The Dream

by Jaycee Clark

  “Well, it’s not as if I started the rumor. It’s all over the ballroom.” The women went through the door.

  Mistress? Words and meanings danced wickedly in her head. She didn’t want to cause her family trouble. All she wanted was peace. Peace from the past, but even here she couldn’t find it.

  She’d always had a problem with people like Patti—Lady Patricia? They reminded her of the ballroom matrons. People who cared more about the scandal than what lay behind it. Self righteous individuals who never bothered to help her family. Women who would easily talk about her mother and then pretended as though nothing were wrong when her mother, or she, walked into church with a black eye or a bruised cheek. The more she thought about Patti’s words, the more they angered her.

  The black cloud of emotion ate at her. All the woman had probably ever had to worry about was what dress to wear to what occasion.

  Emily took a deep breath and stepped out from her hiding place. She did not wish to run into the ladies again. Slowly, she made her way down the hallway and stairs, her hand to her stomach. The warmth all but suffocated in here. More guests, if that were possible, seemed to cram the area below. She saw her grandmother glance her way and look back. Emily smiled at her and waved a hand in front of her face. She had to get out of here.

  Looking down, she saw the row of French doors open out onto a terrace. Emily hurried down the rest of the stairs and out into the night.

  The cool air damped against her skin. She rubbed her arms and tried to settle her nerves. Voices drifted from the open doors. People along the terrace laughed and chattered. Roses and verbena mingled in the air. It would be nice to find a quiet corner for just a moment.

  Emily went down the steps and onto the lawns. Hedges grew tall, almost like a maze, but more open. She walked along the shelled paths for several minutes, rosemary wafted on the breeze. The night air cleared her mind.

  Perhaps she should ignore Patti—whoever the young woman was. Yes she should ignore her. For if she brooded over things she couldn’t change, she was no better off than she ever had been.

  Cluttered thoughts gave way to solid visions of her future. She had no idea what she was doing, or where she was going. But one thing she’d learned since coming to England—no more fear.

  She shouldn’t have hidden behind the palm. She should have confronted Patti and her friend. But she hadn’t.

  She’d lived too long, been beaten down too low all under the fist of fear. From now on, whether or not it gave her a headache, or flipped her stomach with nausea, she was going to become the person she used to be. That young carefree girl. Granted, never as innocent, never as naïve again, but she wanted that strength back. Never again would she bow to a man, become his property to do with as he pleased.

  For the first time since she’d learned of Theodore’s death, she felt…hope.

  She was a widow. She was free and she would always remain that way.

  With a smile, Emily ran a hand down the vine hanging in the arbor before she turned to go, chilled that she’d been out this long, and stopped short.

  Her grin faded. A man stood in her path, just feet from her.

  Chapter Eight

  Jason scanned the ballroom again. He still held Emily’s lemonade. Where the devil was she? The men talking around him faded.

  “Will you relax?” Rayne said, leaning closer to him. “People are starting to notice.”

  “And your point is?”

  Rayne pulled back and looked at him. Jason ignored him, but Rayne kept on. “What exactly does that blithe remark of yours mean?”

  “You’re an intelligent individual, you figure it out.”

  “I’m not certain I want to.”

  Jason finally looked at Rayne. “Well, figure it out or don’t. Where is she?”

  Rayne shook his head. “You’re acting like her husband. No, more like her…”

  Jason raised his brow.

  “Never mind. I will not go into that uncharted territory.”

  “Lover?” Jason supplied.

  Rayne’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not your usual type.”

  “Thank God for that. Where Emily is concerned there is no ‘usual’.”

  “Jason.” The warning was there in his friend’s voice.

  He ignored it.

  “Jason, she’s not your average widow. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “Nor do I. Where is she? She doesn’t know anyone.”

  Lady Redgrave came up to them. “Where is Emily? Has she returned?”

  “Returned from where?” he asked.

  Lady Warring glanced around, and wrung her hands. “Rayne, I think it best if we leave. I just heard… I pray to God your father doesn’t hear.”

  “Hear what?” Jason asked.

  “Mother, what are you talking about?”

  She sighed, looked around and motioned them aside. “Oh, there is your father. He’s still smiling, so he hasn’t heard. I’m getting him home before he does.” She looked at her son. “Will you bring Emily home? Please?”

  “Yes. What happened?”

  “Many of the younger people here do not remember Elizabeth.” Victoria Warring took a deep breath. “They’re saying… That is they think…” She looked over her shoulder and Jason followed her gaze to her husband. “They think Emily is your mistress, Rayne. Some wonder if she’s not Ravensworth’s and to get back at him for looking for a bride, she’s turned to you. That’s just one of the…”

  “There you are, my dear.” Lord Redgrave stepped up to his wife and she immediately smiled. “Is something the matter?”

  “Oh, Edward, I’m sorry, but I’m really not feeling just the thing. Could you please take me home? The boys said they’d escort Emily along later.”

  Lord Redgrave looked around. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, probably dancing with some poor man with stars in his eyes.”

  He scanned the floor, but nodded. “I’ll go call for our carriage.”

  Before she left, she leaned over and said, “Emily went outside a while ago. Go check on her. She seemed upset. Mayhap she heard.” Lady Redgrave frowned. “I so wanted tonight to be perfect for her.”

  With that Lady Redgrave followed her husband to the entrance.

  “Bloody hell,” Rayne muttered. Then pierced him with a scowl. “Emily is not going to be your lover.”

  Jason arched a brow. “Of course she is.”

  Rayne’s eyes flashed.

  “But she’ll also be my wife.”

  Rayne stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  * * * * *

  Emily looked at the man, but he didn’t budge. She would have to move around him to get back to the house. A trickle of unease slid through her.

  Strong. It was time to be strong. Tilting her chin up, she smiled at him and tried to pass. “Excuse me.”

  He didn’t move, and the air around them tightened. Just as she was even with him, his hand clamped hard on her left arm, not hurting her, but firm enough.

  “What a wary little bird you are, Madam.” His voice smiled and though he spoke in English, she caught the trace of a French accent. “I’ve waited for you. You’ve a protective guard around you, no?” His hand tightened.

  Who was he? Her heart tripped in her chest. She tried another step, but he didn’t let go of her arm, just slid his hand down to her wrist.

  “Please. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I need to get back in before I’m missed,” she tried.

  His laugh grated like gravel across pavement. His voice was deep, crushed leaves in the winter. “Oh, we’ve a few minutes yet before your uncle and Ravensworth come looking.” The manacle around her wrist tightened and he jerked her forward. Her stomach twisted as if knives danced within her. “I’ve watched you for days now.”

  He bent her arm up behind her, still keeping her facing him. Her left shoulder pulled and she winced. He leaned in closer and Emily stepped back.

&nbs
p; His breath held liqueur and cheroots. “The little fighting Colonial,” he whispered.

  Emily tried to tamp down on the panic building in her. “H-how do you know me?”

  Again his laughter grated out. “Madam, you wound me. And I thought I had…” He kept walking, forcing her backward, until her foot caught and she would have fallen, but he kept her up. “Made such an impression.” He tsked. “Do you not remember me, cherie?”

  Emily tried to sit, but he pulled her far enough away from whatever was behind her that she stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Oh, God, who was he? Why had she left the terrace?

  “I can smell your fear, little bird,” he said softly, leaning down low to brush his lips against her ear.

  “Please don’t.” She straightened, the shells of the ground grinding through her petticoat and silk skirt. Water trickled in the fountain behind her. That must be what she’d backed up against.

  “You should have died that night.” His whisper was so soft she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “I never leave witnesses. Then again, you should not have been there at all.”

  “What?”

  His dark chuckle scaled between them. Where was Jason? Rayne?

  “Do you know what many are saying about you, Widow Smith?”

  How did the man know her name? She needed to think.

  His hand grabbed her hair and jerked her head up. Still she couldn’t see his features. “Do you? I shall tell you, no? They are wondering if you are Warring’s or Ravensworth’s whore. And I’ve never cared for either of the bastards.” He let go to gently finger a strand of her hair. “I must admit, you’ve lovely hair.”

  The man half jerked her to him, crushing her mouth to his. Emily stumbled, not standing, yet not really kneeling on the ground any longer. Too shocked to do anything, panic coated her senses.

  This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t.

  His hand on her wrist twisted her arm up behind her back even higher and pain speared from her wound. Emily moaned.

  The man slowly pulled back and quickly released her wrist, only to slam his hand down on her throbbing shoulder. Thick pain throbbed up her neck, down her arm, to tingle in her fingers.

  She licked her lips.

  “Now, the reason I came. Time’s short, no?” He pushed her back even harder, his fingers stabling unerringly into the wound.

  Emily gasped.

  “As a gentleman I should not exploit your weakness.” He leaned in close again, his face next to hers. “But few have ever been foolish enough to think me a gentleman, and I want to know that you heed what I am saying to you.”

  His fingers dug in even harder. Tears stung her eyes as pain shot up her arm.

  “Are you listening?” he asked.

  A friend once taught her how to hit. She’d done it once and only once, to Theodore. This man wasn’t Theodore and there were people here to help her.

  Emily fisted her free hand and swung upwards, trying to slam her fist against his ear.

  He ducked and chuckled. “A good try, ma petite but you should not fight with one who teaches others how to play. I suppose I must do this the hard way, yes?”

  She heard the slither of a knife from leather, she knew that sound.

  “What are you going—”

  The edge of the knife rested just beneath her jaw. His other hand still sparked the pain in her shoulder. “Are you listening now, little bird?”

  She started to nod, but the blade, wicked sharp, stung just under her ear. “Y-yes.”

  “Good, ma petite. Now pay attention. Tell your uncle and Raven to keep out of my business, or the next time I will make certain you are dead, rather than leave you in the rain.” He chuckled. “How wonderful to not only create the victim but then to be able to use her later in the game. I was very angry when I learned you were on the stage. I do not like to kill women, but I’ll do what I must. I was even slightly relieved to learn you lived. It’s only better seeing how protective they are of you, to learn who you are and how I can use you to twist the bastards who hunt me.”

  Her eyes slid closed and terror batted in her chest, stealing her breath. Of course, the Frenchman. The carriage. That voice.

  “But…”

  “Shhh…” His lips brushed her ear. “I don’t like to repeat myself. But your blood will be on their hands if they continue to meddle.”

  She shivered.

  “You give them the message, yes?” The knife pricked just a bit harder, the finger digging in her shoulder until black spots danced before her eyes and her stomach greased with sickness.

  “Y-yes. They’re not to meddle.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “I’m glad now I didn’t kill you weeks ago. This is so much more entertaining.”

  He straightened and freed her. She slumped back against the fountain, sweat prickling down her back.

  “Who are you?” she asked. She saw he was not a large man, not like her uncle or Ravensworth, but she had felt his strength. Medium of build, wiry, he was strong enough to do what he wanted.

  His chuckle danced again between them on the night air. With a flourish, he bowed. “Pardon. De Fleur, at your service, ma petite.”

  Emily closed her eyes and tried to swallow past the nausea, pain pulsing in her shoulder.

  “I will be returning to France soon. But I’ll still have someone watching you and if Ravensworth and Warring don’t mind their own business, I’ll see to it that you become mine, no? Tell them that.”

  Quickly, she opened her eyes and as suddenly as he’d appeared, quiet as the shadows, he was gone. Where was he? She looked one way then the other. Nothing moved, nothing shifted.

  Emily sat still and waiting on the cold ground, listening. Nothing moved. The faint sounds of music floated on the air, the occasional burst of laughter pierced the night. Water trickled behind her, splashing into the fountain.

  Slowly, grabbing the edge of the fountain, she stood, swaying. Her arm throbbed, her shoulder on fire.

  Cradling her left elbow, pressing her left hand against her neck, she felt the sticky liquid of blood.

  Carefully, hoping she would not encounter De Fleur again, or some other man, she made her way back through the gardens, keeping the house in sight.

  What a fool she was. Strength? Where was her elusive bravery now?

  A vise tightened around her chest and she tried to control her breathing as she walked back to the terrace. Lighted windows shined across the darkened lawns. She cast another look over her shoulder and took a deep breath, or tried. Then another. Her skirts were wrinkled, she could feel the wetness of blood on her fingers from the cut and her shoulder felt as if he’d jabbed a white-hot poker into it. Emily tried to stop the shaking. She wanted out of here, just to go home.

  At the edge of the terrace, she halted. She smoothed her right hand over her hair, glad to feel it was still in place. She looked at her gloved fingers of her left hand in the low light and saw they were dark and smeared with blood. Gingerly, she touched the area just below her left ear and realized she wasn’t bleeding any more than she would with a scratch or cut. At least he hadn’t slit her throat.

  Her knees still shook as she carefully gained the steps. She could see people milling about the terrace, most were further down. Apparently she was near the front of the house. Large potted plants and miniature trees guarded benches. Emily sat down on the nearest one. Being this close to the house, she wasn’t worried about her attacker trying again. There were people just down the way.

  The thought that she should have screamed out danced momentarily through her mind, but she was glad she hadn’t. He hadn’t been a man to trifle with.

  Her hands still shook. Emily hoped to calm down before going back inside. Someone was bound to notice something was wrong. Laughter surprised her and she swallowed it. How could she return to the ballroom with blood on her neck and her skirt wrinkled and torn? That would only fuel the rumors about her. Maybe she should could send one of the servants to�
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  “What the hell’s she doing out here alone?” Rayne’s voice asked.

  Emily jerked, looked as the two stepped out of a door onto the terrace.

  “Your mother said she seemed upset,” Jason said.

  “All the more reason to stay inside. I swear, sometimes she’s like a child.”

  “I do take exception to that remark, Uncle.” Emily decided she would stay right here in the shadows for now. The room behind her was dark, the windows closed.

  “Emily.” They both spun toward her.

  “Do you two do everything together?” She remembered Patti’s—Lady Patricia’s—remarks. De Fleur’s. “Never mind,” she said on a sigh.

  Their shoes clicked across the stones of the terrace.

  “I thought I told you not to come out here alone,” Rayne said, stopping to sit beside her.

  Without intending it, Emily shifted, drawing into herself.

  Stop it!

  Habits could be broken. Anger rode hot and fast in her blood, swirling with the confusion and fear, roiling it all together into a maelstrom of emotions.

  “Actually, what you said was to not leave the ballroom with any man,” she snapped, looked to her uncle, and saw he was trying to study her in the dark, but the shadows were deep enough that surely he could not discern her features any more than she could his. “And I didn’t.”

  “Why did you come out here?”

  She sighed. “Do you think we could leave?”

  “In a moment,” Rayne said.

  Jason paced in front of her, a lazy cat. But she felt the movement a façade, a way to get rid of restless energy. Why she sensed that, she did not know. In the last few years of her life, she’d become good at reading movements, small emotions. It had saved her sometimes, and more times not, regardless of what she did. Perhaps it had been to balance the bad in her life. A detector to at least know when the snake would strike, even if there had been nothing she could have done to prevent the attacks.

  And why must her mind be trapped in the past tonight? Someone down the terrace laughed. Emily startled. Another laughter joined in. Voices drifted on the air.

  “Why did you come outside alone?” Rayne asked.