“Silvia?” His voice held a note of surprise and the sting had gone out of his words. “An unhappy bride? Tell me what it is you speak of. What spirit steals your sleep? What threats plague you?” He scowled and bent over her once more. “Is the Schlange fortune not enough to compensate for any discomfort.”
She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading, passion unveiled in the glowing golden depths. “I had thought spirits knew all. Can you not see I am married to a man who will never hold my heart? Indeed the bond of marriage has no meaning for my husband. He has no want of a wife.” Her breast ached, and warm tears welled in her eyes.
“Do you say you hold no place in his heart?”
“Nay. Not that. I believe he has come to love me.” Indeed she knew it to be true. She must be the only friend poor Willy had ever known. He had won her heart too, but not in the way a wife cares for a husband. Aye, that was the agony of it. Now that she knew Willy, she could never abandon him to the mercy of his father and Vivien. She would protect him until her own restless spirit drifted unfettered through the castle halls. She sighed wistfully.
She had delayed as long as she could and now had no choice but to bear Schlange a grandson, and little time to be about it.
“Aye. So that is the way of it.” His voice trailed off as he turned and left the way he had come. Silvia caught a last glimpse of purple in the half-darkness as the cloak flew out behind him.
The wind settled to a breeze that stirred the velvet curtains at the open French doors. Cooling air touched her face and revived her from the drowsy state she was in. Crying out suddenly, Silvia sat up, groggily awake as if from a deep sleep. Her eyes fearfully searched the darkness for the cause of her alarm, and her trembling hands flew to her cheeks and found them hot and burning. She could only conclude that the storm had blown the doors open and awakened her with its raging complaint.
She glanced down and spotted the book that had fallen from her lap and bent to retrieve it. Beside her, the dancing flame of the taper threatened to go out, and she quickly cupped it with her hands, lest she be left cringing in the darkness. Rising, Silvia took the taper and hurriedly relit the other candles. When the room was once more bathed in light and she was assured she was alone, she felt more than a little foolish and dismayed.
With a sense of relief, she walked to the open doors and stood with her eyes raised to the now settled sky. The light breeze whipped her silk skirt tightly against her legs and set a crown of raven curls loose around her face.
Soft light from the moon shone through dark clouds. The hour was late; still, it was reluctantly she shut the windows and fastened the latch. Evidently she could not evade the vexing dreams by keeping away from her rooms. Tonight they found her wherever she went.
She sighed pensively and prepared to leave the library. It had seemed so real, talking to Siegfried, seeing the blue blaze in his eyes. Whatever made her dream life into that god of long ago? she wondered. She walked past the line of statues and suddenly halted. Her mouth fell open and she gasped in surprise. The statue of Siegfried stood as before, proud, bold, and still. But the purple cloak was no longer draped on the broad stone shoulders. Nor could she find it anywhere in the library.
Trembling, Silvia blew out the candles and hastily left the room, searching her mind for the logic in what she could remember of the last few hours. Miserably perplexed, she stared at the Schlange crest on the wide wooden doors as she shut them tight. Had it been a dream?
Though the halls were well lit, she still carried the taper in her hand. Its tiny flame somehow gave her a sense of warmth and security, for the castle seemed larger and emptier than ever. Even her soft footsteps echoed threateningly off the high stone ceilings. In the pink marble foyer she paused a moment to watch in horror as flames leapt out of the gilded serpents’ mouths. She felt Schlange’s presence everywhere. His pervading will was known in each room, in each piece of furniture, as if he dared even the smallest crack of defiance. In that moment Silvia knew a hatred so strong that her eyes, clouded already, filled with disgust. She shuddered silently with the thought that Schlange too, like the spirits lodged in this house, could see and hear all.
Feeling flushed and strained, she had started to mount the stairs when the huge front doors opened and slammed shut. The wind whipped in, hitting her flesh like an eerie warm breath. Startled, she spun around and clapped her hands to her mouth, preventing a scream.
“Oh! Roman, it’s you.” Her voice shook.
He laughed heartily. “Were you meeting someone?” His eyes were strangely alive and an infuriating grin was on his lips.
“No,” she said quickly. “I was just going up to my room.” Her eyes flickered like the little flame of the candle in her hands. “You startled me, coming in so suddenly. I thought you were a...a ghost.”
“Not yet.” His face held a hint of mockery. “Earthly pleasures still amuse me.” He stepped near and pulled her brusquely into his arms. “Do I feel like a ghost?” he whispered.
She struggled violently and pushed at him. “Let me go!”
Roman held her fast, mocking her protests with his eyes. “I like the wildness in you,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Wild, sweet Silvia.” His lips were very close and he leaned down to kiss her slowly and deeply.
“You’re despicable,” she said, pushing at his shoulders. She was conscious of her hot cheeks and the jolt of lightning that had hit her stomach. Her lips seemed to burn and she hated herself for wanting to feel his arms around her once more. He was a devil, and the kiss that had started a flaming desire in her was only meant to torment.
“Merely proving a point, love.” He threw up his head.
“What point is that?”
“I am no ghost.”
“No, you are not.” Silvia sighed wearily. Suddenly she felt extremely tired. “The ghost is kinder.”
“You truly think there is a ghost?” His expression stilled and grew sober.
“Why not?” She shrugged stiffly. “Martha believes there are ghosts.”
“Have you actually seen one of these ghosts?”
“I might have.” Her eyes glinted fiercely.
The amused look left his face. He grasped her arm tightly, hurting it. “You believe it too, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I might.” For a moment his eyes were tender and she was seized with a sudden wish to tell him the truth. “Roman,” she began, “if only you could believe I didn’t deceive you.” Her eyes clung hopefully to his. “I didn’t mean it to happen between us. The night I came to your room, I was frightened,” she whispered huskily. “When you took me in your arms, I felt safe and wonderful, and I never wanted you to let me go.”
Roman’s hurtful grip eased to a caress on her arm. His brows rose a fraction and briefly she knew a moment of hope as she thought she had reached him, and penetrated the barrier he had thrown up between them.
A muscle quivered in his jaw and he gave her an assessing gaze.
“It doesn’t matter. I was happy to be of service.”
Her body stiffened with shock and hurt. “It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t.”
“Do I? Tell me. Make me believe it.”
She wrung her arm from his grasp. “How can I, when you’re so bent on believing the worst about me?” Tears streamed to her cheeks. “Don’t you know your uncle better than I? Have you never questioned why Willy is hidden away? Has it never occurred to you that everything in this house is sinister and evil?” Her voice had risen to a hysterical pitch.
“Silvia, stop.” He caught her shoulders and shook her gently. “You’re not making sense.” His face clouded with uncertainty. “What’s happened to make you believe this place is evil?”
She started to answer, but stopped as she saw something at the top of the stairs, a shadowy black figure and a hawkish face. They quickly disappeared. Her stomach knotted and she trembled helplessly beneath Roman’s hands. She had said too much. Had Vivien heard? Now she would never be sa
fe. Spinning away, she rushed up the stairs, hearing Roman’s voice call out her name and wishing it held no anger. But all she could do now was leave him in favor of a mindless escape—sleep.
Chapter 11
Roman stopped on the garden path. His face brightened. He had caught a glimpse of gold among the greens and pinks of the oleanders and he sniffed a lavender scent where none grew in the garden.
“Silvia. I’ve been looking for you.”
She had heard footsteps approaching and hurriedly stepped out of sight, hoping to avoid whoever was near. But the oleanders had not given sufficient cover. She felt a hollowness in her stomach and for a moment toyed with the thought of pretending she had not heard. Perhaps he would walk on. But at last she gave a muffled sigh and looked through a gap in the leaves.
“Why?” she asked abruptly as she twisted gracefully though an opening in the thick bushes. She irritably snapped a blossom off a limb in passing.
“Because,” he said, moving a pace nearer, “I was troubled about your thoughts of ghosts.” His gaze ranged over her freely and he was quick to notice how the gold of her gown seemed to lighten the darker honey color of her eyes. It disturbed him, though, to see faint shadows underneath her eyes, especially since he thought he might in part be responsible for putting them there.
“Ghosts?”
“Last night you spoke of ghosts, hinted that you had seen a spirit.”
The oleanders framed her on a canvas of deep green, and he thought as she plucked the petals from the blossom in her hand, that she was as beautiful as any flower in the garden. The unbidden thought clamored uncomfortably in his brain until he furrowed his brow in a deep frown and half-turned away from her.
Silvia watched and wondered at the change in his countenance. Thinking he meant to treat the matter as childish prattling, she deliberately made light of the situation.
Silvia inclined her head slightly. “Not seriously, to be sure,” she answered serenely. In the sparkling sunlight of morning, she wasn’t going to admit to visions of spirits in the castle. “My thoughts were woolly from falling asleep in the library. I had a dream of ghosts, and you gave me a start, slamming the door.”
His frown changed to a look of puzzled regard. “You seemed overwrought and frightened.”
“I was tired and in a poor humor.” She lifted her face to meet his stare fully. “I apologize for my outburst.”
Roman’s brows raised in surprise. “You had more than ghosts on your mind. You said this house was evil, that you had been tricked.”
“I spoke the truth.”
He stared at her, his jaw tightening. “What is the truth?”
Staring, she gave him a wry smile and felt the sting of a sharp little thorn in her heart. The wind lifted Roman’s fine gold hair and floated it in a flaxen wreath around his head. He looked doubly handsome in the gentle morning light, and there was no enmity in his features. She was taken wistfully back to the time when they had been lovers and his eyes had promised a lifetime of loving.
Perhaps it was a touch of sentiment or a momentary longing for that remembered feeling that made her speak boldly. Or perhaps she believed, without knowing, that the tender bond remained and would someday surface again. Surprising herself, she answered in a voice filled with dignity and calm.
“The truth is, I came here as a bond servant, not as a bride. I was tricked into this marriage.” The words, once spoken, gave her the feeling of having been divested of a heavy and loathsome burden, and once the admission was made, she took a deep restorative breath as her eyes sought his.
He reacted with a speculative narrowing of his eyes. “Can you prove this?”
“I can. Though it matters little now.”
He raised a hand as if to caress her cheek and then drew it back. “I would like to see this proof.”
Silvia dropped a crushed, bruised blossom from her hand and caught his arm hopefully. A feverish excitement warmed the blood beneath her skin. If Roman believed her, it would solve all her problems. He would expose his uncle and help her to resolve the dilemma.
“Come with me.” She tugged at his arm. “The bond paper is hidden in my room.” It was the one thing that would prove her claim. Wilhelm’s London solicitor had signed and affixed a seal to the bond agreement, and it bore the same date as the marriage documents she had unwittingly signed. The bond paper would be proof enough to convince Roman of his uncle’s duplicity. He could not fail to believe her.
For what woman, on her wedding day, would sign a bond of servitude to her father-in-law?
***
Silvia flung the covers to the floor and knelt beside the bed to plunge her arm beneath the mattress and forage for the paper. Sudden color darkened her cheeks and her eyes took on a glow of desperation. It must be there. She turned to Roman and saw that he stood just inside the closed door of her bedroom. His bemused expression was fading. An arrogant tilt arched one brow sharply.
“Help me raise this mattress,” she cried. “It must have slipped back out of reach.”
Scowling, Roman sauntered to her side and caught the corner of the down-filled ticking, hoisting it high enough to expose the latticed webbing and bed frame underneath. Silvia crawled beneath the overhang of his arm, searching every inch of the bedding. Her throat tightened as if there were a knot in her windpipe. There was no paper to be found.
“Is this another of your tricks, Silvia Schlange?” He gave her a scorching look as she clambered to her feet. “Another twist of the viper’s tail?” With a sneer, Roman loosened his hold on the mattress and it flopped down to rest askew on the bed frame.
“No. I swear it.” The scorn in his voice made color flame into her face. “The paper was here. Someone has taken it.”
He wheeled about to leave, but she caught him by the sleeve, pulling him back to face her. A sickening feeling started in the pit of her stomach and began welling upward. She staggered forward, still clutching his sleeve, giving a despairing cry as her knees buckled beneath her.
Roman eyed her incredulously; then, in a flash, his arms reached to catch her. As he did, his feet entangled in the heap of coverlets on the floor and together they fell upon the tousled bed, Silvia caught fast in his arms.
Her heart turned over in her chest. He was angry but had not moved his arms from around her waist, nor made an effort to get to his feet. She saw the smoldering flame in his eyes and felt herself being drawn as if by a magnet into a vortex of wanton desire. Roman too had succumbed to the same spinning void and softly whispered her name. She pressed her hands against his chest and felt the rapid pounding of his heart. Like cool flames, his fingers moved lightly over her rib cage, pulling her closer until they were no more than inches apart.
“What are you, Silvia? A temptress or an angel?” he questioned, his voice husky with desire.
She touched a finger to his lips, silencing him. For now, nothing mattered but that they were together and shared a common binding need. It emerged in a force greater than the rift between them, and for the moment the hopelessness of her situation was forgotten. She only wanted to be encircled in his arms, to feel the heated crush of his body against hers.
“I love you,” she whispered, burying her face against his shoulder. She felt the hardness of his body against her, and suddenly all awareness of the world fled.
“And I, love, find you forever in my mind and in my heart. He leaned close and murmured soft words in her ear. Silvia’s eyes brimmed with unexpected wanting, and warming to it, Roman quickly plucked the pins from her hair, spilling it in a black curtain across her shoulders.
Lips soft and yielding sought the curve between her neck and shoulder. Very gently his hand molded over the swell of her breast, his fingers slipping inside the bodice of her gown and finding the tight rosy crest he sought.
She moaned. The soft mist of her breath touched his face, and slowly, deliberately, Roman trailed his mouth across her cheeks to claim her trembling lips. His kisses fell like brands upon her sk
in and sealed her mouth to his with a sweet, burning heat.
She drank in the fire of his kiss, weaving her lean fingers into the golden hair at his nape and pressing him closer, enjoying the heady feel of his embrace. His nearness was an intoxicating, tormenting delight that sent shivers of pleasure through her flesh. Her head reeled and her heart hammered wildly as she surrendered to the joyous madness of his caresses. With a languid sigh she pulled him closer, her small tongue finding and tasting the sweetness of his mouth as her fingers delighted in stroking the firm flesh so tightly muscled in his shoulders and back.
How long had they both desired this moment? she wondered as a quivering flame of wanting surged through her. Roman’s hands loosed the fastenings of her dress and pulled the restricting garment from her body. He paused a moment to toss away his own shirt and breeches. His swollen manhood proved the intensity of his passion, as did his hands, which anxiously undid the tiny buttons and bows binding her chemise. Exasperated with his inability to unfasten the frilly undergarment, Roman ripped the filmy batiste from her shoulders, baring her breasts to his hands and fevered kisses.
He paused in his passionate endeavor only long enough to fling the ruined chemise across the room. His breath caught roughly in his throat at the sight of her naked beneath him with her fragrant black hair spread wildly over the sheets. Satin flesh, silky smooth and intoxicating beneath his hands, urged him to delay his quest no longer.
He bent only a moment to capture one rosy-peaked breast, the act sending shivers of ecstasy through Silvia.
Her hand strayed out to capture his manhood and guide it on. The touch brought a blaze of passion to his eyes and a hoarse cry from his lips, and as he probed her moist, warm nest, he tried to hold back the fury of his desire. But Silvia lifted her hips to take him deeply within her, and Roman could not contain the madness that pulsed within him. Like a violent storm they crashed and thundered together until the world began to topple around them. Together they shattered the earth, careened through the nectarous air, crying out in unison as their pleasure claimed them.
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