The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1)

by Paullett Golden

  The parlor door opened. Liz straightened imperceptibly to find the dowager duchess in the doorway. Cane thumping, Catherine walked to her favorite chair, sat, and said not a word. Liz resumed reading, and Captain Henry resumed serenading.

  “He was my fourth child,” announced Catherine.

  Liz looked up at her sister’s mother-in-law, the woman’s eyes fixed on Annick’s portrait.

  “I thought you had two children,” Liz declared.

  “You thought erroneously. He was my fourth, the first to survive beyond a year of age.”

  “I’m so sorry, Your Grace.”

  “No, you are not. You did nothing for which to be sorry.”

  The woman turned her eyes on Lizbeth, eyes the same dark shade as Sebastian’s, only devoid of emotion, cold orbs of coal.

  “Marrying the duke was the best day of my life,” Catherine continued, “but marriage was not without trials. I’ve fought for my son to have everything I never had.”

  Liz wriggled uncomfortably in her chair, unsure about the intimate conversation. The dowager had spoken to her several times during the visit, but never anything personal aside from gardening and her fondness of Lyonn Manor.

  “Arguably, I have overindulged my son.” Catherine admitted. “And he thanks me by marrying beneath him.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She closed her book.

  “Don’t get haughty. It is a fact, not a judgment. Even you cannot deny it, for you know as well as I do that he married beneath him. I am fond of my daughter-in-law. She may be of embarrassingly low birth, but she is his gift to me, and I accept. I am devoted to completing her training. Once she overcomes the silliness of youth, she’ll make an exquisite duchess.”

  “I’m not sure how you expect me to respond. You’ve insulted my sister, and me in the process, but in the same breath complimented her. What are you hoping I will say, Your Grace?” Lizbeth questioned, clutching the book in anger.

  “Nothing. I do not insult or compliment. I state facts. It is my prerogative to do so. You and your sister are landed gentry, but not of noble lineage. Fact. She will make as great a duchess as I, if not greater. Fact. Both my son and my nephew are enamored of the Trethows. Fact. And now is your turn to state a fact. I will know if you lie.” Her face was austere stone. “Are you trifling with my nephew, or do you love him?”

  Lizbeth choked on air.

  Locking eye contact, Liz answered honestly, consequences be damned, “Yes, Your Grace, I love him.”

  Catherine scrutinized her in silence, the black eyes searching Lizbeth for evidence of lies.

  “I suspected as much.” The dowager tapped her gold-handled cane on the floor then stood. “As you were.” She about-faced and left the room, leaving Liz in a daze.

  Without inflection, her words could mean anything. Did Catherine disapprove? Was she angry? The tap of her cane felt like a stamp of approval, oddly, but that couldn’t be right, not after she had insulted both Lizbeth’s and Charlotte’s social station.

  Lizbeth had little time to reflect on the duchess’ behavior before Aunt Hazel bustled in to announce the carriage’s arrival, open topped, vis-à-vis seating, Sebastian at the reins.

  “He looks positively wild, my dear,” Hazel exclaimed. “You’ll enjoy the view, I declare, if you sit facing him.”

  Liz tied her bonnet and donned her gloves before leaving the parlor, then followed her aunt to the horseshoe drive. Sebastian stood waiting, looking dashingly untamed. While his hair was pulled back with a ribbon, loose wisps whipped freely about his face. He looked splendid. Make that breathtaking. Positively ideal.

  Hat in hand, he bowed to them, his lips curving into a wide smile. He returned the tricorn to his unruly locks and held out both hands to take Hazel’s, kissing her on each cheek with exuberance. Turning to Liz, he snuck a peck on each of Lizbeth’s cheeks, as well, before showing them to the sociable carriage.

  For the entirety of the drive, he entertained them with the bawdiest folk songs she, and Hazel, had ever heard. Hazel laughed beneath her parasol and insisted on learning the words so the two of them could sing a duet of mismatched notes and vulgar lyrics.

  The sun beat down on her bonnet, the wind fought to unhand Hazel’s parasol, and the meadow flowers weaved a merry dance. She couldn’t remember when she had been happier or more amused.

  As they closed in on the last few miles of the drive, the landscape changed, becoming less developed, more windswept and dramatic. Sebastian pointed out a herd of deer grazing in the moor, not far from a mob of sheep. Meadows with habitats of birds dipping in and out of the flowers stretched as far as the eye could see. Hills speckled the horizon, inviting observers to roll down their slopes.

  Sebastian glanced back at them and grinned. “We’re almost there!”

  The farther they traveled, the windier it became. Hazel finally closed her parasol and held tight to her bonnet. Liz sniffed the air. Salty. She would know the smell of the sea anywhere. How close were they to the coast? Charlotte hadn’t made any mention of the sea, so Liz had assumed they were at least a day inland, but her nose did not lie.

  The carriage bumped along a narrow path until Hazel nudged her to look left. Past a large mere, the sun glinting off the surface of the lake water, the land soared upwards into a low-lying fog. She couldn’t see beyond the gray cloud, but she knew she had arrived at the Isle of Avalon.

  A patch of forest stood not far to the right, the remainder of the area an uncultivated park. Tall, grassy dunes blocked views beyond. She hoped, wistfully, there might be a beach tucked behind those dunes, perhaps even a cliff or headland. The roar of the ocean was unmistakable. Although she still couldn’t see it, she could hear it, the sound of the crashing waves competing only with the howl of the wind.

  Sebastian drove circuitously around two of the three meres that surrounded the steep hill, slowing the horses to cross a drawbridge leading to a stone outer gatehouse. Liz peered over the edge of the carriage into the watery depth of the lake.

  If her reading of the terrain proved correct, the castle would be quite impervious to assault. Between the meres, the sand dunes, the steepness of the hill, and what she believed would be the ocean to its back, there would be only one way into the castle.

  Sebastian stopped the carriage just beyond the outer gatehouse. A path before them led straight into the gray shroud.

  Hazel and Liz waited, staring curiously at the fog. Sebastian turned to his guests, smiling broadly, also waiting.

  “Well,” said Hazel, impatiently. “I’m not staying here in the wind and sun. Lead on!”

  “Patience,” Sebastian cajoled. “The wind has only enhanced the beauty of my two guests, and the sun will hide behind the clouds for another few minutes yet.”

  And so, they waited. The lighter fingers of fog around the dunes began to lift, revealing narrow glimpses of beach beyond. Liz spied black rock and sand swallowed by a high tide to the left of the curtain wall and a small marshland on the south shoreline where seagulls trumpeted a welcome.

  A hearty laugh brought her attention back to Sebastian as he stretched his arms towards the fog. As though by magic from his fingertips, the wind whirled the mist northwest, leaving in its wake a stone majesty, its backdrop a glittering sea. Liz gasped.

  “May I present my humble home.”

  The land sloped upwards. A twenty-foot tall stone curtain stretched to each side of the outer gatehouse. Beyond, the castle rose from the earth, monumental. Two round towers that must be at least twenty or thirty feet wide each and four or more stories tall stood to either side of an imposing door.

  Sebastian, apparently satisfied with their awed reaction, turned back to the horses and continued forward to the second gatehouse.

  Despite the formidable stone, this was the most enchanting visage she had ever seen. Just like the castle’s lord. Rays of sun broke through
the clouds to illuminate the towers.

  He drew the carriage to a two-story entry and helped them both down. Double, black oak doors studded with iron nails greeted them. While it would have been quite a sight to see those great doors opened by half a dozen footmen, a butler opened a smaller wicket door instead.

  She stepped forward then realized Sebastian hadn’t followed. He stood by the carriage, talking with a stable boy who soon led the horses around the wall to an unseen stable. Hazel saw herself through the wicket door, leaving Sebastian and Lizbeth standing outside alone.

  Sebastian came to her. He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Her pulse raced.

  “Well, my darling, are you ready to step into my world?” he asked, squeezing her hand.

  With an anxious nod, she walked at his side through the portal, transported to utopia.

  They entered a wide foyer with doors to either side and an open room ahead. The butler took their bonnets and accessories before they proceeded into a two-story gallery that ran the length of the two towers. A sweeping stairwell to the left led to the next floor. The arched ceiling was painted to mimic the sky, and a railing on the floor above looked down to them, teasing them to explore further.

  Never would Lizbeth have assumed the inside would be this grand.

  Directly in front, along the long wall of the gallery, lined glass double-doors open to a massive inner courtyard. From this vantage point, she could see the other wings of the home surrounded the courtyard, all with open glass doors.

  Inside the gallery, the walls were decorated with tapestries hanging from iron rods. Every inch of the gallery breathed warmth, meticulous planning, and personal touches. She had never felt so at home.

  Sebastian walked into the center of the room, arms outstretched. “I am your servant today. What would you like to do first? Lunch? Cliff diving?”

  “Oh heavens, young man. I’m too old and too sensible for cliff diving. I would like a tour before lunch. We’ve come to see the castle, have we not?” Hazel turned to her niece, brows arched.

  “A tour sounds divine. Show us what all you’ve done. Start with these tapestries. Shouldn’t a gallery feature family portraits?” Liz admired the decor.

  Sebastian waved her to join him. The nearest set of tapestries, hanging between the open doors, wafted in the breeze. “Roddam Hall houses the family portraits. The last thing I want are the eyes of my predecessors judging me. I’d much prefer to surround myself with beauty, not to mention these are in keeping with the castle motif, don’t you think?”

  Liz nodded. Hazel walked to Liz’s other side and studied the tapestries.

  “The collection in this gallery is exclusively the art of François Boucher and Francesco Zuccarelli,” Sebastian explained, intimately touching his hand to Lizbeth’s lower back, sending tremors down her spine. “I prefer tapestries over paintings because of the craftsmanship and artistry of the jacquard weave. I’m thankful this collection is complete because both factories I order from have halted production given the turmoil in France. I have a list of future orders that I would like for the dining room, if they ever re-open, that is.” He shook his head, dejected.

  With a nudge of his hand, Sebastian led her through the gallery. Not a single tapestry stood as a solo piece. All belonged to a thematic set, many steeped in mythology. They circled the room, pausing at a tapestry with cherubs and women lounging in the clouds looking below to a man holding a sword.

  “I very much like it. The man resembles you.” Liz spoke before noticing the man in the scene was nude except a strategically placed red sheet. The sight of the muscular bare chest flushed her cheeks.

  “You think I look like the god of fire?” he said huskily, his lips inches from her ear.

  She opened her mouth to respond but found she could do no more than imitate a fish.

  Sebastian chuckled throatily, his breath tickling her cheek. Stepping away from her, he said, “This is Vulcan Presenting Venus with Arms for Aeneas, the final piece in the set from when Venus seduced Vulcan to forge weapons for her son. The set, if you’ll walk further down, includes Venus seducing him, asking for the weapon, and then Vulcan forging the weapon. There’s another piece, not in the set but matching the theme, where Vulcan catches Venus in a compromising position with Mars. A naughty work, but I’m desperate to add it to the collection.”

  Liz studied the other works in the set and blushed again, her face likely a blotchy red, for it certainly felt feverish. In each piece, Vulcan draped the red cloth only between his legs, and in one of the tapestries, the cloth slipped suggestively low.

  The man in the tapestry looked so much like Sebastian she felt pure, carnal desire. Vulcan’s muscular physique recalled the feel of Sebastian’s back when she held him to her in the rose garden, and Vulcan’s strong thighs reminded her of how the buckskin had stretched across Sebastian’s own muscled legs that day after her arrival.

  “You’ll pardon my saying, but the people in these pieces are scantily clad, to put it mildly.” Hazel’s voice startled Lizbeth from her reverie. “Not that I object. On the contrary, it’s refreshing to see. The world has gone prudish.”

  She had forgotten about her aunt. Mortified to be thinking such dirty thoughts in the presence of her aunt, she pressed her hands against her cheeks and stared at the floor.

  Hazel paid no heed to her niece, having wandered to the far side by the stairwell.

  Sebastian, brave soul, walked to Hazel and joked, “You’re a woman of good taste. I’m not surprised to find you appreciative of the honest bareness of the flesh.”

  “Oh ho, young man. You’re a rogue in disguise!” Hazel opened her fan and waved it furiously about her face.

  They spoke about one of the pieces, allowing Liz time to recover. Despite the flowing breeze, the gallery felt overly warm. Liz was still recuperating when Sebastian returned, taking her by the hand, and leading her up the broad staircase.

  “Come upstairs with me,” he said, seductively.

  Lizbeth hesitated, her heels digging into the runner. Was her imagination overreacting, or had his intentions turned as disgraceful as her thoughts?

  “Come, Hazel!” Sebastian called. “I want to show you the armory before we tour the other wings.”

  As if realizing her uncertainty, he cast her a reassuring smile and waited for Hazel to catch up to them. When they reached the next floor, positioned directly above the entrance, they found themselves in an armory. An open railing looked over the gallery. A set of narrow, spiral staircases positioned at both corners of the room.

  Swords, pikes, horns, and axes decorated the walls. A series of tapestries hung at intervals between the weapons, all depicting Neptune’s triumph. Liz recognized a few of the artists: Poussin, Giordano, Gherardini, Spranger, Francken.

  The most striking element of the room, however, was the larger-than-life statue of Neptune holding his trident.

  “How in the world did you get that into the castle?” Liz inquired, wide-eyed.

  “The artist designed and sculpted it here in the armory. Did you expect to see King Arthur? It might surprise you to learn I have other passions.” He winked. “My si—that is to say, someone in my past, used to call me Poseidon as a joke.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lizbeth drawled. Then it dawned on her that Neptune stood in glorious nakedness. How had she not noticed right away?

  Shamefaced, she turned away. As if the tapestries weren’t erotic enough, now she faced a floor-to-ceiling statue of a naked god. She trained her eyes upwards until Sebastian began explaining one of the maces to Hazel. Unobserved, she curiously flitted her eyes back to the statue and gaped. When she averted her eyes, resting them on the Neptune’s upper region, she discovered staring at the bare chest wasn’t a vast improvement from staring at the lower region since it showcased strength, masculinity, and virility.

  She wondered what
Sebastian’s bare chest looked like. She pressed her hands to her cheeks again. What a hypocrite she was. She didn’t want him to be interested in her as a possible mistress, yet all she could think about was what he might look like unclothed.

  How could art be so sexually charged? Everything about this home so far, from the landscape to the art communicated feral, uninhibited sexuality, carnality. Even more interesting, it all seemed perfectly natural, not improper, only a celebration of physical beauty. And it all fit him so well.

  Despite his reservations and his solitary demeanor, Sebastian was a man of raw passion. She had felt it before, suspected he bottled a volcano of emotion, but to see that inner passion infused into his home as though the home itself was his outlet, convinced her he was far more impassioned than she would have ever dreamed. What would it be like to unleash the beast?

  The realization excited her as well as frightened her. Who was this man, and what else about himself did he keep hidden from the world’s prying eyes?

  “The point of the guardroom is to admire the arms rather than the statue, you know.”

  She whipped her head towards him, eyes wide, only then registering she had been standing perfectly still, staring at the naked Neptune the entire time.

  Her saving grace from humiliation was Hazel ascending one of the spiral staircases.

  Sebastian darted in front of the woman, baring the stairs with his arms. “No, actually, that’s off limits.”

  Hazel huffed. “You’re a terrible guide to close rooms. What’s up there that’s such a secret, hmm?”

  “Well, you’re welcome to proceed if you’d like.” He stepped to one side to let her pass. “But you’ll only find my bedchamber.”

  He laughed as Hazel’s cheeks turned pink.

  “Oh, I see. Yes, well, that’s better left not toured, then,” she professed.

  “I believe my bedchamber is tidy enough for your quizzing eyes, but I won’t accompany you if it’s all the same.”

  “No, a description will suffice,” Hazel said.