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

by Paullett Golden

  Smooth black rocks bordered land and sea with tall dunes rising to the west and a lengthy stretch of beach to the north. White-capped waves lapped over the basalt. When the sun snuck through the clouds, it tinted the water a dazzling shade of light blue. Lizbeth had never seen nature so beautiful. Her childhood home certainly rivaled this, but the subtle differences made Dunstanburgh mystical.

  He snuck a kiss on her neck as they continued to walk north to the beach. She enjoyed his sneaky cheek kisses, a novelty brimming with romance.

  “So where are your favorite haunts in the castle?” she asked, wanting to picture his daily life in his natural habitat, a lion in his den. “Implying I haunt the castle?” He arched a brow.

  “You know what I mean. Let’s suppose I’ve returned from visiting Charlotte one day, and I want to tell you all about it. Where would I find you? It’s a terribly large castle with all those wings and floors. I could do myself a harm running through every room trying to find you. Give me hints of where to look first.”

  She suspected the library would be where he could find her, although taking a book into the conservatory sounded tempting, as well. But then there were those hidden towers. She would need to try each space to see which she favored.

  “Depends on the time of day, I suppose. The library is always a good bet. The south tower, which I’ve made my temporary astronomy observatory, is a good place after dusk. I favor the morning room over the parlor, I confess, for it affords the best view of the sea. The gazebo and the beach here would be the last places to try after that. If I’m not to be found in any of those places, you should lay yourself naked in the bedchamber and await my arrival like a dutiful wife.” He untethered his hand from hers and cupped her buttocks flirtatiously.

  She squealed and said, “I’ll keep that in mind, you unscrupulous heathen.”

  “Speaking of the library, would you mind terribly if I slipped off today for a short while? I don’t mean to neglect you, but I still haven’t found a doctor for Balan. I’ve narrowed it to two possibilities. I need a few moments to write each an invitation to visit the parish. Before I make an official offer, I want to watch both candidates interact with the people, accompany them through the streets, and show the office I’ve set up for the parish physician. That’ll never happen if I don’t write the invitation. You’re delectably distracting, you know.” He linked hands with her once again, her bottom free from another assault.

  “May I help?”

  She already missed helping her father with his estate business, and she would love to get to know the people as Sebastian had. She recalled his reception in Roddam Village when the locals approached him as a friend rather than employer. Being a part of that would mean so much to her and set the tone for their marriage. Would he pass this small test? Treat her as an equal rather than as a wife?

  “Would you honestly want to?” he questioned curiously. “Business matters aren’t normally topics of conversation for the ladies, much less involving wives in estate affairs.”

  “I understand if you would rather I not know the goings on, but I’d like to be involved as much as you’ll allow.” She prodded, more than a little nervous that this might prove a moment of quiet contention.

  She had made herself clear throughout their acquaintance. Only equality would do. During previous conversations, he had seemed open to her ideas, but hypothetical discussion and actual involvement were two different matters. He might prefer to draw the line between spousal duties and estate business, as would be his right.

  After a lengthy pause, he accepted her challenge, offering his own in return. “Come with me to the library, then. I’ll tell you about Balan, the two physicians, and ask your guidance on drafting the invitations. It might take some time to acquaint you with everything. If you’d like, we can tour each earldom and see all the estates. Would you like that?”

  Relief. He understood her! He wouldn’t draw a line or treat her as a woman. Oh, blessed relief.

  “Yes, please. You know how important equality is to me. That you’re willing to share the burden of responsibility means more than I can say. And thank you for reminding me for the five hundredth time just how wealthy and titled you are. I only married you for your titles, you know.” Lizbeth skipped sideways along the shore as she said this, overflowing with happiness that he showed no signs of becoming a dominating husband.

  “How fast can you run?” he inquired, jogging to keep up with her skipping.

  “I beg your pardon? Ladies do not run, I’ll have you—.”

  Before she finished her sentence, he tickled her sides, sending her screaming down the beach. He chased her across the sand and dunes until they were both breathless and ready to return to the castle for lunch.

  Upon their return, they were surprised with a picnic in the gazebo, courtesy of Gerald.

  “You really are spoiling me. I wish it could be like this every day for all of eternity,” she admitted as she tried the cheese.

  “Give credit where it’s due, my lovely wife. This was all Gerald’s idea, not mine. I suspect he knew we would be sweaty again and didn’t want us stinking up the morning room. Now, I’ve been mulling over a very important matter. What would you say to a husband-wife book club? Each week, we choose a book, both read it, and then we can discuss it. What do you say?” he asked between bites of fruit.

  “Oh, that’s splendid, Sebastian! We could take turns choosing the book each week. You pick this week, then I pick next week.”

  “Done. I’ll pick one today. We could take turns reading to each other,” Sebastian suggested.

  “Even better, we should take turns reading to each other in bed.” She cast a naughty smile.

  “I’ve always wanted a woman to prefer reading in bed to lovemaking. How did you know?” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

  Oh, she loved this man. He seemed equally as infatuated with her, although he hadn’t confessed undying love. Love took time in a marriage. He was at least fond of her.

  Feeling a spur of boldness, she said, “I’ve been thinking about my dowry. We could use it to restore the southeast tower into the astronomy tower you want,” she offered.

  “You remember me saying that? Amazing. I thought I had bored you to tears that day. I had something else in mind for your dowry, actually.” He paused while he took another bite of food.

  Her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  He continued, “You said once upon a time you wanted financial independence. You worried a husband would block you from ready access to funds. I have it in mind to invite my solicitor next week. Together, we can set aside your dowry money in a separate fund, just for you, accessible only to you. Then, if anything should happen, a disagreement, a separation, anything at all, you would have your own money without needing my consent. You could leave here without worrying about money.”

  For a moment, she responded with stunned silence. However noble it was to offer her financial security when other wives did not have such, his words upset her, scared her even. He was preparing a nest egg for her in case they wanted to leave, as though he expected the marriage to fail.

  Was he expecting her to leave him or for him to ask her to leave? Maybe she was reading too much into what he was saying, but no, he said the words separation and disagreement. It was only day two of their marriage.

  “No. I won’t accept it,” she finally said.

  He looked genuinely taken aback. “That doesn’t make sense, Lizbeth. Why would you decline financial security? I’m offering you your own money.”

  “I’m not declining the money, Sebastian. I’m declining your rationale for offering it. If it is offered so that I may separate from you in the chance of a quarrel, then I do not want the money. There is no quarrel we cannot work out with open communication and—and trust.” She believed her words but hesitated at the word trust. Were the scars the only secrets he held from
her, or was there more?

  He turned back to his food and ate silently. The clouds rolling in from the east blackened ominously, the winds picking up speed. They’d have to move inside soon before the storm hit.

  She’d need to get used to this temperamental weather, shifting day in and day out, so unlike her own calm sea back home. Then, it wasn’t only the weather she needed to get used to. Accustoming herself to this temperamental man would be priority.

  “What would you say to turning the second floor of the north wing into a nursery?” He asked the question to his lunch rather than looking up at her, startling her by the change in topic.

  “Oh, I’ve not thought of children. How silly of me. I never expected to have the opportunity. We could already be expecting, couldn’t we? Seems frightening. I’d like to spend more time getting to know my husband first. Not that it’s an unpleasant prospect, mind you, for I believe I want children, but...” Her words ran together from a fluster of nerves. “Oh, I’m bungling this terribly, aren’t I? Yes, your idea is something wonderful.” She blushed from her verbal stumbles. “Do you want children, Sebastian?”

  She hoped it didn’t sound like she didn’t want children, but she honestly hadn’t given it any thought before. Never had it been a possibility. She wondered what kind of mother she would be, what kind of father he would be.

  “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. Like you, I had never thought it a possibility. I’ve known with certainty I would be the end of my line, and I’ve felt a sense of pride to end a line of cruelty. Yet, here I sit with my new wife who could already be carrying my heir. I’m just as nervous at the prospect. I don’t want to be like my father.” He still stared at his food. “That scares me the most. What if I’m like him?”

  “Don’t say that! You could never be like him. There’s nothing about you that’s cruel or violent,” Lizbeth insisted, touching his arm.

  “I don’t feel I’m like him. I would throw myself in the ocean before I hit you or a child. It still frightens me, though, the thought of being a father. I don’t know how to do that. I have no role model.” He avoided her gaze, watching the clouds roll closer instead.

  Unsure how to respond, Lizbeth sat in silence, rubbing his arm reassuringly. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned and smiled. A tender smile after such dreary words.

  “Now that I’ve met you, Lizbeth, I do want to have children, a house full of chaos. Hellions tearing through the halls, dressed as urchins and howling at the moon. What do you think? Let’s have a dozen, at least, each one thumbing their nose at Society. We could make up this whole parenting business as we go along, together.” He took her hand in his, kissing her fingers. “I envy your family, Lizbeth. I think you could show me how to build a loving household. Would you?”

  “With all my heart,” she replied.

  She hoped her smile reached her eyes, for her mind whirled with his words, his fear, and his worries. As happy as she was, something clearly stood between them. She could feel it. She could almost touch it. And it frightened her more than anything in this world.

  Chapter 26

  His feet sucked the sand with each step, slowing his movement to the shore. As much as he tried to quicken his pace, the sand tugged at the soles of his feet, pulling him deeper into the earth.

  “‘Bastian! Come play!” Only feet away swam the black-haired girl.

  He called out to her, words dying in the wind. The girl turned her back to him and dove into the waves. He struggled against the sand, breaking free, and racing into the water.

  Before him, Lizbeth stood in the same place the girl had disappeared. She reached out to him as the undertow pulled her beneath the water.

  “Lizbeth! No!” He shouted, reaching for her hand to haul her to safety. “Lizbeth!”

  Even as he reached, she slipped deeper into the waves, being pulled down not by the undertow, but by the little girl. He could see them both under the water, looking up at him, their faces blurred by the waves.

  Fighting against the girl, Lizbeth surfaced long enough to scream his name, a gurgled cry as she was pulled under again. “Sebastian!”

  He dove into the waves, pushing past kelp, fish, underwater sea castles, and sunken ships, searching for her. He screamed her name against the current. “Lizbeth! Lizbeth! Lilith! Li—”

  Then her face hovered above his, wiping the waves from his brow. “I found you,” he sighed with relief, pulling her against his chest.

  But how had she gotten above him in the ocean? Her cherubic face with brown-green eyes, pert nose, brows knitted in worry—he realized he was in bed.

  He sat up, his skin coated in a cold sweat. It took him a moment to shake the nightmare from his head and gain his bearings.

  His bed. His castle. His wife. Lizbeth leaned her bare arm against his back, cool skin soothing his feverish flesh. She rested one hand on his arm, the other rubbing his shoulders reassuringly.

  “You’re shaking,” she whispered, kissing the top of one shoulder.

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you. It was just a dream.” His voice croaked, unsteady and hoarse. His throat was parched, as though he had been screaming against the wind for hours.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she replied. “Your dream must have been fitful. You kept calling my name. And—another name…What happened?”

  “It was just a night terror. It was nothing. I’m fine.” Before he could protest, she rose to refill his water glass from the pitcher.

  The last dying embers in the hearth flickered as a noisy log shifted, breaking in two with a sooty crackle. Relief filled every pore of his body. She was safe. His wife. His Lizbeth. His love.

  She returned to the bed with the glass of water and massaged his shoulders while he wetted his dry throat. He didn’t deserve her, and she certainly didn’t deserve this. She deserved to sleep the night through, to love a good man who wasn’t full of regret and nightly torments, but he loved her, selfishly loved her. He hoped, overtime, she too could love him, could even love his torments and not see him as the monster he knew himself to be.

  A slender hand reached around and retrieved his empty glass, then pulled him prone onto the bed. His lovely wife, his angel of a wife, his savior of a wife moved his arm across her stomach and rested his head on her slip of a shoulder, kissing his forehead until he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  Morning light shone through the windows. Squinting, he reached to pull Lizbeth to him, only to find emptiness.

  He sat bolt upright, surveying the bed, the sheets drenched in sweat where he slept. Oh, God. Had she been a dream? Had he dreamt the perfect woman and watched her drown in an ocean?

  Panicked, he searched the room for evidence of her, trying to orient himself in time and place. A woman’s dress hung in the dressing room on the far side of the bedchamber, the door to the private area open. He recognized other familiar items, her shoes, her water glass, her scent lingering on the pillow next to him.

  With an almost embarrassed sigh, he accepted she hadn’t been a dream, and that he was wide awake in his own castle, his wife likely breaking her fast in the morning room.

  He took a moment to wash himself at the washstand, splashing water on his face and freshening his pores from the sweaty dream. Without calling his valet, he dressed in breeches and a shirt, otherwise as undressed as he had been since their wedding night a full week ago.

  He found her in the morning room talking with Gerald. Hopefully, he thought in deep chagrin, she had thought to request fresh bed sheets.

  When she saw him, her lips stretched in a wide smile, her eyes shining with happiness.

  “Good morning, handsome!” She strolled to him, embracing him as though she hadn’t seen him in a month. “I hated to wake you. You were sleeping soundly and looked so peaceful.”

  She touched her cheek to his before leading him to the table. “I finally had that
word with Cook, and she assured me the breakfast menu would include the addition of mash and oatmeal. She is also going to surprise you this evening with one of my favorite Cornish dishes, but I won’t tell you what it is until you try it. She agreed to it only on the understanding that tomorrow night we have one of your favorite northern dishes.”

  “I have a favorite dish?” He racked his brain for what Cook thought he liked to eat. Nothing specific came to mind. He generally liked anything if it provided sustenance.

  “She seems to think you do,” Liz said with a chortle.

  Her laugh somersaulted his stomach and fluttered his heart. Bah! When did he become such a sentimental sap?

  He heaped bacon and sausage on a plate with a healthy helping of jam, grabbed a coffee, and sat at the table with the most beautiful woman on earth. “Tomorrow will be a surprise to us both, then.”

  The doors of the morning room were open on both sides, allowing the cool breeze to flutter the curtains and the seagulls to trumpet a morning anthem.

  “A letter from Aunt Hazel arrived this morning.” Lizbeth picked up a letter stowed under her plate.

  “How is my favorite aunt?” Sebastian asked before taking a delectable bite of sausage.

  “I haven’t opened it yet. I wanted to wait so we could read it together.” She broke the wafer, a clear indication Hazel sent the missive from an inn on route home from Northumberland. “Ahem.”

  My Dearest Countess Roddam and My Newest Nephew.

  I have arrived in Birmingham, the return trip home fairing faster with fewer stops along the way. I am to await Walter here and enjoy the remainder of the journey within our own carriage. My devoted son would have arrived ahead of me had a band of highwaymen not been apprehended along his route. His avoidance of that area during the search and seizure of those dreadful ruffians delayed him. The food is terrible. I miss my girls and hope we won’t be long apart, for London’s Season will be upon us before we know it. If we are invited (this is where you invite us, my dear), I hope to bring Cuthbert and Walter for a summer stay next year. We could spend a month with Charlotte and a month with you, yes? I hope my nephew is making a woman of you. What a virile man he appears to be. I demand to be presented with a great-nephew or niece when I return next summer. Kiss that devilish beau for me, and find me always