The bed was soft as eiderdown and as comfortable as it looked. And even better, it was still, unlike her bunk on the Eastwind that always rocked with the motion of the ship. When she nestled into the fullness of the feather pillows, she realized she was tired to the very marrow of her bones. The long sea journey had been a strain and the excitement of her unexpected reception at Serpent Tree Hall had drained her of the last bit of energy.
Nevertheless for a long while her mind whirled in a fevered storm of wonderment. She had expected a Spartan castle and had found instead a luxurious palace. After a time, her thoughts began to fade like the light of the snuffed-out candles. There were too many pieces of the puzzle to fit together. Wilhelm Schlange’s estate was not at all what she had expected. Certainly not like the farming country she had seen in England. She could not imagine what crops grew in this place that seemed to be all sand and strange trees. She could not imagine what her duties would be on Mr. Schlange’s household staff.
Nor did it seem to fit that he would treat her as an honored guest in his house. Surely Vivien had made a mistake. Silvia sat up halfway in the bed, but relenting, fell back to the soft pillow. Morning would be time enough to sort it all out. Tonight it was all too wonderful to complain about and all too great a mystery for her to solve when she was so tired. At last her weariness was greater than the wonder and she sank into a deep and restful sleep.
***
Hours later, a cool gust of wind swept across her face, a gust of wind that could have had no origin in a closed room. Silvia stirred slowly. She had felt a definite breeze from a door or window opening and closing. When her eyes blinked open in the darkness, she sensed rather than knew someone had walked through the room. Oddly, the sensation brought her curiosity instead of terror, a feeling that the visitor had meant her no harm.
She turned quietly in the bed. Perhaps it had been part of a dream, part of the uneasiness of sleeping in a room for the first time. She had nearly convinced herself her imagination was running rampant when she heard a whimper outside the door, the sound of a lost or frightened child. Silvia lifted her head from the pillow. Listening more carefully, she soon heard the whimper again, louder, this time accompanied by a shuffling noise.
Her pulse raced as she sat up quickly to try to hear the direction of footsteps in the hall. Tossing aside the covers, she slid to the side of the bed. In the darkness she could not locate the robe she had draped across a chair. Perplexed, she waited, her room quiet as death until the cry sounded again, chilling her blood. This time she was certain it was a child, possibly a child who had experienced a nightmare and was frightened.
Forgetting the robe, she hurried to the door and found it shut but no longer locked. Slowly Silvia turned the knob and eased the door open. Clad only in her nightgown, she stepped into the hall. No windows opened in this portion of the passageway, and without any candles burning, the hall was dark as midnight. Hearing footsteps around the corner, Silvia paused. She stood spellbound for a moment, the sound of her breathing like the roar of the sea to her ears. This house was strange to her and she had little right to be wandering about following people. But when the footsteps picked up again, she moved catlike in the direction of the sound.
At the corner she hesitated again, questioning whether she should return to her room for a candle. The long dark hall looked as if it ran on forever, and she had no idea where the passageway would lead or if the rooms on the back side were occupied. She listened a moment longer to the distinctive sound of footsteps, and when the whimper sounded again, she hurried on. If a frightened child was wandering around in the dark, she must try to help.
Silvia rounded the corner quickly, finding only darkness before her. She gulped a strong, deep breath, the infusion of air filling her with new courage and determination. A moment later, careening through the blackness, she crashed into someone—not a child, to be sure. Someone who wrapped two arms around her waist, someone tall and warm and with a pleasantly masculine scent that was faintly familiar.
The man murmured a sound of surprise and caught her fast in his arms. He pressed her close against his chest and raised one hand to lift her chin. At that moment the moon escaped a prison of dark clouds and unshackled its shimmering light to flood through an open window.
She could see his face, at first a silhouette in the moonlight, and then, as he turned to catch the full brilliance of the moonbeam, she saw the sculptured nose, the sturdy chin, and the sensuous line of his mouth. She felt her chin trembling against his fingertips. Her heart skipped a few beats, then raced rapidly to make them up. Silvery rays lit the hallway and illuminated the two of them with streams of magic light.
“Roman.” Her voice sounded as liquid and silvery as the moonbeams when she whispered his name.
His fingers were cool against her skin, his eyes softly blue in the moonlight, and his hair glowed like molten gold. She felt all the gentleness of love in his caress, a touch like a sweet, haunting memory.
“Little flower,” he whispered, stroking her cheek, slipping his fingers into the loose curls about her face. Murmuring her name, he slid his hands down her cheek, across her throat, softly, gently caressing the curve of her neck and coming to rest on the swell of her shoulders.
Soft as a drop of summer rain, his lips touched hers. She sighed, feeling her limbs become weak and willowy, and closed her eyes while his mouth rained soft kisses over her face. She thought of butterflies and their velvety fluttering wings. Feeling the warmth of his body against hers was like being transported into a dream, a dream she would never want to end.
Once more his lips sought hers with a soft kiss. “I knew you’d come,” he whispered.
His words tore through the delicate membrane that wrapped her in a mystical spell. She lifted her lids reluctantly to gaze at the face so close to her own. Her lips were still warm with the imprint of his kiss, but now his mouth had an arrogant twist. The gentleness was gone from his face. The blue of his eyes had turned dark and treacherous like the murky waters in a deep well.
She felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath her, as if she would any moment begin to plunge into a bottomless chasm. She had been betrayed by her lips, her arms, deceived by kisses as unreal as the gold reflected in the waters of the pool in the courtyard. What had she been thinking to respond as she had? She swallowed, feeling a dryness in her throat.
“I heard a child,” she said softly, pulling back a little.
“There are no children here.” He tilted his head to one side and gazed into her eyes. Within his whisper she heard the old mocking tone steal into his voice.
“I heard a child outside my room.” She struggled in his arms, trying vainly to push free of his embrace.
“How remarkable.” His brows arched and his eyes were like fantastic blue lights catching the glimmer of the moon. You heard a child where there are no children, and I am to believe that is why I find you outside my door wearing a gown as thin as the morning mist.”
His mouth twisted wryly and his chest expanded with a haughty breath. He wore only his breeches and a shirt open to the waist in front, and as she squirmed against him the bristle of hair on his chest grazed her cheek like a soft brush. She could feel the pressure of his bare foot rubbing against her own toes. Smiling wickedly, he tilted his head and his thick hair gleamed golden as the moonlight framed his face.
Silvia listened to the faint sigh of the wind and trembled. She could not match his coolness and her voice shook a little when she spoke again.
“I did hear a child crying and came out to investigate.” She pushed harder against his chest but found she was tightly locked in by the strength of his arms. “Let me go,” she pleaded, the glow in her face dying wistfully.
Roman smiled indulgently.
“Tell me more of this story about a child who led you to my door,” he said, toying with her.
Silvia twisted in his arms. His hands were on her hips, holding her close against him. She could feel the warmth of his
body against her and with it a heady new feeling that frightened and weakened her.
“Tell me all the stories you like,” he breathed, his lips close to her ear, his mercurial smile taunting her. “I’m fond of a bedtime tale.” His hands played wantonly across her back, his fingers tangling in the tumbling curls that hung almost to her waist. “But I prefer them in bed,” he whispered.
“You’re...” Silvia’s eyes flamed in anger, but before she could say more his lips crushed hers with a kiss. Suddenly she was falling, tumbling, spinning in an abyss of desire where her body refused to obey her mind. She felt the response of her lips against his, the throbbing press of her breasts against his bare chest and a strange weakness in her legs as he held her so tightly she thought she would become part of him.
“You must let me go,” she whispered desperately when at last his lips parted from hers. Silvia’s breath came in shallow gasps and her skin was alight with the warmth of a rosy blush brought on by the fervor of his kiss.
“Must I?” Gone was the taunting tone, and his voice was hypnotically mellow, lulling her into submission to his will.
“Yes, you must,” she whispered weakly, finding her arms wrapped about his waist. Quickly she dropped her hands to her sides and tried to wriggle free of his grip. “Please,” she pleaded in a tear-smothered voice. “Let me go.”
His teasing laughter was low, throaty, and his chest vibrated heavily against her.
“A lady must know her own mind.” Desire and mockery showed in his glance. He loosened his hold a little, stepping back but keeping his hands on her shoulders so that she could not escape him. “Your lips tell me you want to be held and your words tell me you want to go.” He raised one heavy brow and smiled darkly. “What am I to believe? That you are quicksilver like the moonlight? That you want to slip through my arms and be gone like elusive moonbeams?”
Disoriented by the intensity of his gaze, she dropped her eyes from his. “Please, I must go,” Silvia cried, aware of the trembling within that shook her shoulders and threatened her resistance. Her whole being seemed to fill with wanting, an emotion that both thrilled and frightened her. “Please,” she whispered.
Roman’s hand caught a strip of scarlet ribbon at her throat and untied the bow that gathered the nightgown around her neck. Slowly, seductively his hands traveled down her arms, pulling the loosened gown from her left shoulder and exposing its creamy whiteness to his eyes.
A tingling started low in her stomach. Just for a moment she saw a tender look in his eyes before he leaned down and kissed the curve of her throat. He laughed softly and whispered words she could not understand against her ear. Silvia pleaded with him until, with a reluctant sigh, he released her. She stood immobile, no longer held but completely in his spell.
“Go then, quicksilver maiden. I’ll wait for you to blossom in the sunlight,” he teased, spinning her about and heading her in the direction of her room.
She took a step forward hesitantly, confused. Her nightgown, scandalously thin, shimmied around her as she moved a step in painful frustration.
“Roman, I...” She never knew what she would have said, for just as she began to speak, the sound of footsteps clicked a warning as someone approached from the side hall.
Silvia stiffened and cast her eyes around wildly, searching for a place to hide. How could she explain to a stranger why she was standing in the hall, hardly dressed, embracing a man she had sworn was the scourge of the earth? Backing away, she pressed her body against the smooth stone wall and closed her eyes, hoping the person she heard would turn into a room before discovering them standing together.
Roman watched intently as her ebony hair swung over her shoulders in a silken mass and as the sparse moonlight lit her face with an angelic glow. She was a tempest who felt like innocence in his arms. Her face held the fragile beauty of a rosebud, and even the air around her seemed sweeter. He longed to pluck the fragile blossom from the bush and prove to himself she was not the lovely flower his heart desired. Even now he wanted to soothe and comfort away the distress he saw in her face, but would not give way to the prompting of his heart. Instead, he forced a humorous smile to his lips.
She held her breath, hoping Roman would not expose them. Turning her head, she saw he had not moved from the center of the hall. She might have known he would feel no humiliation. Feeling suddenly cold and terribly vulnerable, she appealed to him with her eyes. To her dismay his amused smile did not indicate compliance. Down the hall the footsteps stopped, but at the sound of his soft laughter quickly began again and grew louder. A moment later, Vivien’s angular form stepped from the darkness into the grid of yellow moonlight that spread from the window.
Her shrewd eyes hurriedly took in Silvia’s scanty clothing and the open neckline of her gown. A trace of a smile flickered across her narrow lips before she held out the scarlet robe that had been folded across her arm.
She helped Silvia into the robe. “I saw that your door was open,” she said in a voice as flat and emotionless as still air. “I was concerned.” Vivien glanced up to see Roman smiling contemplatively at her.
“Do you ever sleep, Vivien?” he teased, raising one brow sharply. “Or have you been awake all your life, like Morgan says?”
Vivien huffed. “I sleep when my work is done.” Her black eyes flashed and Silvia thought she detected a note of fondness in her tone of voice. “And I point out I am not the only one awake past midnight. Someone must attend to your mischief, Roman Toller.” She wagged a lean finger at him.
“Aye, Vivien?” He smiled slowly. “I am hardly a boy now and I found this nymph wandering through the halls dressed in moonlight. What would you have me do with her?” He shrugged and chuckled lightly, running his hands through the shock of hair falling over his forehead. “Leave her prey to the ghosts in Serpent Tree Hall?”
Ghosts? Silvia’s lips quivered and her eyes met his wonderingly, searching for meaning in his words.
“Better the ghosts than you,” Vivien said, and cackled.
“Vivien, my love, you have wounded me sorely.” He pursed his lips and shook his tawny head slowly. “The lass can tell you she’s as sound as when I found her.”
“Hmmm,” Vivien murmured. “Then ‘tis you I should worry for.” She nodded soberly as another voice joined the conversation.
“What’s all this racket?” Morgan Toller, hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep, called from the door next to Roman’s. “Isn’t there a parlor in this house for a late soiree?” His nightshirt struck him at knee level, showing a pair of well-shaped calves. He leaned from the doorway, smiling good-naturedly in spite of his brusque tone. “Let a man get some sleep, Roman. Do your philandering quietly.”
Roman lowered his brows and glared hotly at Morgan.
Silvia stared at both of them blankly. She did not like the slant of the conversation at all. Surely Vivien and Morgan did not think she had come out in search of Roman Toller.
“I heard a child crying in the hall,” she managed to say somewhat unsteadily, and clutched the robe tightly at her breasts. “The sound woke me and I hurried out without finding my dressing gown.”
“Sure enough, it’s the same tale she told me,” Roman said jauntily. “Though there’s not been a child in this house in many years, unless there’s news you’ve been keeping from me, Vivien.” He cocked his head and winked.
Morgan muttered an oath under his breath and closed his door to them. Across the hall and out of view another door stood open slightly. From the dark portal a young woman with flowing blond hair and an expression of disdain gripped the knob with whitened knuckles and watched silently. Her eyes narrowed to thin slits before she stepped back and, unseen, eased her door shut.
“You’re a rogue, Roman Toller. A hopeless rogue.” Vivien placed an arm around Silvia’s shoulder and began guiding her along the corridor toward her room. “Come along, dear, best you got back to bed. It’s the sound of the wind you heard. The way it whistles over the tower wall, a s
ad sound like crying. It’s what you heard,” Vivien insisted, her voice trailing oddly to a whisper. She stopped at the door of Silvia’s bedroom, her face pallid in the shadowy hall. “Get to sleep now. There’ll be excitement enough for you tomorrow.”
Silvia shut the door behind her and pressed her ear against the wooden panels. She heard the ringing sound of keys jiggling in Vivien’s pocket as she walked away. It was a muffled jingle and Silvia could swear she had heard the same sound when she heard the child crying. Had Vivien been outside her room, then?
She didn’t really believe the cry she heard had been the sound of the wind on the tower wall. It had been a child. She was sure. Vivien hadn’t been at all surprised to find her walking about in the middle of the night. It was almost as if she had expected it.
Silvia released a sigh and climbed in bed, pulling the covers to her chin. A rising wind stirred through the trees, and branches scraped like claws against the stone walls beneath her window, but no mournful sound came from the tower wall. There was only the soft rustle of wind-whipped leaves. Silvia closed her eyes tightly. There was a child at Serpent Tree Hall, and no one wanted her to know.
In a room two doors away, Vivien sat on a bedside patting the cheek of a pouting face. Aided by the gentleness of candlelight, her own harsh features were transformed to a maternal softness. “There, there, darling, don’t sulk.” She smiled lovingly and smoothed away dark hair from a pale forehead. “Vivy worries when you slip her keys and wander about in the dark.” She kissed his smooth round cheek and stroked his jet black hair.
Dark Splendor Page 4