My Fallen Angel

by Pamela Britton

  “Garrick,” Lucy called laughingly after giving her aunt one last tearful hug good-bye. She smiled at her friends, all of whom stood waiting for her and Garrick to climb into the carriage. “Salena and Beth are threatening to sail back to Cardiff with us.”

  “Are they?” he asked softly.

  “Exceptin’ we’re afraids the ship’ll be rockin’ too much ta get much rest.”

  “Thomas Tee,” her aunt cried. “What a perfectly crass thing to say.”

  The others laughed, including Lucy, who allowed Garrick to hand her inside the carriage. It took a moment for her to arrange her tentlike skirts and then for Garrick to settle in next to her. With one last wave they were off, back to the earl’s ship, which had been graciously loaned to them for the trip to Cardiff.

  Pellets of rice rained down upon the carriage like a winter snow flurry. Lucy laughed and waved good-bye to her friends and family one last time. As they faded from view she leaned back and happily gazed up at Garrick, who stared off into the distance as if trying to peer into the future.

  “Good heavens, Garrick. You look so glum.”

  He glanced down at her, apparently startled by her observation. “Do I?” he asked sharply.

  Lucy tilted her head at him. Something bothered him, she was sure of it, but what it was she had no idea. “You seem so quiet.”

  He stiffened. His face became unreadable, as if someone had drawn a blind over his features. “A lack of sleep, no doubt.”

  “Are you worried about our wedding night?” she teased.

  It was as if someone had struck him a physical blow. Lucy was startled to see a brief flash of pain cross into his eyes. She reached out to clasp his hand. “Garrick, what is it?”

  “Nothing, Lucy.” He squeezed her hand back. “I’ve merely a lot on my mind.” He looked away, his eyesfocused on the passing scenery, but Lucy could tell by his rigid form that all was not right.

  “Do you know how much I love you?” she said softly. He flinched, flinched as if she’d suddenly pinched him. It sent fear cascading through her veins. “Garrick, what is it? Please, please tell me.”

  “’Tis nothing, Lucy.” And when he turned back to her his expression was washed carefully clean. She wanted to believe him, truly she did, for the alternative—that something was truly wrong—was too horrible to contemplate. But she knew he lied. She knew him too well to tell when he wasn’t being completely honest with her. Still, she let the matter drop, convinced that whatever it was, he’d share it with her when he was ready to.

  Reaching up, she gently touched the side of his face. He closed his eyes at the contact. She could feel the stubble of beard which grew upon his face, his skin hot beneath her touch. He inhaled deeply, and when he opened those sea-blue eyes of his, so much love filled their depth that Lucy felt her breath catch with the wonder of it.

  “I love you, Luce,” he said, gazing down at her as if he never wanted to stop.

  Suddenly she reached out and hugged him, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. The carriage dipped into a pothole, a streethawker cried out his wares, but Lucy hardly noticed. In her eyes there was no one in the world but them.

  • • •

  It was evening by the time they cast off. The moon, no longer full, was still bright enough to light the coast and the ocean between them as they sailed toward Cardiff. Garrick sighed. The sight of the waves sparkling nearly as bright as the stars above, to Garrick’s mind was almost as beautiful as the woman who awaited him in the cabin below. Pain washed over him with the sting of hot pitch as the thought penetrated that his was this last night with her. The fact was undeniable, and though over the preceding hours he had grown somewhat numb, he was determined to prove to Lucy just how much he loved her, would never stop loving her even when he was gone.

  He found her in the cabin, the multitude of candles she’d lit setting her skin aglow as she lay atop the brown coverlet, its folds alternately shielding and revealing her perfect, naked body. He stopped midstride, his mind focused only on her.

  “I promise not to catch the cabin on fire this time,” she teased impishly, breaking the spell.

  Garrick remembered the night he’d called her a trollop. What a fool he’d been. If the pain she felt that day was a tenth of what he felt at the prospect of leaving her tonight, he deserved his fate.

  “Garrick” she whispered softly.

  He wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t dwell on the fact that he’d sold his soul. He’d done it for her, her reminded himself. He’d do it again. Swallowing his anguish, he forced himself to walk toward her, though he lacked the strength to muster a smile. Forced himself to undress, though he wanted nothing more than to hold on to herfor dear life. Forced himself to act as if he was a man sailing toward the rest of his life, not one fated to “die” at the stroke of midnight.

  She smiled and opened her arms, the fabric of the coverlet parted to reveal her white breasts. Garrick needed no further urging. Even so, he took his time, preferring instead to study her as he would always remember her: hair tousled from their trip to the dock, the dusky contours of her body. Like a man in a trance, he slowly moved forward and when he could stand it no longer, lay down beside her. Savoring each moment, he allowed their lips to meet. This, too, he memorized. He kissed her gently, lovingly, longingly. Her lips parted for him, and Garrick closed his eyes and savored the taste of her, the delicious, achingly sweet taste of her own desire.

  It was Lucy who broke the kiss, Lucy who drew back and framed his face with her hands, gently stroking back the hair which she’d released from his queue. For the longest time she simply stared at him. Desire flickered in her eyes; it lingered, then was replaced by a look of such complete and total love, Garrick’s breath escaped in a rush.

  A coldness settled around his heart, a coldness borne of pain. He tried to keep it at bay by covering her lips with his, then assaulting the sensitive cords of her neck, his tongue gently licking the salt from her skin. He tasted her, relished in the spicy scent of her.

  One last time.

  She moaned, a deep moan that sent a streak of longing through Garrick. He would spend the rest of eternity remembering that sound. He wanted her, hardenedwith anticipation, wanted her even though it was all he could do to keep the agony at bay.

  “Garrick,” she moaned.

  But he would not rush this, would not spoil her first time because of his nearly uncontrollable need. Even with the heat of her body nearly scalding him, he refused to give in, preferred, instead, to lap at her ear.

  She writhed in his arms—he could feel her toes curl, her legs brush against his—but he held back, some inner strength forcing him to take his time, to worship her, revel in the power of their desire for each other.

  For the first time and for the last time.

  Down the side of her neck his lips trailed, halting at her collarbone to place a tender kiss against the pulse beating above it. She arched into him, rubbing her butter-soft thighs against his and pressing herself against his hardness. For a moment he lost control, nipping her flesh. She groaned. He nipped again, taking his time as his lips traveled toward her nipple. When he took her between his lips, he tasted her.

  One last time.

  He allowed her to shift beneath him so he could memorize the feel of legs against his, the satiny touch of her inner knee, the heel of her foot as it brushed against his calf. Once again he began to kiss her, memorizing the soft touch of her tongue against his, the heat of her thighs as she parted for him, the sound of her sighs.

  She brushed up against him, her body urging him closer. But he refused to enter her. Instead, he started a new kind of assault. Slowly, he moved his hips, using the tip of his erection to trail up her wetness. It was paradise.

  It was hell. He heard her breath catch. Then she breathed his name against his mouth. Closer and closer he brought her toward fulfillment. Tremors racked his body as he fought to hold back, but still he didn’t enter her. Dear God, how he wanted to.
r />   “Garrick, please,” she begged.

  And this, too, he committed to memory. The husky sound of her voice, breathless with need. The frenetic movement of her body as she tried to coerce him inside her. And when the torture grew too much to bear, he trailed his lips down the cords of her neck again, nipped the small indentation next to her collarbone, swirled his tongue down toward her navel. She arched into him, parted wider, and he took what she offered. He drank of her, lapped at the flesh between her thighs. Moisture flooded his mouth. Her cries grew louder. She pressed herself against him, and he drank until she cried out his name, pulsed against his lips.

  “Oh, Garrick.”

  But he wanted more, wanted to give her all he had to give, and then some. He rose above her and slowly, gently sank into her willing sheath. He felt her barrier break, heard her soft moan, then released his own sigh of pleasure and pain as he entered her fully.

  Finally, they were one. The love that shimmered between them was all the more poignant for its power. He knew he would lose control soon, but he couldn’t stop his own answering moans as he slowly slid in and out of her. His chest hair brushed against the swell of her breasts, exciting him more. Still, he held back. One more time. He needed to hear her moan with sweetrelease one more time, wanted to close his eyes and recall the sound for all eternity.

  “Garrick …”

  And there it was. The sound he’d been waiting for. Her body spasmed around his and he let himself go. Just closed his eyes and moved in and out of her faster and then faster still. He savored the feel of it, the warmth of her, the sweetness of her, until finally, all too quickly, his body pulsed its own sweet release.

  “Lucy,” he whispered. “My sweet Luce.”

  Her arms wrapped around him. He could feel her warm breath as she nestled her head against him. Slowly, he returned to earth.

  For the last time.

  His eyes burned as he held her close. God, how he loved her. Would always love her. She was the light in his darkness. Heaven, in his hell.

  “Garrick?”

  He didn’t want to move, didn’t want her to see his torture. But soft hands clutched at him, forced him to look at her, and when their eyes met, hers widened.

  “Oh, Garrick. You’re crying.”

  It felt as if he were dying. Still, the minutes passed, dropping away one after another until only moments remained.

  Garrick made love to her twice more during the night. Now, as the time for him to leave drew nearer, he was tormented by the thought of doing so.

  She was nestled against his side like a child, herbreathing even, her arms wrapped around his shoulder. Beautiful even in her sleep. Her hair lay tossed around them, like a silken cloth. Her skin glowed in the lamplight, and the single sheet that covered them tangled about her legs. Never would he forget. Not the way she felt against him, not the smell of their spent passion, not the way she looked while she slept. Not a thing.

  “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked softly. The fear returned; it clutched at his insides and clasped itself around his heart. He must go, though he was terrified of what awaited him beyond; go because if he didn’t, Lucy would pay the price.

  His throat clogged with emotion as he stared down at her, so peaceful in sleep, so completely unaware of what he was about to do. “I’ll miss you, my love.” His hand trembled. A feeling of helplessness assailed him. He swallowed and then bent down to lightly kiss her forehead, inhaling her sweet fragrance. Roses. He committed it to memory, vowing never to forget.

  Closing his eyes, he forced himself to let go, to break contact with her. First his legs, then his body. His arms were the hardest for they felt leaden, shaking so terribly now he could barely force them to work.

  The ship began to pitch wildly, making it hard to dress. As he turned to leave he knelt down beside the bed. gently, he stroked the side of her face. His legs began to feel weak, his eyes to burn. “little angel.” Tenderly, he leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

  When he drew back, a slight smile creased her lips. He committed the picture to memory.

  The ship rolled violently. She grumbled in her sleep.

  Garrick stood, barely noticing the yaw. His hand fell limply back to his side.

  It was time.

  The breath he took was nearly a gasp, his feet not wanting to move, but he forced them to. One last look of longing and he turned away; the door seemed to him as frightening as the very door to hell itself. And when he touched that door, was it his imagination or did it feel hot? He rested his forehead against the wood. He couldn’t do it. Jesus, it felt as if he were being torn in two. Squeezing his eyes closed he took several deep breaths, then forced himself to turn the knob. He had to, for Lucy’s sake.

  The moment the door was open, rain hit his face like small pebbles. The door was pulled from his grasp by the wind, the wood banging against the outer wall. Papers he’d left on the table blew behind him.

  “Garrick,” Lucy cried.

  He paused, the wind whipping wildly about him. His tears mixed with the rain. Hot rain. Nearly as hot as the sting of pain which filled his insides, his mind, and his heart. He took a step.

  “Garrick,” she called again.

  He took another step. God help him, he couldn’t turn to look at her, knowing if he did, he’d never leave.

  “M’lord,” a man yelled from behind the wheel only a few feet in front of him. “I never seen nothin’ like it. It comes out of nowhere.”

  Garrick registered his words only distantly, moving past the man, heading for the ladder that led to the upper deck. It was as if he were being compelled tomove forward, drawn by a force he could neither see nor feel. Stinging rain lashed his face, falling into his eyes with pelting force. The world became a washed-out blur. It was black, blacker than the deepest part of the ocean. Salt filled his mouth, burned down his throat, stung his eyes. Still, Garrick climbed slowly, one foot at a time. The sails crackled with a simmering energy, the very air itself felt charged. It was time, he thought. Time to leave. Time to leave Lucy.

  “Welcome, Garrick,” a voice said. Strangely enough, he could hear that voice perfectly over the element’s rage. “I see you’ve kept your part of the bargain, though you’re a bit early.”

  Belial.

  Even against the backdrop of blackness, Garrick could see his darker than midnight form.

  “Garrick?”

  Garrick jerked as if he’d been struck. The voice, so cherished and dear, called over the scream of the storm. Lucy.

  “Such a brave thing, she is,” Belial said with mock pity.

  “Don’t touch her,” Garrick warned. He turned. God help him, he turned.

  Bright red curls bobbled into view, then the pale oval of Lucy’s terrified face. The sheet she had wrapped around her was a splash of white as she struggled to climb. Thunder boomed above, and lightning flashed in the same instant. Garrick’s heart stopped. It had grown strangely quiet, a quiet he had heard only once before.

  He tried to cry a warning, but he was too late.

  The wave, when it hit, knocked him off his feet and sent him skittering like a rock toward the rail. He clawed at the deck, his terror for Lucy giving him a will he hadn’t known he possessed. Pain sluiced through him as his back made contact with the thick oak rail. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, the weight of the wave and the freezing cold knocking the breath out of him. Then he was clear. The water rolled off him, leaving foam in its wake. The ship rocked, but he clung, his thoughts centered on one thing.

  Lucy.

  “Gaaarick,” she screamed.

  There was terror in that voice, terror such as he’d never heard. Nearly blinded by the salt and wind that filled his eyes, he crawled toward where he’d last seen her, climbing up the rail.

  Laughter echoed around him, taunting, triumphant, terrifying.

  “Gaaaariiiiick.”

  He pushed himself to his feet; the wind ripped at his clothes and hair. He found
her hanging half-on, half-off the deck. One more wave and she would be swept away. Panic made him lunge toward her.

  “Garrick,” she cried.

  “Take my hand,” he called.

  It took two tries for her hands to meet his over the rocking of the ship. She was icy-cold in his grasp. He pulled, slowly lifting her.

  Evil, mad laughter filled the air.

  They landed, sprawled upon the deck. Hands fumbled for him, making their way toward his face. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stinging rain from his eyes.

  A pair of cherished green eyes peered into his own. “Oh, Garrick. Thank God,” she gasped.

  He wanted to touch her, to kiss her and never let go, but once again a sudden, ominous quiet filled the air. His heart stopped beating, then resumed at a furious rate. Lucy seemed oblivious. Using the last vestige of his strength, Garrick rolled atop her. She looked startled, then smiled.

  “Hold on,” he cried.

  Her look turned to one of confusion. He bent down and kissed her.

  A last kiss. His last taste of heaven.

  “I love you, Lucy,” he called over the howl of the wind. “Never forget.”

  She seemed startled by his words, but then his body was pulled away from hers as a giant cauldron of water rammed him like a charging horse. He heard a tremendous crack and knew the rail had broken. Blackness descended, a feminine scream filled his ears, and then he fell, fell as if he’d never land, fell toward the churning mass “of angry sea.

  28

  He was dead. Lucy lay on the sandy beach, the sun making prisms on the waves like glass in a kaleidoscope. The steady roar of the ocean filled the air, the smell of brine and the buzzing of sand flies creating its own peaceful melody.

  Lucy was oblivious to it all as she sat on the sand, her eyes staring sightlessly out at the horizon.

  He was dead.

  She took a deep, shaky breath, trying for the thousandth time not to cry. It didn’t work. The tears managed to escape anyway. They fell, unchecked, down her cheeks, the wind that always seemed to whip over the shores of Garrick’s estate picking them up and tugging them toward her jaw. A gull cried overhead, the sound as lonely and raw as she herself felt. Pain intensified, doubled. She inhaled deeply, and her breath caught on a sob.