Dark Angel (Entangled Edge)

by TJ Bennett

  “Before I answer, may I ask how long I was unconscious?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “A few hours before you awoke in this room.”

  “Well, sir, that in itself astonishes me. I expected to be cut and bruised, even to have broken bones, but save for a few scratches and some weakness, it is as though nothing has happened to me at all.”

  His intense gaze slid away, becoming interested in the carved posts around the bed. “Hmm. Yes, it is a mystery.”

  “I do not understand it. I knocked my head, and my ribs were damaged, and yet as you can see, I am quite whole.”

  “Perhaps you are a naturally fast healer.” He looked back at me. “Or were not as injured as you first believed. You were quite traumatized. And we agreed you would call me Gerard.”

  Under duress, I thought, and yet it was a small concession given all he had done for me.

  “Yes, Gerard,” I stammered, and noted the pleased expression on his face.

  “I must know more about this place,” I pressed. “I am unfamiliar with your island. The captain would not speak of it before—” I hesitated, my stomach plunging at the memories, “before disaster befell us. He seemed unusually afraid of making landfall here.”

  I’ll not make landfall in these parts. Not for gold or glory.

  Gerard leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers in front of him, gazing at them as though they held a crystal ball. “Yes. The tides will not carry any ships to our shores, and even if they did, the barrier of the reefs awaits them. Nothing can come close to Ynys Nos.”

  “Ynys Nos?” The words sounded mystical to me, bearing images of Druid priests and ancient rituals.

  “Welsh for Dark Island. You, Catherine, are the real first contact we have had with the outside world in many years.”

  My blood chilled at his words. “But…how then can I find passage to Liverpool? Is the island connected through some overland pass to the mainland?”

  He shook his head but said no more.

  I huffed in frustration. “I will need your assistance in making arrangements to remove to Liverpool as soon as possible, however it may be done. I have responsibilities that simply cannot wait. I can secure transportation to London from there.”

  He lifted his gaze to mine. “Leaving will be quite impossible. I am sorry to be the bearer of hard news, but I regret to inform you that your stay on Ynys Nos will be a permanent one.”

  I sat upright in shock. “What?”

  The glow from the fire flickered over him, casting his face in alternating bands of shadow and light. My mind refused to absorb his words. His eerie eyes did not blink. He looked like demon and angel, and I did not know which he might turn out to be.

  “No one ever leaves the Dark Island, Catherine. You are trapped, as surely as the rest of us, and will never see home again.”

  Chapter Three

  Trapped.

  The word echoed in the cavernous room, and I could only stare at him. My fingers went lax with shock, and the sheets slipped from my grasp.

  Then I remembered the terrified words of the Merry Widow’s captain.

  Only the dead or dying see that island. Only those who set sail and never return home see that island.

  And an even more horrifying thought:

  What will become of the children?

  The dinner I had consumed earlier threatened to rise. I swallowed hard. “What do you mean by trapped, Gerard? If there is a way onto this island, then surely there is a way off?”

  He leaned close. “You must resolve yourself. How you made it past the reefs is a mystery to me. Do you remember anything at all about your ordeal?”

  Bodies tumbling past mine in the water…and another image: a child’s cold, dead eyes, staring up at me in blank accusation… No. That was wrong. Eliza had not been there…

  His hand settled over mine. My mind was so disturbed, I did not even think to pull away. This close, I could smell his unique scent, reminding me of the moments he carried me on the beach, of his warm skin against my cold cheek, of the feeling of utter safety I had in his arms. I wanted that feeling back, but was too ashamed of my weakness to admit it.

  Perhaps I did not have to. Perhaps he sensed it, and that is why he stroked my hand with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic caress.

  I closed my eyes, guiltily, greedily absorbing the sensation. “There was a terrible storm,” I whispered.

  “Yes.” He spoke softly, too, as if not to disturb my recollections.

  “It destroyed our ship. So many were drowned. Just thirty of us made it to the lifeboats. Only we lost one, and then the one I was in rose—too high—and came down as though a giant’s hand lifted it and turned it over. I heard a crack, and the boat split into pieces.”

  His thumb stilled. “Go on.”

  “The—the captain, the other passengers…so much water, and the terrible cold…I could not breathe, I could not tell the direction to go in—” I clenched my hand inside his, remembering my struggle. “I came up once, but then something struck me on the head and I felt as though my skirts were caught and something pulled my legs down…perhaps one of the other passengers in a panic clinging to me?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed.

  I hitched my shoulders, fighting to remember even while my fear of remembering tried to prevent it. “And I sank and everything became black. I thought it might be all right, really, because I would see—see again those I had loved, and perhaps death was not so terrible after all.”

  “Catherine…” He said my name in an anguished whisper, squeezing my hand.

  I gazed worshipfully at him. “And then you were there, pulling me to the surface, propelling me forward onto the sand, and I was safe.”

  “I?” He sounded perplexed. “Where? On the beach?”

  “No, in the ocean.” My heart filled with gratitude. “You saved me.”

  He seemed to hesitate before he spoke. “Catherine, it was not I in the water. I never go into the ocean. Never.”

  “But you were there,” I insisted.

  “Only at the end. You were partially submerged and I pulled you the rest of the way out, but I did not enter the water. It could not have been me.”

  Sinking through the icy waters…a cold hand pulling me to the surface…

  “I do not understand.” I touched my head, which had begun to ache again. “I clearly remember being aided while I was still in deep water. You said yourself no one else survived, and there were no others on the beach before you came. If you did not rescue me, who did?”

  He averted his gaze in contemplation. “It must have been one of the other passengers. Perhaps after rescuing you, he went back for the rest and perished in the attempt.”

  “Perhaps.” Something in me remained skeptical.

  His gaze drifted over me. “Such an unusual shade of red,” he murmured, looking at my hair, his hand rising as though he might touch it.

  “It is quite ordinary,” I protested distractedly, wondering how he could be discussing such banalities as the color of my hair while my world fell apart around me. “There must be a way off this island. I will not accept no as an answer.”

  He allowed his hand to drop and settled back in his chair, his expression growing remote. “You do not believe me.”

  “It is not that. Perhaps you have not explored every avenue, perhaps—”

  He drummed the fingers of one hand impatiently on the armrest of his chair. “I have lived here for many years. I know this island, her curves and her turns, her secrets and her boundaries. I have explored them all. If there was a way off, I would have found it.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I assure you, there is no way.”

  Desperation pushed at me, causing me to push at him. “But–”

  His hand slapped down on the armrest, making me jump. Tension emanated from him in waves. “You question my word?”

  I glimpsed something terrible behind the facade of civility Gerard presented—only for a moment, and then the moment passed. What rem
ained made me believe I had imagined it to begin with. He was an imperious man accustomed to getting his way and unaccustomed to being questioned. That was all.

  Still, instinct told me the last thing I should do was show him any fear.

  I held Gerard’s gaze, my own steady. “You may be master of this place, Gerard, but you are not master of me. I will thank you to remain civil when you address me.”

  He scowled at me at first, but his expression soon gave way to a begrudging smile. “I like you very much.”

  “Well, I like you, too. But I will find a way off this island.” I smoothed the sheet across my lap, more in control now that our moment of tension had passed and I had set myself a goal. “I am a force of nature, you see, or so I have been told. I bend all things to my will.”

  “What a coincidence.” He winked. “So do I.”

  His secret smile left me feeling as though he was amusing himself with the ending to a joke he could not tell. He stood with a grace that hardly seemed like movement at all.

  “You are leaving?” Disappointment made my voice quaver.

  His expression softened. “I will stay if it pleases you, Catherine. However, my servant is bringing you garments which you may wish to change into, and I suspect a multitude of your rules would prevent my presence here on such an occasion.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

  I gave a resolute nod of my head.

  At that moment, there was a tapping at the door, and Gerard bade the visitor to enter.

  An elderly woman, gray hair tucked into a neat bun at the back of her head, a serviceable apron around her waist, advanced into the room ahead of two towering footmen bearing mounds of muslin, lace, and fine silk garments. From the brace of keys at her waist, I deduced the woman was the chatelaine of the estate.

  Gerard confirmed it. “This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Jones. She will attend you.”

  Mrs. Jones gave me a brief curtsy, then set about displaying the garments on every available piece of furniture in the room. Soon the bed, chaise longue, wardrobe, and even the footstool were covered with fabric. With a brisk clap of her hands, she dismissed the footmen, then looked at Gerard expectantly.

  Gerard waved his hand over the garments. “Select whatever you like. They are yours to keep.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.” The fabrics were costly. The woman who had commissioned these articles of clothing would not like to see them given away, I suspected.

  “They belong to you now,” he said. “Their previous owner has no use for them, I assure you.”

  Your mistress? I cringed at the thought. But, I needed something to wear other than the delicate nightgown. “You are certain she—you will not mind for me to wear them?”

  He shrugged. “Wear them or burn them. Do whatever pleases you.”

  Ah. Former mistress, then.

  I looked at the garments more closely. I noted the high-waisted empire dresses with tiny floral patterns, the predominance of white gauze and satin slippers, the narrower silhouettes. The styles were from before the turn of the century, and yet the clothing appeared relatively new.

  As if reading my thoughts, Gerard explained, “They are not fashionable perhaps, but finely made. You will not be embarrassed to be seen in them, I assure you. Things change slowly here.”

  It made sense, if the island had, according to Gerard, been cut off from the outside world for many years. Still, these seemed rather older with details here and there from earlier decades mixed in. Regardless, the dresses were quaint with a charm all their own. It would be like playing dress up with my grandmother’s clothes when I was a little girl.

  He turned to go. “I will come back in one hour. You will accompany me, and I will show you my home.”

  I tried to restrain my exasperation at his autocratic tone. He reminded me of a particular battlefield doctor with whom I’d worked who had expected me to obey him in the same manner one might obey a deity. I had had to remind him that my primary duty was to my patients, not to him. “Perhaps you should ask me instead of ordering me. I might be more inclined to hurry then. An hour is not nearly enough time to sort through this vast collection of clothing.”

  He stopped short. I chanced to glance at the housekeeper. She stared at me, then at Gerard, her eyes a bit wary.

  “You do not wish to accompany me?” he asked, disappointment evident in his tone.

  “I do, but that is not the point.” Perhaps on this secluded island he ruled, there had been no one brave enough to teach him the graces of an English gentleman. I felt it my duty, however temporary my stay, to remedy that. “It is always nicer, more polite, you see, when a gentleman invites a lady instead of commands her.”

  His frown deepened. “I always get what I want regardless. Why, then, must I be nice as well?”

  “Because,” I said carefully, “it would—it would please me, and I would be more likely to respond to your requests in the manner in which you wish.”

  He gazed at me for a long moment, and I could see his mind working. “So if I am nice to you, you will give me whatever I want?”

  Good Lord. “W-within reason, and God and Society’s bounds, of course.”

  Then I noticed his mouth twitching in an attempt to suppress a smile. He had known exactly what his comment had implied. He was having me on, as the children would say.

  “I am not a complete idiot, Catherine.” He let his grin loose. The effect on my pulse was astonishing. “One hour. Be ready…or I will take you as you are.”

  …

  Gerard might be autocratic, but he was also punctual. The hand on the red tortoiseshell clock atop the nightstand had only just counted off one hour when a commanding rap-tap sounded on the door. I, understanding the knock was a concession on Gerard’s part, quickly called, “Enter,” so as not to try his patience.

  The heavy door swung open and he stepped in, smiling in approval at the white gauze dress I wore, embroidered with tiny pink flowers over a white satin slip, a pink ribbon running along the hem and low, wide neckline. I’d tucked my cameo beneath it, reluctant—I do not know why—to display the images just yet, and draped a lace scarf around the bodice to compensate for the excess of bosom the neckline revealed. I’d had no time to effect repairs to my hair, so I’d simply brushed it and left it hanging loose down my back. The lack of crinolines and boned stays not possible with this style, the figure-clinging drape of the gown, and the low neckline made me feel almost naked.

  Gerard paced around me, silently examining me. He exuded a restless energy, a compelling male aura that set my nerves to thrumming. Still, I was anxious to escape with him from my temporary cage, as luxurious as it might be, so I held myself motionless beneath his regard. Despite the lush Savonnerie carpet under my satin-shod feet, despite the gilt-framed landscapes on the walls, despite the blazing fire in the fireplace, I longed to be with the children in their drafty three-story house in one of the dingiest districts of London. They needed me, and it was imperative for me to be necessary. Leaving this room was the first step in returning to them.

  “It appears an hour was more than adequate,” Gerard finally said, his gray eyes smoky in the firelight. “You cut a fine figure, Catherine. Shall we go?”

  I preened at the compliment and admired him shyly beneath my eyelashes.

  Gerard’s thick hair gleamed in the lamplight, one heavy lock falling across his broad forehead. He had dressed for dinner in an old-fashioned and yet impeccably tailored black dress coat and gold waistcoat with matching buttons and cravat, and wore tight black breeches with high, polished boots. His striking attire was entirely British, and yet with his dark coloring and direct gaze he managed to appear as exotic as a foreign prince.

  I could not imagine myself as company for such a man. He exuded a daring self-assurance; beside him I felt hopelessly outshined, like a honeybee beside a dragonfly. And yet, the unabashed appreciation in his gaze made me lift my head and straighten my spine in feminine gratification.

&nb
sp; He dismissed the housekeeper, who had assisted me in my selections, with a glance. She curtsied and left silently by the open door. Flickering lamplight pooled in the corridor and made me wonder how Gerard acquired his supplies. There was no lack of elegant furnishings. The basic necessities of candles, tallow, and lamp oil appeared to be in ample supply. I determined I would question him about it after my tour. If there was a way to get supplies onto the island, perhaps the same route might be used to free me from its captivity.

  I followed him into the corridor.

  “Cook will serve a light supper at eleven. We keep very late hours here. I hope you do not mind,” he said, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow.

  I tried hard not to react to the warm pressure of his hand on mine.

  “I am a morning person, myself,” I offered, stepping smartly to keep up with his longer stride.

  His eyes glinted but his face remained impassive. “You will adapt.” He slowed his pace, matching his steps to mine.

  “I doubt I will be here long enough to do so, but I thank you for your concern.” I held my head high and regarded the myriad corridors branching away from the one in which we walked. Gerard’s admonition to have an escort at all times seemed practical to the extreme. One could easily become lost in such a palatial estate and wander for hours.

  “Besides, I am hardly hungry,” I told him. “The tray left for me earlier was quite enough.”

  He smiled. “Indulge me. I have few guests—none really—and I crave news of the world beyond our shores. This can be so much more pleasantly shared over a meal.”

  How lonely it must be for him here. “Of course. It would be my pleasure to join you. It must be difficult for you. A man of your quality and intellect probably requires greater stimulation than can be afforded in such an environment.”

  He gave me an enigmatic look. “Hmm, yes, stimulation. I have no doubt you…your presence will stimulate me greatly.”