Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  Praise for DARK SPLENDOR:

  “This is an entertaining blend of eerie shadows and romantic interludes. An excellent gothic romance.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A beautifully written, lyrical—almost poetic in the narrative—book! . . . If you appreciate a great story and the true beauty of words that are put together the way they should be, you will love DARK SPLENDOR.

  —Rendezvous

  “The grand Gothic Romance could never be better represented than in DARK SPLENDOR.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “A tantalizing blend of suspense and sensuality, with all the thrills and chills that lovers of the Gothic enjoy.”

  — Romantic Times Rave Reviews

  Also by Andrea Parnell from Trove Books

  WHISPERS AT MIDNIGHT

  “The perfect blend of anticipation and apprehension . . . seductive tale by a superb writer of romantic suspense.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Takes romance, mystery and intrigue and weaves them into a good story.”

  —Rendezvous

  Delilah’s Flame*

  Wild Glory*

  My Only Desire*

  Devil Moon*

  Small Town Secrets*

  *coming soon

  Dark Splendor

  Andrea Parnell

  Dark Splendor

  Copyright 1986, 2011 Andrea Parnell. All rights reserved.

  Published 2011 by Trove Books

  TroveBooks.com

  Smashwords edition 1.2, April 2011

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Publisher’s Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A previous print edition was published by NAL/Signet in 1987.

  Cover by Frauke Spanuth, Croco Designs www.crocodesigns.com

  With love to my husband, Oma,

  for seeing it through.

  There is a serpent in thy smile, my dear,

  And bitter poison within thy tear.

  —Shelley, The Cenci

  Chapter 1

  March 1751

  Silvia Bradstreet stirred only slightly when the wooden door of her cabin creaked as it slowly opened.

  She slept the heavy sleep born of exhaustion, and neither the pitching of the ship nor the shouts of deckhands, though loud enough to rattle the masts of the Eastwind, roused her. A hazy light split the darkness of the tiny compartment and disappeared beneath the shadows of two men who quietly entered.

  Roman Toller roughly caught his brother by the arm and halted him in mid-step. A lump like a burning chunk of coal lodged in his throat as his eyes roamed over the figure of a young woman sleeping soundly in the bunk.

  Her dark hair spilled over the contrasting whiteness of the pillow like tassels of black silk he had seen displayed in stalls in an Eastern market. Beneath the blanket her slender form rose softly with each slow breath. She lay curled like a kitten spent from its play.

  “Bloody hell, Morgan,” he muttered. “What is this?”

  “God’s pity, man, if you have to ask.” Morgan Toller’s lips curved into a teasing grin. “It’s a woman, plain and simple.”

  “That I can see,” he growled. “But why is the wench sleeping in this cabin?” Roman’s lids half-closed and his nostrils flared as his eyes, cold as blue ice, met his brother’s.

  Morgan stared at the pleasing curves of the lithe form beneath the blanket. His chest swelled with the fullness of a deep breath he exhaled softly. “The captain said we’d find a surprise below.”

  “Aye. That he did,” Roman agreed. The beginnings of a smile quivered on the corners of his lips. “And I’ll admit I thought he meant a bottle of vintage wine.”

  “We must be certain to thank Wilhelm for improving the stock on his ships,” Morgan said, looking wryly at Roman. “This trip may prove to be less bleak than I expected,” he added, followed by an easy chuckle.

  “The old scoundrel is up to something, I’ll wager. Summoning us to the colonies with no explanation of the urgency.” Roman’s brows raised sardonically. “And this.”

  “Let’s consider that he is seeing to our comfort,” Morgan chided lightly. “And this is a flower in the desert. Or on the ocean, as it seems.” He rubbed his hands together and his mouth curved into a half-grin. “The only problem as I see it is there is one woman and two of us.”

  “I begin to see your point.” Roman landed a hard but playful blow to Morgan’s jaw. “Pull out a coin. We’ll toss for the first night with her.”

  Morgan scowled and rubbed his jaw. “Find another outlet for your bad temper, man,” he railed. Still he reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin. “Call it,” he said jauntily, tossing the goldpiece into the air.

  “Heads!” Roman snatched the spinning coin before it landed in Morgan’s waiting hand. “Heads. And you sleep alone,” he jeered, slapping the coin to his forearm and uncovering it for Morgan to see.

  “Alone,” Morgan scoffed derisively, opening a silver flask of brandy and raising it to his lips. “Well, I’ll be off to my solitary cabin and misery.” He took a second swig from the flask and ceremoniously replaced the cap. A tight-lipped smile rested uncomfortably on his crestfallen face. “And you with a preference for redheads,” he remarked dryly.

  “Aye. But with every moment I begin to like raven-haired beauties.” Roman’s chin jutted out stubbornly as he flashed a triumphant grin.

  Morgan smiled. “I’ll leave you to your pleasure, Roman,” he chortled, and there was a taunting gleam in his eyes. “We’ll talk at dinner. If you have the strength.”

  The fading ring of the Tollers’ voices, though certainly strong enough to break a normal sleep, were hollow echoes to Silvia, lost in the musing deepness of her dreams. The unwelcome sounds intruded as murky shadows in her slumbering thoughts. Stretched out beneath the verdant leafy awning of a tree, she watched milky white clouds float like fleecy ewes crossing an indigo field, while songbirds chirped a melodious note that lulled her even deeper in sleep.

  Roman closed the door quietly behind Morgan and secured it with the bolt.

  Silvia stirred faintly at the rasp of the lock catching. A dark intruder entered her dreams, a menacing shadow floating in a peaceful sky. She sighed aloud and curled up tighter.

  Pausing when she turned her face toward him, Roman stood quietly, hardly daring to breathe, but her eyes remained shut. The innocence in her face surprised him and for a moment a pang of conscience bit at him. He whispered a curse. What reason did he have for remorse? Wilhelm Schlange solidly calculated every move he made. If the man had placed this woman at his disposal, why should he question that she did not look the part?

  His eyes dwelt on the smoothness of her skin, fair and creamy white and with the soft luster of fine satin. Her rosy lips were parted a bit, as if set for a kiss, and the pouty fullness showed to a tempting advantage.

  He exhaled slowly, letting the air whistle soundlessly through his teeth. She was beautiful. Her black lashes curled softly and were longer than any he had ever seen.

  “A flower at sea,” he whispered, and lowered his frame to the chair near the bed. With growing urge
ncy he removed his boots and stockings and rose to drape his coat and cloak over the back of the chair.

  He caught his breath, feeling the thrill of arousal as he anticipated the touch of her tantalizing curves. Recklessly stripping away his silk shirt, he stood beside the bed wearing only his breeches. Feeling a surge of warmth in his flesh as passion flared within him, Roman carefully raised the blanket and silently eased into bed.

  She wore only a simple chemise adorned on the bodice by tiny lavender bows. He groaned, and his fingers gently touched the streaming ribbons pressed like violets in the snow against the paleness of her breasts. Her body was warm to his touch and the delicate smoothness of her skin brought a lusting flame to his eyes.

  Deep in sleep, Silvia responded with a sigh to the gentle stroking. While lost in her dreams, butterflies fluttered delicate wings about her face and neck. The caress of his lips at her throat and the nimble movements of his fingers in her hair were soft kisses of sunshine. She turned to him, her parted lips trembling beneath the rustle of his warm breath.

  As she became aware of a shadowy image through closed eyes, her heavy lids reluctantly flickered open to reveal a face pressed close to her own. Just for a moment, as another lilting sigh sounded in her throat, did she know a trace of alarm. But sleep held her prisoner and his eyes were the blue of the sky in her dreams.

  “Wake up, little flower,” he murmured, rolling closer so that the hardness of his chest pressed sensuously against the softness of her breast.

  His voice was soothing, rich and deep and sweet to her ears. The face was dreamlike, fetchingly handsome, the nose straight and nostrils flared in passion, the cheekbones high, and the chin squared and strong. His flaxen hair was long and tied at the back of his neck with black cord. He had a provocative twist to his mouth and perhaps it was the small vestige of arrogance she detected there which disturbed her.

  A subtle movement wrapped his arm about her shoulders and lifted her to him. With a gentleness that transcended his passion, he softly kissed her eyelids and watched them quiver fully open. Rimmed with the lushness of dark lashes, her eyes were golden like honey before they darkened with a pall of fear.

  Her scream rent the stillness of the cabin. Perplexed, Roman cursed and silenced her by clamping his hand across her mouth. He frowned and shook his head as if to assure her his intentions were pleasurable and not painful. Possibly he should have awakened the girl before getting in bed. He had not counted on her shocked reaction.

  “Quiet now?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head in agreement beneath the pressure of his hands. Her pupils widened and her eyes became almost catlike, glowing yellow and angry.

  Thinking her calmed, Roman withdrew his hand, but before he could affect one of the devastating smiles he used so well, she screamed again. He moved his hand as swiftly as a striking snake to cover her mouth, but this time she caught the side of it in her teeth. With all her might, she bit down.

  “Bloody hell, woman,” he shouted, rolling roughly across her and jerking his hand away to examine it for signs of broken skin.

  “Get off!” Silvia groaned as his weight crushed the breath from her lungs. She squirmed beneath him but his body held her tight. Frantically she pummeled his face and chest with the strongest punches she could inflict. All the same, her rampaging blows were useless in dislodging him. With a gasp, she swung her arm beside the bed and caught the top of her boot, flinging it furiously at his head. The wooden heel struck him in the temple, stunning him enough for her to shove him aside and jump from the bed.

  “Swine!” she screamed, racing the few feet to the door. She would have fled the cabin in her chemise, but in such a panicky state, the workings of the bolt proved too much for her.

  Dazed, Roman struggled to his feet, rubbing the swell of a knot on his brow.

  “Keep your hands away!” she shouted, snatching up her other boot and holding it menacingly in front of her.

  “Easy now.” Roman raised a hand defensively in front of him. “You’ve damn near taken my head off already,” he stammered incredulously.

  The woman was a demon and he had suffered enough of her fury. A drop of blood trickled from the wound above his eye and ran a crooked path to his cheek. But as he wiped at it with his hand a quick smile ruffled his mouth and a look of consummate disbelief paled his blue eyes.

  “Get out of my cabin,” she ordered, her eyes igniting in a wildfire of golden lights. Cautiously backing around the room to allow him passage through the door, she steadied her trembling legs against the wall. “Out,” she sobbed.

  Roman backed toward the door, wanting no part of the other boot.

  “You’re no flower, but a spiny thistle.” His tone cracked sharply. He had assumed he would be welcome in her bed, so his exasperation was painfully vexing. Roman found himself in the hall barefoot and shirtless and dared not knock for the return of his garments.

  His pride gave him no protection from the cold and he faced the option of exposing himself to Morgan’s ridiculing gibes or chancing that Captain Langham’s cabin would be empty.

  He stepped two paces away and paused to make a sidelong glance at the door. Irritably he made a small mocking bow toward the portal. As his head dipped in pretentious deferment, the hinges creaked rudely open and his garments flew like rubbish through the air to land in a grudging heap at his feet.

  “And a good evening to you,” he called out in his mellow voice. His own ire had succumbed to humor, and with a conciliatory shrug to his broad shoulders, he gathered up his garb and stepped lightly to the captain’s quarters, where he clothed himself. A bottle of wine sat at liberty on the table, and when Langham came below a short time later, Roman had partaken of a good portion of it.

  ***

  Silvia braced her weight against the bolted door. Not even her nightmares had been as terrifying as the experience that left her stunned and shaking and fully as incensed as frightened. She had expected to travel to Schlange Island in the colonies in the makeshift quarters of the hold with other bond servants. But the captain had assured her Wilhelm Schlange, who owned her bond paper as well as the ship, meant for her to have a cabin.

  Shivering with a chill of fear, she pushed the chair against the door. As soon as she was calmed and could dress, she would seek Captain Langham’s protection. Surely he would take measures to ensure her safety on the voyage.

  She choked back a lump in her throat. There seemed to be no end to the trials in her life. Having gathered the courage to defy her Uncle Hollister and leave London to be a bond servant, she had been foolish enough to think her life would be free of troubles. She sat weakly on the edge of the rumpled bunk, pulling the rough blanket around her for warmth.

  She could hear her uncle’s brutal, drunken laugh as if he were in the cabin. A kindhearted girl, she had been no match for his irritable and demanding ways. He was a troubled man who vacillated between treating her kindly, as his beloved niece, and considering her a troublesome burden he must bear. Only out of respect and pity had she been able to tolerate his abuse the last year since her aunt had died.

  They had come to harsh words one evening a few weeks earlier when he insisted she give him the money she earned as a seamstress so he could cover his gambling debts.

  “Aye, girl, it’s my due.” He had slammed a thick fist on the tabletop, rattling the plates and cups. “Do you forget who took you in when your mama and papa died? But for me you might have spent your years in a foundling home.”

  Her own anger had surged then and she responded hotly. “I know who took me in and who spent the little inheritance Mama and Papa left. And who sold all Aunt Agatha’s things after she died.” She lifted her chin proudly and her eyes flashed angrily. “Until we are reduced to living in squalor and shrinking from the door lest the knock be from a creditor or another of your gambling gentlemen here to threaten.”

  Silvia drew back. His neck swelled with rage and he half-rose from the chair. Why couldn’t she hold her temp
er? Arguing with him was futile. He had warned her a nettling tongue would do her in. Yet it wounded her to hear him justify his actions as charity when she remembered his promise to her father. He had sworn to treat her as his own daughter.

  “Blast you, girl! Get the money or I’ll smash your room apart bit by bit until I find it for myself.” His face reddened and his black eyes, like stones, lost any trace of warmth. “You’re twenty and two years and too choosy ever to find a husband. You’ll fare well to remember I’m master of this household and you’ve no place else to go.”

  Silvia had surrendered her money, but next morning had applied and quickly been accepted as a bond servant. Two weeks later to the day, she had slipped out of the house in the early hours of the morning carrying a worn carpetbag filled with her meager possessions. It had been a walk of many miles to the docks and that morning she had arrived at the ship weary and anxious to be under way.

  Silvia chastised herself. All that was in the past and there would be no looking back. She had a more immediate problem. She must get to the captain quickly and report the intruder. Fetching her bag from the cupboard and without quibbling about which dress she selected, Silvia pulled one out and slipped it on, hastily fastening the buttons that fitted the collar high on her throat. Her flesh seemed to be on fire. Who was the man and why had he come to her cabin?

  She grazed her fingertips over the nectarous imprint of his mouth. How soft his lips had been there, touching her skin like fluttering wings. And his hands, warmly supple on her bare shoulders while his voice was a sweet whisper in her ear.