Martha, on her way to the door, stopped and knelt down. “This must belong to you,” she said, holding out a tortoiseshell comb. “One you lost in your fall.” Martha looked carefully at the comb, turning it in her hand and noting the unique scallop-and-shell design. “Do you have the other?”
Silvia’s brows flicked up. She reached into her pocket and found it empty. “I...Yes I do.” she stammered, recalling Roman had last had the comb and must have taken it with him.
Martha dropped the comb in Silvia’s waiting hand. “Good. You wouldn’t want to lose one of a pair.”
Martha stopped at the door, her hand resting on the brass serpent which formed the handle. She smiled serenely back at Silvia. Martha moved with an enviable smoothness and Silvia could not help but appreciate her graciousness. What a lovely person she was to have tried so hard to make a stranger feel comfortable and welcome, to have rescued her from the teasing barbs at breakfast.
“I’m sure I’ve tired you out with my tales, and you were on the way to your room.” Martha tapped her finger once on the door handle. “I’ll leave you here in case you want to select another book. There’s little else to do for entertainment.” She reached up to smooth the hair at her temples.
“Oh, please, don’t be concerned for me. I won’t be bored.” Silvia smiled gratefully.
“Perhaps later we can talk again. I do have things to attend to. Uncle entrusts the management of the household servants to me and I must give the cook some orders about dinner.” She stepped through the doorway but paused again to add, “I’ll see you at lunch.” With that she was gone, shutting the door behind her.
Silvia strolled toward the French doors, where light streamed in bright and warm. A breeze shook the tops of the tall oaks visible in the distance. She shifted her gaze to the terrace, her expression still and serious. Reflected in the panes she could see the images of Siegfried and Magda, still and stone white. Her spirits were sinking rapidly and her own reflection looked little more lifelike than that of the statues.
It was the way Martha said the word “servants” that brought her crashing to earth. She brushed at her eyes where she felt the sting of tears forming. She had to remember her place. Despite a few days of freedom, she was a servant and it would not do for her to forget it. She was not a guest at Serpent Tree Hall. Soon she would be one of those to whom Martha was giving orders. And when that day came, Martha might regret she had shared conversations and a stroll in the garden with an indentured servant.
Silvia sighed longingly. Strange that they took her to be someone else. And how easy it would be to become accustomed to this life. How easy it would be to become accustomed to beautiful gowns, to mornings in the garden and afternoon rides over the island.
She turned abruptly to look at the statue of Siegfried. He was so like Roman, from the breadth of his chest to the arrogant jut of his chin and the bold set of his mouth. Perhaps there was some truth to the tale. Perhaps the Schlange family had descended from Siegfried. Ridiculous. She was dreaming, letting her imagination whisk her away from reality. Siegfried was only part of old Germanic legends, no more real that the ghosts Martha spoke of. She smiled wistfully, remembering that Roman had discarded his lordly airs and issued an invitation for an afternoon ride.
It was time to put her rampant thoughts to rest and go to her room. She didn’t even know if she would find a riding costume among her things.
***
Silvia opened the spacious armoire, with its sprinkling of painted yellow flowers, and inspected the contents. There were gowns Vivien had not shown her and there was indeed a riding habit as well as boots made of fine leather. She tried the boots and found a high pair that made a good fit.
Taking the riding habit out, she carried it to the dressing room and hung it on a wooden peg by the mirror. The riding costume was fawn-colored with a brown velvet collar and had a linen blouse with a ruffled jabot. With it was a matching dark brown cap which would keep her hair secure, and there was even a leather riding crop with a hammered-silver handle to complete the costume.
She was about to try the jacket for fit when Anna came to call her for lunch.
“They be dining on the terrace, miss.” Anna hurried her along. “It’s got a bit of shade, though, no hot sun,” she added. “Miss Martha is there now.” The little lines around Anna’s mouth quivered as if she were just bursting to talk. But to Silvia’s disappointment, she stilled the impulse and forced herself to keep quiet. There was no further babbling from her as she stood in the doorway wringing the corners of her apron. Her wide eyes had been quickly cast downward after she delivered her message.
Silvia dismissed Anna reluctantly. She felt like a soul in limbo, uncertain of her destination and not knowing whom to reach out to. Someone, she thought forlornly, should tell her who and what she was in this place. For now, though, she would bide her time and wait as patiently as possible. Again she had to remind herself not to be melancholy but simply to enjoy. Those were her orders.
“Thank you, Anna,” Silvia called as the woman disappeared down the hall. “I’ll hurry.”
She took a moment to brush back her hair and locate another set of combs. With a few deft twists she fashioned it into a sleek coil on the back of her neck, then dabbed a little lavender water behind her ears.
Hopefully her disappointment was not evident as she reached the terrace. Anticipation of seeing Roman had brought spots of color to her cheeks, but she found only Martha and Morgan in attendance for lunch.
“Eric and Roman have gone off to the mill to look at a new piece of equipment,” Martha explained. “They’ve carried a lunch with them, so the three of us will be dining alone.”
Gallantly Morgan helped the ladies to their chairs. If he sensed Silvia’s momentary frustration, his cheerful face gave no indication of it.
“And I won’t be distressed if they stay away all day,” he said easily. Morgan had a wealth of light brown hair and pleasant blue eyes that were ever friendly and warm. He had forgone wearing his coat and opted for an open-necked shirt like the one Eric wore. “I believe I should begin by apologizing for myself and my brother. We seem to have put our manners aside and shown you our baser natures. I apologize for anything offensive we have said or done.”
Silvia was taken aback. She had not expected an apology and she recalled that Roman, though granted adequate opportunity, had not given one. Her face grew somber for a moment and she saw Morgan’s eyes narrow speculatively.
“Perhaps we can begin again and be friends,” she said at last, smiling.
Morgan grinned and breathed a sigh of relief. He had such a sunny disposition that soon all three were laughing at his jokes and animated accounts of his and Roman’s adventures. Occasionally Silvia could feel the warmth of his gaze on her and once or twice she intercepted a glance that was decidedly intimate.
Martha, mindful of his purpose, gave her encouragement.
“Since I’ll be busy this afternoon, Morgan, perhaps you can find time to show Silvia the grounds. I’m sure she would be delighted to get out of the castle and see more of Schlange Island.” Martha’s voice was soft but her eyes sharp. “I would accompany you myself,” she said to Silvia, but I must see to the storing of the supplies we brought in yesterday. Things can ruin if they aren’t stored properly.” Her delicate face bore a slight smile as she glanced at Morgan.
Morgan’s eyes sparkled as he nodded in consent. “I would be pleased and honored to show you the grounds, Silvia.”
His open nature made Silvia feel comfortable and secure. She thought fleetingly he was exactly the opposite of his brother. He inspired in her a confidence that Roman seemed to drain away. He had a compellingly handsome face and the same sensual lips as Roman, but his eyes lacked the fire, the quick spark that made Roman’s temper flare with little provocation. Morgan was, she thought, the kind of man you could always depend on. He was the kind of man a woman could trust with her love, the kind of man a woman ought to fall in love with.
>
“I’m truly sorry, Morgan,” she said demurely. “But I’ve agreed to ride with Roman after lunch.” Her tawny eyes met the wonder in his. “Perhaps we could walk another time.”
Martha’s brows raised in surprise.
“Blast that blackheart!” Morgan’s mouth twisted into a sour grin. “The man is a thorn in my side!” His fist slammed against his thigh. “I’ll even the score with him yet,” he mumbled under his breath.
Silvia’s eyes widened and she dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, hiding her own surprise at Morgan’s repudiation of his brother.
Recovering his aplomb, he calmed his voice. “What time are you riding?” Morgan rose and slowly paced the length of the terrace.
“In an hour,” Silvia replied. She had finished her lunch, and glancing across the table, saw that Martha was preoccupied and quite obviously not in a mood for talking. No doubt she was anxious to get to her work and be done with it for the day. Silvia rose. “If you will excuse me, I have to change my clothes and I would like to rest awhile.”
Martha nodded an acknowledgement and pleaded she too had to hurry away. Morgan faced the garden, hands resting on his hips, his back turned to the woman.
“I wonder, Morgan,” Silvia called to him, “if you would direct me to the stables before I go to my room. It would save one of the servants the trouble of showing me the way.”
Morgan turned around, and to her surprise, a wide smile lit his face. With a few quick steps he was by her side, looping a wispy tendril of her hair around his fingers.
“I would be delighted to instruct you, my lady with the raven locks,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with a veiled amusement.
He twisted the curl tighter around his finger and slowly and carefully pulled his hand away, leaving the wisp of hair in an ebony ringlet on her cheek. His gaze became a soft caress and his smile warm and sunny. He gave her the directions she needed and wished her a most pleasant ride. But even as he stood conversing politely, he seemed to be chuckling under his breath.
Smiling, Silvia took her leave, and nodding her head in a gesture of thanks, hurried away. Behind her Morgan resumed his restless pacing of the terrace.
The sun filled her room with brightness and heat at midday. Oddly it gave the vivid greens in the room a cool look that was delightfully refreshing. Reluctantly she drew the heavy draperies, changing the room to a dark, murky green. The air became close and still and suddenly she felt as if she were sinking to the liquid green depths of the ocean.
It was a hazy, pleasant sensation and she smiled languidly as she removed the blue silk dress and loosened the laces around her waist. She was happy, she realized, pulling back the covers on the bed. A subtle change had taken place within her, an acceptance of her surroundings and circumstances. And something more, an emotion welling inside, as yet undefined but capable of bringing a rising excitement to her heart.
It was good she had not expected to sleep, because suddenly she was a little girl filled with eagerness and excitement, a little girl having all her dreams and fantasies come true. Even her chagrin that it was Roman Toller who had elicited such intense feeling from her was only a momentary annoyance.
After tossing about on the bed for a few minutes, it was obvious she would get no rest. She deemed her time would be better spent seeing if the riding habit fit. Thirty minutes later she was outfitted and walking down the lane in front of the castle.
The path to the stable was a lovely twisting trail lined with oleander bushes. She gave a philosophic little shrug. The house had been quiet when she left. All the servants were busy doing Martha’s bidding, and Morgan was nowhere to be found. It was remarkable to her that a household staff which must be large to be efficient could function totally out of sight. For with the exception of Vivien and Anna and the maid who had served the meals, she had not seen another servant since her arrival.
She found the stable to be a long, low building made of shell and mortar. It was flanked by paddocks and one end appeared to be used as a carriage house. She saw two horses saddled and tied to a hitching post out front, one a large roan gelding and the other a bay mare with a sidesaddle.
Talking softly, Silvia slowly approached the horses. She had owned a pony in her childhood and ridden every day until she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle. How wonderful it would be to have horses at her disposal and to be able to ride whenever she wished.
The little mare snorted and stomped her feet when Silvia drew near.
“Hello, pretty lady,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke a nose soft and brown as moleskin. The mare snorted again and gently nudged Silvia’s arm.
“She’s telling you she likes to be rubbed between the ears.” Roman came out of a carriage well and walked up behind Silvia before she knew he was nearby.
She spun around at the sound of his voice. He, like Eric and Morgan, had discarded his coat and wore a loose-fitting white shirt. The front fastened with laces and he had left it open in a way that virtually bared his chest. The unknotted leather cords that might have pulled the garment modestly together swung carelessly loose as he swaggered toward her, the flexing and tightening of each muscle evident through chamois breeches fitted tightly on his thighs. His riding boots, like her own, were of brown leather and extended to his knees.
His skin had turned golden from a morning in the sun. A few strands of fair hair escaped the tie at his nape and hung free around his face. Silvia clasped her hands together, fighting an urge to tuck those strands neatly back in place. He moved in such an easy, careless way, she suspected his walk was meant to be deliberately provocative. His eyes glowed with enjoyment, and he used, like a weapon, the disarming grin that brought a fluttering sensation just below her rib cage.
She had forgotten the horses, and cried out in surprise when the mare gave her a strong nudge to the shoulder, nearly knocking her off her feet. Awkwardly Silvia caught her balance and straightened her cap.
“Easy, girl,” she cooed, turning back to the mare.
Roman laughed. “Like a woman, she insists on having her way.”
He stretched out his hand to tangle his fingers in the mare’s mane and to scratch the animal between her ears. The little mare docilely lowered her head and snorted her enjoyment.
“Her name is Cricket, for the fancy way she walks.” He drew his hand away and Cricket lifted her head, rolling her lips back to show rows of broad teeth. “Martha’s trained her to the sidesaddle, but she’s mine and...”
“Spoiled,” Silvia said, stroking the mare’s nose again. She tilted her head to one side and peered at Roman as she adjusted her cap once more.
“I suppose it helps sometimes to spoil a woman,” he drawled. He had taken a wide-legged stance and locked his hands behind his back, his eyes growing lively with mischief. “Especially one who can give you as much pleasure as this little lady.”
Silvia’s cheeks reddened. Roman Toller was devastatingly handsome and suddenly she wanted to thrash the arrogance out of him. Blood pulsing hotly, she clutched at the riding crop in her hand, her knuckles whitening under the strain. If only she didn’t blush so easily and give away her emotions, she could pretend to be as cool as he and act as if he did not disturb her. But there was no way to conceal her heightened emotions or the little quiver in her lips that hinted of anger.
“Shall we ride?” Silvia, at a loss for words to bring him up short, made a pretense of inspecting the saddle and checking the stirrup.
“You do ride, I presume.”
“Yes, well enough, though not for some time.”
He looked at her critically, amusement showing in his face.
You need not worry. I am safe enough in the saddle,” she added, keeping her face composed as the little flutter again started in her stomach.
He had come alongside her and stood extremely close. They were positioned between the horses, and the smell of the animals coupled with the oiled leather of the tack was strong but not unpleasant. The roan lifted a rear hoof
and stomped it to the ground impatiently, raising a little gray cloud of dust at their feet.
“Easy now, Trader.” Roman turned to stroke the big gelding’s neck beneath his mane.
“He’s a fine animal,” Silvia said, noting Trader’s long legs and powerful flanks. The gelding had a white star on his forehead and proud flaring nostrils. He looked as if he could best the wind in a match.
“He hates being tied up, likes his freedom. That’s why his stall is always open to the paddock, so he can run free when he’s ready.” Roman slapped the horse playfully on his withers, then rubbed his hands clean on his breeches.
“Like a man,” Silvia said impishly, her voice crisp and clear. “Free to run and roam where he will, and always an open door when he’s ready to come home.” She smiled smugly.
“And a warm bed,” he added mockingly, facing her again, a bewitching smile playing at his lips. “A warm bed and an open door. What more could a man want?”
He laughed and gave a curt nod. A devilish light flashed in his eyes. His hands went out to circle Silvia’s waist and she could feel the heat from his palms penetrating her clothes. He was toying with her again. Challenging and knowing she would not match his boldness. She flung her hands out to push at his chest, but he lifted her quickly, holding her off the ground with her face dangerously close to his.
She saw his lips part, saw the little tug at the corner of his mouth that turned to a satanic smile as it spread. His eyelids flickered lazily as he drew her closer until the swell of her breasts touched his chest. Her senses were dancing to life and his strength was unwavering as he held her suspended for a moment.
Silvia’s tongue darted out to moisten trembling lips, her defiance dying a moment later when his lips brushed hers and sent a burst of fire through her veins. With a whim he could fan her passion to life, and it angered her that he could crush her serenity in a moment. He knew too well his power over her and how to use it to his advantage. With a taunt from his lips her anger mounted; with a touch of his hand the flame of desire heated her skin.
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