a tall fir tree, he eased his way into a clearing.

  “What on earth are you doing in here?” He swept her with his gaze, taking in her torn and dirty appearance.

  She looked as if she’d been traveling for days, instead of mere hours, but seemed unharmed.

  “I had to…never mind. Why don’t you go away?”

  Catching her meaning, he smiled at her modesty and moved closer, intending to take her hand and lead her back to his horse.

  “Ouch!” She cried out and pulled away.

  “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” He looked at her closely.

  “My hair. It’s stuck on this dratted bush!”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and edged in behind her. “Hold still and I’ll untangle you.”

  “As if I could move.”

  Vincent chuckled softly. “Sometimes I forget you can have such a biting tongue, mistress. You usually keep it well-hidden.”

  “There are a lot of things about me which you do not know, milord.” Her words conveyed both anger and pain.

  He unraveled a long strand of her hair that had somehow gotten twisted several times around a large thorn. Wrinkling his brow in concentration on the task before him, he chose to ignore her baiting until they were in a more appropriate place for conversation.

  “Almost done.” With a final wrench, he freed her head, leaving behind several long, golden strands. He shook his head. So much for his promise to Marie.

  “Ouch!” She broke away and turned to give him a light slap on his arm. “What are you trying to do, rip all of my hair from my head?”

  “It couldn’t be helped. How in the world did you manage to get it so raveled up?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention to where I put my head. I had other, more pressing issues to worry about at the time.”

  She notched her chin up, as if daring him to question her on what, exactly, those more pressing issues had been.

  “If looks could kill…” He reached for her hand.

  “How did you get around me without my knowing it?”

  He looked down at her, beginning to lose his patience. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “I heard you,” she gestured behind them, “over there. How did you circle around so quickly?”

  “I came directly from the path, which is in the other direction. Come along,” he tugged at her hand, “I’ll get us out of here.”

  Again, she pulled back. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

  He clenched his fists and returned her determined stare. The little wench wasn’t going to allow him to put off the confrontation; she was going to force him to deal with her now.

  “I know you were listening this morning, and I’m sorry you were hurt by what you heard,” he told her, “but nothing has changed between us. You are mine, and I am taking you home.”

  “Everything has changed between us.”

  Her voice trembled, and he hoped she would not start to cry.

  “I was a fool. A stupid, naïve, awestruck fool.” She glanced away, but turned back, her eyes glittering with anger and unshed tears. “But you, milord, you were much worse. You knew exactly what you were about, and used my innocence against me.”

  Vincent found it difficult to look her in the eye. He’d planned worse, but she could not know it. Guilt, unfamiliar and unwelcome, caused him to lash out defensively.

  “None of that makes any difference. The fact still remains that I won you, I own you. I had every right to do with you as I pleased.” He kept his voice cool and detached. “Now, you will either come with me willingly, or I will carry you. The choice is yours, but I will not stand here and debate this with you further. It will be full dark soon.”

  She remained silent for a moment. He watched her face in the shadows, and knew the minute she decided to acquiesce. Amazing
, how well he’d come to know her moods in such a short time.

  “Very well, milord, I will go with you. But I give you fair warning; I will not be any man’s mistress, or whore, or prostitute. Not willingly, at any rate.”

  Vincent’s laugh came harsh and abrupt. “Believe me, bella mia, when I tell you I would never force you. I won’t have to; you have come that far, at least. As I said, nothing has changed between us. Now, will you come willingly, or shall I toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here?”

  With an outraged oath, she turned and began to fight her way through the underbrush toward the path.

  Vincent frowned at her use of such language, but imagined he’d pushed her far enough for it to be warranted.

  He followed after her. A sense of unease washed over him, as if the situation were spiraling out of his control. It made him feel panicked, and he despised feeling helpless. Somehow, he would regain the advantage.

  Darkness, soft and dazzling in its starlit brilliance, greeted them as they left the treed canopy of the forest. Bridgett gazed upward and made a wish on the first shining orb that caught her eye. For strength to face the coming days. For the ability to resist him.

  She sighed and looked over the Count’s shoulder. They were approaching the castle, would be within its walls in moments. Panic made her stomach tighten.

  She’d battled a turmoil of emotions ever since he’d come upon her. Anger at having been found, followed instantly by an irrational rush of joy at hearing his voice. Pain at his cavalier attitude when he’d spoken of their situation; rage when he threatened to force her to return with him.

  In truth, returning to the castle was the only reasonable choice. She’d left in high emotion, with no thought or plan, and would not have survived more than a few days in the forest.

  But that did not mean she had to like it, and it did not mean she would stay.

  She had suffered a rude awakening this morning, and a loss. No longer blinded by ignorance, she’d become instantly jaded. Never again could she look at life with the eyes of an innocent.

  “Marie will be happy you are safe.”

  She did not answer, but suffered a twinge of guilt. The Count’s sister was her first true friend, and she did not like being the cause of her distress.