A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4)

by Chasity Bowlin

  Olympia didn’t hesitate for a second. She opened the door, stepped out carefully into the cleared swatch of floor in the center and ran. In her soft kid slippers, her feet were nearly silent on the floor as she hurried toward the door. Once in the main hallway again, she ducked back into the same alcove where she’d hidden earlier and tried to catch her breath.

  Running in stays, especially when terrified of being caught, was torture. Her ankle pained her something fierce and she was bound to come face to face with Mrs. Webster at any moment.

  The door at the end of the hall opened again, and Olympia leaned back against the wall. She would surely be caught and then any agreement she might have reached with Lord Darke would surely be null and void. He’d send her packing. The fate of any woman turned out by her husband was bound to be a gruesome one.

  But once again, Mrs. Webster simply brushed past her, never pausing as she deposited a vial in the pocket of her dress, just beneath the clinking chatelaine at her waist. As Mrs. Webster’s steps receded, the wailing and shrieking began to lessen. What, Olympia wondered, was in that bottle?

  After waiting several moments to be sure the housekeeper was well and truly gone, Olympia drew her shawl from her shoulder and bundled her purloined items in the center and folded them up inside. Reaching beneath the hem of her gown, she secured the shawl about her waist, and then smoothed her dress. If she were caught, she would simply say she was out for a walk. It was a much more palatable explanation than snooping through forbidden rooms in a house where she was barely welcome to start.

  Stepping from her hiding place, she made her way along the corridor. Before turning the corner into the main hall that would take her back to her own chamber, Olympia peered carefully around. Mrs. Webster stood near the door to her chamber. She’d raised her hand to knock, just as Collins popped out of one of the many servants’ doors that lined the hallway.

  “Where is your mistress?” Mrs. Webster demanded.

  “She’s sleeping,” Collins lied smoothly.

  “I knocked… quite loudly,” Mrs. Webster stated. “Her door is locked!”

  “She had no wish to be disturbed,” Collins replied. Her gaze skated past Mrs. Webster to Olympia’s pale face just visible as she peeked around the corner.

  “Then why are you here?” The housekeeper was clearly having none of it.

  “Because it is the time that she asked me to wake her,” Collins retorted.

  “Then I shall wait,” Mrs. Webster stated smugly.

  Collins squared her thin shoulders and met the housekeeper’s hard gaze. “M’lady’s instructions, specifically, Mrs. Webster, were that she had no wish to be disturbed by you. I will inform her that you wish to speak to her, but whether she wishes to speak to you is her choice, I reckon!”

  “You cheeky girl! I’ll have you sacked for this!”

  Collins never blinked. “You can’t. The only person who can send me packing is her ladyship. And as I’m only doing what she asked, I doubt she’ll see it your way.”

  Mrs. Webster appeared to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Olympia could see her trembling from her present vantage point. The woman’s hand flew back as if she meant to strike the maid, but before it could happen a masculine voice called out.

  “What the devil is going on?” Lord Darke shouted as he opened his chamber door. “Mrs. Webster?”

  “This girl is refusing to wake her mistress!”

  “As her mistress undoubtedly instructed her, Mrs. Webster. You may have the run of the house but you do not have the run of a peer or his wife,” Lord Darke reminded her imperiously.

  As Olympia looked on, the housekeeper glanced back over her shoulder toward her hiding place. If she’d turned just a few more inches, Olympia would have been spotted. Finally, the woman glared at Lord Darke one last time then swept past all of them toward the main staircase, as if she had every right to use it.

  Never in all of Olympia’s dealings with the upper class had a servant, even one in such a lofty position as housekeeper, made so free with the house that employed her. Eventually, Lord Darke retreated into his room. Warily, Olympia left her hiding place and approached Collins who still stood in the hallway looking like a ghost.

  “I thought she’d take my head clean off,” the younger woman muttered.

  “I think she’d prefer to have mine,” Olympia replied in a conspiratorial tone. “Why is my chamber door locked?”

  Collins blushed. “It isn’t the first time I caught her sniffing around this door today. She was waiting to go through your things when you went down to breakfast.”

  Olympia wanted to be angry, but since she’d just done the very same thing, she simply moved on. “But she has a key!”

  Collins smiled. “It isn’t just locked with a key, my lady. I put a chair under the knob. I’ll be going through the servants’ entrance through your dressing room and will let you in that way.”

  Collins was proving far more resourceful than she’d ever imagined. Hairstyling could be taught, but what she’d just done could not. “How did you know she didn’t use the servant’s entrance?”

  The maid shrugged, a slight lift of her thin and frail looking shoulders. “She won’t sneak in that way, because she feels it’s her right to go in like quality… bold as brass, my lady. Or so I suspect.”

  “Let me in quickly. We’re going to have a very long afternoon,” Olympia said.

  She felt exposed in the hallway, as if there were eyes watching and ears listening in to every word that was said.

  Seven

  A short time later Griffin, now clad in his riding clothes, exited his chambers and headed for the stairs. Mrs. Webster’s boldness was proving far more problematic than he’d imagined. He would not allow her to run roughshod over Olympia, but he was in a delicate position. The things she knew about his family could result in catastrophic ruin both socially and financially. He was over a barrel in more ways than one. And at the moment, rather than face up to the problems that were clearly going nowhere, he elected to run away. A fast gallop over the fields on Balthazar would do much to improve his mood.

  The side benefit of his ride would be getting out of the house and away from the temptation that Olympia presented. He needed five minutes’ peace, five minutes of not thinking of her in the chamber next to his, wondering what she was doing, what she was wearing—or more importantly, what she was not wearing.

  As he stepped outside, the cold air hit him squarely. A storm was brewing. Snow would be falling before the night was through and judging by the leaden sky, there would be more than enough of it to keep them housebound for some time. There would be no sending her away, he realized. Without time to make proper arrangements, it wouldn’t be safe and whatever else occurred, he meant to be certain that she was protected, at the very least.

  Once his horse was saddled, he mounted quickly and took off over the moors. The path he used was one he knew well, the same one where he’d encountered Olympia only two days earlier. In only forty-eight hours, she’d turned his whole world upside down. But her presence and the resulting upheaval in his world was exciting and so very little in his world had excited him in a very long time.

  The first flakes fell as he whipped the stallion around and headed toward the road. The rumbling of carriage wheels reached him long before the carriage rounded the bend. It would be Florence, of course, he thought bitterly.

  A feeling of dread settled inside him, making him want to ride on, to simply gallop away from all of it and forget all of his problems. But that wasn’t possible, because it would mean leaving Olympia alone in a house with Mrs. Webster and the viper who was even now rounding the bend to Darkwood Hall. His aunt by marriage, the young and troublesome widow of his late uncle had returned from far too short a visit to their neighbor and her only friend, Lady Darlington. She would bring misery and histrionics with her, as they were her constant companion.

  Griffin uttered a word he would never have said in polite company and tugge
d at the reins and turned Balthazar back toward the house. He had a responsibility to see to her safety and comfort and he would not shirk it, even at the loss of his own.

  The ride home was frigid, the weather turning quickly and the ground covered in a thin dusting of snow by the time he reached the stables. Griffin prayed they would not get a heavy snow. The last thing he wanted was to be part of a captive audience for her dramatics.

  ***

  In her room, Olympia carefully removed the first from the packet of letters and unfolded it. They were not addressed to anyone and there was no signature at the end. As she read, she quickly began to understand why. The passionate prose was clearly a communication between secret lovers. It wasn’t just intimate, it was also quite risqué. Her face heated as she read the detailed account of love and desire.

  “What did you find, my lady?” Collins asked.

  A particularly heated phrase had Olympia stammering her response. “Love letters… though there’s no indication of who they might have been written to or by.”

  “Maybe the letters was to or from the person who wrote in that book,” Collins suggested helpfully as she worked her needle through the torn fabric of Olympia’s traveling dress. The many falls she’d taken during her hike over the moors and nearly being trampled by Viscount Darke’s horse had taken quite a toll on the garment.

  It was a rather good suggestion. Setting aside the letters and uncertain exactly why she was so reluctant to do so, Olympia reached for the book. Inscribed on the inside book plate was a name. Miss Patrice Landon. The handwriting in the journal appeared quite different from that of the letters, indicating that perhaps she’d been the recipient of such ardent devotion and desire.

  Who was Patrice Landon and why were such personal and private letters hidden in the confines of a series of forbidden rooms within the bowels of Darkwood Hall?

  A commotion in the hallway prompted Olympia to hide the letters and journal. She tucked them into the sewing basket that she despised and quickly grabbed up a piece of embroidery that she’d been working on for far too long already. It was a hopeless case.

  Collins eyed the hopelessly mangled piece of cloth with something akin to horror. “Who did that?”

  “I did,” Olympia snapped. “I know it’s horrible! Now hush!”

  Olympia had no sooner uttered the admonishment when a knock sounded at the door. It swung inward and Mrs. Webster marched in as if it was well within her right to do so. “Lady Florence Griffin, Viscountess Darke has returned to the hall. It would be appropriate for you to greet her and welcome her upon her return!”

  “Viscountess Darke?”

  Mrs. Webster smiled coolly. “I misspoke, my lady. Lady Florence Griffin has returned.”

  With that bold pronouncement, Mrs. Webster turned on her heel and left. It was a command, clearly, and one that Olympia had no clear way to get out of it because the housekeeper was right. It was her place to greet Lady Florence.

  Shoving the embroidery aside, Olympia rose and straightened her gown. “I have the distinct impression this is not going to go well. Mrs. Webster seems quite pleased to have my husband’s aunt in residence… I fear I have yet another enemy under this roof, Collins. Be certain those letters and the journal are well hidden. I can’t help but feel they are important and I do not want anyone to abscond with them before I can gather what I need from them.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Collins said and rose from her own perfect embroidery. “M’lady?”

  “Yes, Collins?”

  “I had awful dreams last night, m’lady. And I can’t help but thinking about what happened before we left. Do you think he’s recovered, your uncle?”

  Olympia felt the blood drain from her face. “I doubt it. I doubt that he shall ever recover, Collins. And we must not speak of it. There are people in this house who would use anything against us. No more talk of our lives in London. They are over and done. We will make the best of our new lives here. Understood?”

  The maid nodded her agreement and ducked her head to hide the stray tears that escaped her. It wasn’t love for her previous employer. Olympia knew that. It was the same fear that haunted her—that one day the truth of what had happened to him would come out and they would both have to pay for it.

  Stepping into the corridor, Olympia once again found herself face to face with her husband. He had avoided her for the most part, and had certainly avoided being alone with her. A small squeak escaped her as she stumbled toward him, brought up short by her own surprise.

  He reached out, his hand closing over her forearm to steady her. The heat of it brought to mind the letters she’d just read, words detailing the longing for a heated touch, the pleasure in a caress, in a kiss.

  “Are you so eager for my company, then?” he asked. “Or is it my touch that has you so eager, Olympia?”

  Olympia could feel the heat creeping up her neck as a blush stained her cheeks.

  “I simply wasn’t expecting to see you lurking in the hall,” she retorted.

  “Speaking of lurking in the hall,” he said. “Mrs. Webster is on a tear, ranting to the rafters about you allegedly spying and lurking about. Please do try not to antagonize her.”

  “My every drawn breath antagonizes her.”

  He didn’t laugh, but his lips quirked upward in a sardonic smile. “That is quite true,” he agreed. “But let us try to cohabit peaceably, shall we?”

  “Is that possible?” she asked frankly. She seemed to always be irritating him. Her very presence was vexing to him and he’d made it quite apparent that he was eager enough to be free of her. And yet, he looked at her in a way that made her blush and stammer, that made the blood race in her veins.

  “We shall soon find out,” he said. “The snow has just begun to fall. We will be trapped here together… whether for a day or a week is anyone’s guess. In considering the implications of that, I realized one very more important fact.”

  “And what is that, my lord?”

  “That I rather like the idea of being trapped with you for days.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “I thought I could resist you… I thought,” Griffin continued, “That I could live in this house with you and not consummate our union. But I cannot. I will not. I mean to make you my wife in every sense. But there is one thing you must know… we will never have children. Precautions will be taken to ensure it.”

  He spoke so matter-of-factly about things she simply could not. It also sparked a dozen questions in her mind. What sort of precautions? How did one go about preventing a child when the very activity he spoke of was intended to create one? More to the point, would she be content with that? For now, certainly, but at some point, would she want more, would she feel that overwhelming maternal need? What would happen then?

  “I see… Before I agree to this, as clearly your man failed to enlighten me sufficiently as to what precisely would be awaiting me here at Darkwood Hall, there are things that I need assurances of,” she said.

  “I will do my best to offer them,” he replied evenly. Yet his hand never stopped moving on her arm, his fingers tracing delicate lines over her skin.

  Olympia looked at him directly, challengingly even, as she tried to curb her response to him. She would not be put off and she would not be lied to and she would not be distracted by the tenderness of his touch. “Those sounds I heard last night were most assuredly not the wind. What is going on in this house?”

  He stared back, considering his answer carefully, it seemed to her. After what seemed an interminable pause in the conversation, he finally spoke. “I cannot tell you precisely what is happening. There are secrets in this house, but they are not mine to share. What I can tell you is that you have nothing to fear in this house… whatever is happening is not as it would seem, but it is not evil or wicked or anything else that some might say to you. Will that suffice as an explanation for now?”

  He’d turned it around her and now she was stuck. She had
no real bargaining power. There was nowhere else for her to go. Even assuming that her aunt and uncle, assuming he survived, would take her in again after she’d married a stranger by proxy and run off to the wilds of northern Yorkshire, she had no desire to return to their home and the fate that awaited her there. “For now,” she relented. “And Mrs. Webster? Can you assure me that she isn’t evil or wicked?”

  “No, I cannot.”

  Surprised, Olympia blinked at him rather owlishly at his bald statement. She hadn’t expected that he would simply admit it readily. The woman chilled her to the bone and clearly he had no great affection for her either. “Why do you permit her to remain?”

  “For yet more reasons that I am not at liberty to explain,” he replied. “She is a permanent fixture in this house and her authority, while not absolute, is significant. I will speak to her if she has been rude to you.”

  And the entire household would view her as a weak, mealy mouthed thing who required her husband to stand up for her in all things. It simply would not do. “That isn’t necessary. I will deal with Mrs. Webster as is needed… But I mean to run this household, my lord,” Olympia said emphatically. “I will never again live as a guest in my own home or bow to others in it.”

  “Is that why you consented to marry a man you’ve never met? Because you were being treated so in your own home?”

  Olympia decided that if he could have secrets then she was entitled to her own as well. “My reasons are my own to share, but I don’t mean to. Not now or ever. And that is all I mean to say on the matter.”

  A slight smile curved his lips and all she could think of was the kiss they’d shared— how it had felt when he’d pressed those lips to hers before. She understood desire, in theory, at least. But she’d never experienced it. Shocked as she had been, it hadn’t progressed to that point in his dressing room, but she was certainly aware that it could have. Given his stated intentions, it was something she should be glad of. If they were to consummate their union, then surely having a husband one desired was a stroke of good luck.