Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

He rolled to his side and pulled her against him, his hand wandering over the curve of her waist and onward to the flare of her hips. She felt the manly thrust of him against her, and her mind spun, excitement building with each arousing touch until she knew nothing but the press of his lips, the delicious demand of his kisses. A soft and wanton sigh escaped from her lips. He pressed his hand to her thigh and ignited a sweet, burning ache in her loins. His kisses devoured her and his eyes became a burst of blue lights as passion raged unfettered within his loins.

  Carefully, reverently, he eased Silvia to her back, kneeling above her for one poignant, burning moment. She saw him clearly now, his heated manliness, the untempered desire in his face. Roman braced his arms beside her shoulders, his open mouth searing her lips with raging kisses as he lowered his weight upon her. A gentle nudge eased her thighs apart and she felt his thrust, a heated fusing that brought a brief flash of pain.

  She cried his name out but soon was lost in the mounting pleasure he brought to her rapturous body. It was a mystical, unfolding world of wonder, an expanding ecstasy that flamed within like a thousand fiery suns lighting the sky. She soon learned to match his ardor, meeting his thrusts with delectable fury as her passion built to a torturous level of white heat. Wrapping her legs around him, she lifted her hips, pressing herself even closer to him. She felt him moving inside her, and as she arched her body, felt her breasts brush against his chest. Roman groaned, and placing his hands beneath her buttocks, crashed against her, igniting her flesh until an explosion came in a moment of heat and pleasure as intense and beautiful as the birth of a new star.

  Blissfully they rested together in the glow of shared passion, their bodies entwined, his head beside her shoulder. Silvia’s hand rested on the damp gleaming skin of his back, and her eyes shone with a look of surprise and elation. His eyes had cooled to a sapphire blue, shining with a new emotion as he kissed her softly.

  “I have claimed you, love,” he whispered, covering her mouth with silken kisses, “as mine and mine alone.” Her lips were soft and warm, the taste of her sweet and heady like wine and honey.

  “I would belong to no other, Roman,” she whispered as her heart swelled with joy at his words.

  He rolled to his back and she nestled her head on his shoulder. His arms held her in a quiet embrace, her tangled black curls spilled over his chest, and she heard the thundering of his heart. Silvia lifted a hand to caress his cheek. Her breathing had slowed but the feel of his body joined to hers lingered like a phosphorescent glow delectably warming her heart and soul.

  The sun had begun a rosy climb in the sky when they stirred again. Roman lay on his back, Silvia cuddled in the crook of his arm, her breasts rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. Minutes ticked away as he gazed at her, overcome by the tantalizing display of her beauty, reveling in the knowledge that she had given herself to no other man. He saw her lips, full and tempting, the bloom of color on her cheeks. A surge of fullness ebbed in his chest, a possessive, protective tide of emotion willing him to keep her forever at his side.

  He had made no conquest, he knew. In truth he had been conquered by soft lips and silken skin, ebony hair and eyes like wild honey. He sighed and bent over her, kissed her forehead, buried his face in the curtain of her hair, drinking in the faint lavender perfume of the dark, silky curls. He wanted nothing more than to take the place in her heart that she had taken in his. Roman’s brow creased thoughtfully. Would she feel as he did? A long finger curved beneath her chin, lifting her face to his lips. He kissed her eyes open with a soft brush of his mouth.

  Silvia sighed sleepily.

  “Wake up, little love. I’ll take you to your room before it is common knowledge you spent the night in my bed.”

  Rising quickly, he crossed the room to find a pair of breeches and a shirt. His tousled golden hair hung lankly over his forehead and the length of it swung loose, almost reaching his shoulders. Silvia propped herself up in bed and modestly pulled the sheet up as she watched him cross the room.

  His shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, his hips trim and lean. He walked with the leisurely grace of a tiger, the corded muscles beneath his gleaming golden skin rippling with each step.

  While Silvia watched in fascination, he donned a pair of blue breeches and pulled a loose-fitting shirt over his head. A sprinkling of laughter rewarded her modesty as he walked back to the bed, combing his hair through with his fingers.

  “Up, love,” he whispered. “Back to your room before the sun rises.” He found her gown in a heap on the floor, shook it out, and sat beside her. Suddenly his lips began a series of tantalizing kisses, starting at her earlobes and rambling provocatively to her mouth. The touch of his lips was light and feathery but grew in intensity until his mouth was crushing hers and his tongue was thrusting hungrily against her own.

  Silvia moaned softly, dizzied by the sweet assault.

  Reluctantly Roman pulled away and caught her by the arms, lifting them high over her head. As he did, the sheet fell to her waist, revealing pink-tipped orbs. At the revelation of such a delectable prize, Roman stifled a ragged groan. He looked at her longingly for a moment, but forced himself to slip her arms and head through the proper openings of the gown. With a sigh, he slid the sheer garment down, coursing his hands over her back and letting them come to rest on her waist.

  Silvia trembled beneath the warmth of his caress.

  “Have you no voice this morning, love?” A devilish gleam lit his eyes and his lips curled into a teasing smile. “Am I truly a monster, that I have rendered you speechless?”

  He threw the covers back and lifted her from the bed, setting her on her feet in front of him.

  The silk gown cascaded over her legs as she took an unsteady step and staggered drunkenly against him to catch her balance.

  “Nay, Roman.” She found her voice, though it was small and shaky. “My monster is a sweet golden god, and I am bewitched to find him so.”

  “Ahh,” he said, and laughed. His eyes twinkled merrily as they bathed her in adoration. “It is you who have bewitched me, love.” He took a robe from a peg beside his bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. “And we will have to decide what is to be done about it,” he said in a voice clear and gentle. “But for now, you must go.”

  Roman laid an arm on her shoulder and led her to the door. Stretching his hand to the knob, he opened it slowly and cautiously peered out to determine if anyone was in sight. Finding the way clear, he led her to her room, where her door still stood open. Roman stepped inside briefly and looked around. Finding nothing amiss, he led Silvia in and gently kissed the tip of her nose.

  “We’ll talk in the garden after breakfast, love,” he said softly. “Sleep awhile now.”

  She found a joyous satisfaction in the tone of his voice and a comforting reassurance in the gentleness of his touch.

  “That is best,” she whispered, pressing his hand to her lips and kissing the golden-brown knuckles. Her face bore a radiant glow as she gazed dreamily into his eyes. “There is much I wish to tell you.”

  He stepped away, closing the door lightly as he left. Silvia quickly turned the key in the lock and hurried to her bed. Thoughts of the terrifying intruder who had roused her from sleep faded from her mind. Whatever, whoever he was, a dream or a ghost, he had sent her into the arms of the man she loved. That single thought overpowered all others. Roman, the man she had thought she despised, the man who had taunted her mercilessly, had captured her heart.

  She slept restfully, a smile set on her lips and the glow remaining in her cheeks. She had not slept well in this house since she arrived, but now the lightness in her heart brought a calm and welcome repose.

  She awoke to the sound of knocking on her door late in the morning. Startled, she sat up hurriedly. The sun was high and birds were chirping loudly in the trees outside.

  She hesitated a moment, then exhaled a contented sigh, realizing she had slept through breakfast and Roman was most likely wakening her. H
er heart was bursting with happiness, and without hesitation she jumped from the bed and rushed to the door.

  “Ro...” Her dark lashes flew up quickly and she took a sharp breath.

  But Vivien’s dark form greeted her from the doorway. An irritated frown twitched at Silvia’s lips as Vivien’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Mr. Schlange is recovered well enough to see you,” she stated flatly. Her eyes took in every detail of Silvia’s appearance and her face held a look of mockery. Vivien’s lips formed a hard, cold smile as she glanced quickly at the bed where Roman’s robe rested across the foot. Silvia had forgotten to hide it beneath the bedcovers.

  “I’m so glad he’s better,” Silvia stammered in surprise.

  Uncomfortably she crossed her arms over her chest and shivered as if she felt a sudden chill. What made her dread seeing Mr. Schlange? She felt as if she had been tossed from a soft, feathery cloud and was plunging headlong toward the hard, unyielding ground. Had she thought a night in Roman’s arms had changed her? She was still a bond servant, Mr. Schlange’s bond servant. She was not free to give her heart, not free to give her love to anyone until her five years of indenture ended. The thought wounded her as surely and sorely as a bullet.

  She had to look away from Vivien’s hawkish gaze. A slow flush of despair swept over her. Roman might not feel the same about her after today. She had told him she was a bond servant, but he hadn’t believed her. Everyone seemed to think she was someone else. Even she had begun to believe it herself. Where was her common sense, and what could be the purpose of her despair? She sighed. There was nothing for her to do now but see Mr. Schlange and appeal to his mercy. When he learned of Roman’s feelings for her, he would surely make allowances.

  Sadly Silvia dropped her gaze. Her hands were clenched at her sides in tight little fists and her nails bit sharply into her palms. There must be a way to solve it all. She crushed down the heaviness in her heart and let herself be cheered a little. A man as generous and kind as Mr. Schlange would he softhearted about such matters. Like a ray of sunshine following a storm, a wisp of a hopeful smile chased the cloud from her face.

  Vivien’s brows flicked up curiously.

  “Anna will bring a breakfast tray and come to help you with your toilette.” Vivien walked to the armoire and took out a voluminous dress. “Wear this green.” Her voice was flat and cold. “Mr. Schlange expects you in an hour. I will come for you myself.”

  Silvia was glad Anna was vivacious this morning. The plump woman deposited the breakfast tray and hurriedly began to prepare the hip tub for Silvia’s bath. Anna hummed a little tune, one Silvia remembered from childhood, and the cheery melody helped to lighten her mood momentarily. But by the time she sat down to the tray Anna had placed on the little table by the window, her dread had returned and she could scarcely eat a bite. Anna worried over her and fussed that she would be weak as water if she did not consume more than a few forkfuls.

  Finally she did manage to eat a respectable amount, more to placate the doting Anna than to satisfy her appetite. But it was the warm, soothing bath that calmed her most, that and Anna’s careful brushing of her hair. When she’d donned the dress Vivien selected and was sitting in front of the mirror, Anna returned to comb her hair and quickly secure it in a braided bun laced through with tiny white ribbons.

  “I could have done better with more time.” She sighed and patted her handiwork. “But it looks lovely just the same.” Anna smoothed a ruffle of lace that edged the neck of the green lawn gown Silvia wore. “If there’s nothing more, I’ll be leaving, miss.”

  Silvia twisted her neck to see the effect of the hairstyle. Another time she mightn’t have liked it, but it did seem to add a maturity to her looks. She welcomed the aid of anything that gave even the appearance of a courage and strength she did not feel.

  “No. That’s all. Thank you, Anna,” Silvia said politely. But when Anna was gone, she put her hands to her hot cheeks. She was unable to calm herself. What a torment it would be to lose it all now. The Emerald Suite, the gowns. Roman. No. She was being foolish. They had never been hers. And those things mattered little. It was only Roman she cared about. He would help. Nothing bad would happen. Why, Mr. Schlange might even release her from her bondage when he learned of their feelings for one another.

  It was on that note that Silvia was able to relax a little. She soon heard Vivien’s flinty voice calling her name, and feeling a bit more lighthearted, she rose and went to the door.

  Vivien regarded her surreptitiously for a moment, then said firmly, “He will see you now.”

  “I am ready,” Silvia answered without conviction.

  She had longed for this meeting when she first arrived, even asked for it. Now in spite of reassurances to herself, she found she dreaded the confrontation and the uncertainty of what it would bring. Her heart pounded fitfully in her chest as Vivien led the way through the long halls to a back section of the castle.

  It seemed they would never stop walking when Vivien paused in front of a massive door where coiled serpents of brass formed knobs. She knocked, her hand making a hollow sound on the heavy door. Silvia stood behind her, coldly apprehensive. Vivien waited a few seconds, but without hearing a response from inside, turned the brass knob and swung the door inward.

  The heavy smell of camphor and other medicines hung in the still air. The draperies were drawn but the room was well lighted with a dozen or more candles. It was a large sitting room with furnishings in dark carved mahogany and with the serpent-tree motif evident in almost every quarter. Silvia had become accustomed to seeing the family crest everywhere, but that did not prevent the shiver of revulsion she felt each time she saw the image of the evil-looking serpent twisted around the trunk of a sapling tree.

  A large desk and several locked cabinets lined one wall. Silvia had taken only a few steps inside before she saw a shriveled old man reclining on a settee at the far side of the room. He wore a dressing gown of dark green velvet trimmed with loops of gold braid. As she entered, he lifted his head with effort and turned his eyes toward her. The strain of illness was apparent in the grim lines of his face.

  Mr. Schlange boosted himself up with slow deliberation, moving as if the effort took all his strength. He watched painstakingly as Vivien led her toward him.

  “Closer, miss. I want to see you.” His gravelly voice was hoarse and grating and sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  She wanted to refuse, to turn around and flee the room. Instead she stifled the impulse and followed Vivien to a chair near him.

  “Well, well. A fine prize you are, Silvia. A fine prize.” His skin held a gray pallor and stretched thinly over a bony frame. His hair, a yellowed white, stuck lifelessly to his scalp, and a pair of green eyes sunken into his skull seemed too alive and alert for an old man with the look of death.

  Vivien left them, moving in her silent walk through the arched doorway of an adjoining room.

  Silvia held back a shudder of revulsion. She could not look unkindly on the old man who had extended such generosity to her.

  “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Silvia. Longer than I intended,” he said patiently, his voice weak though tinged with a strong Germanic accent.

  “And I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Schlange,” she said with difficulty, her throat feeling strangely tight. “You have been most kind to me and I wish to thank you for your benevolence.” The corners of her mouth quivered. She tried to smile but found the act as difficult as moving features of stone.

  “Fine things become you, my dear.” He lifted his head to look at her sharply, absorbingly. He stared, his eyes even more keenly alive, a slight flush coloring his ashen skin. As he beckoned her nearer, an expression of excitement spread over his dour face.

  “You are a lovely child, my dear.” His penetrating gaze raked over her, noting the dark hair and the skin as fair and smooth as cream. “My London solicitors did well. I could not have chosen better myself.” A look of delight now tempered hi
s countenance, and the accent was far heavier than she had realized. “Yes,” he grated out. “You are perfect. Perfect.”

  Silvia responded quickly with a cross look. He made her feel as if she were a bit of horseflesh he had bought sight unseen. A surge of anger raced through her veins. Wide honey-brown eyes rimmed with flashing black lashes dominated her face when her temper flared. Her lips trembled and bore the natural pout of a little girl, and under Schlange’s scrutiny she felt and looked like a lost waif completely at his mercy.

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” She frowned, wishing the interview would soon end.

  Schlange rubbed his bony chin thoughtfully. “Turn around, my dear, so that I can see you better.” He twisted his gnarled hands together and made a clucking sound. The girl was far better than he had expected. A malevolent smile brought a look of enjoyment to his face and he laughed weakly. Age and illness had taken a high toll on his body, but his mind remained as sharp and as cunning as ever. If his strength held out, he would see his plan through.

  Silvia turned slowly and awkwardly. She felt deflated, humiliated, and bitterly conscious of his blatant appraisal.

  “Sit down, miss.” A labored kindness sounded in his voice and caused her to shiver as if she were in a draft.

  “There are things I must tell you.”

  She arched a dark brow and took a seat on the nearest chair. “Of course, Mr. Schlange. I am grateful for the opportunity of speaking with you, as there are also matters I wish to discuss.”

  He seemed not to hear her and feebly dropped his head back on the cushion.

  “Give me a moment, I beseech you, miss, and forgive the curse of old age.” He paused, his breathing labored, though his eyes glowed strangely as they did when he had bested a rival or triumphed in a matter of business.

  Silvia’s brows arched as she watched him. Was the old gentleman deranged? She could not imagine under what pretext he had purchased her bond and brought her to the island. He seemed as vague and bemused about her position as did the others in the castle.