Silvia saw the sparks of blue flame building in his smoldering eyes. He soon cast his breeches aside and entwined her in a gentle grasp. Her head rolled back limply, and she was being lifted, carried while her consciousness descended into bliss. As she moaned her pleasure, a tawny head dipped lightly to meet her lips in a brief kiss.
Golden eyes shone with a soft, honeyed light as he whirled her about, and a surprised gasp slipped quickly from her still moist lips.
Set squarely in the center of the floor and dominating the circular room was a massive postered bed hung with curtains of rich rose-colored velvet. The monstrously beautiful piece had a canopied pagoda top that nearly touched the ceiling, and plush side hangings that swept the carpeted floor.
He balanced her gracefully on his knee while his arm went out to draw a velvet curtain at one side of the bed. Hurriedly he turned down the rose silk coverlet, revealing the smooth satin sheets underneath.
His face brushed her cheek as he lowered her to the fluffy mattress. Her body warmed to his touch, and a budding tide of excitement sprang from deep within. Once more his arms wrapped her in a consuming embrace and her breath broke into a panting, ragged rhythm. Like a flame his mouth seared her skin with a profusion of wild, wandering kisses. Gently his teeth nibbled at her ear and then sped to the delectable rosy peaks of her swollen breasts.
One hand wove into the dark coils of curls that hung across her shoulders, the other trailed enticingly over her smooth belly and onto the silken skin of her thighs.
Moaning, she cried out as the phantom man, created from her dreams, carried her into his mystical world of rapture. He held her enchanted, this godlike creature who mumbled words of love in her ear. She wrapped him in her arms, inviting his embrace as her skin took on a moist glow in the darkness behind the velvet curtain.
Silvia closed her eyes, breathless as she felt the hard, manly boldness of him pressing against her. Lightly her lips sought the warm skin at his throat and traveled hungrily to his mouth. Her tongue traced the curve of his lips and slipped hesitantly into the sweet cavern there. Moaning, he matched her ardor and multiplied it with a savage slant of his mouth across hers.
Silvia’s fingers laced together briefly behind his back. She trembled, feeling a well of giddiness rising from the center of her being. Was it possible to feel such a burst of ecstasy, to be loved by a man who was not of this world?
His hand wandered from her thigh, plying that most sensitive part of her with gentle, probing strokes. Passion flared, a raging tempest within him, and the desire he felt could not be held much longer. He rose to his knees, nudging her legs apart with a gentle push.
“Silvia,” he whispered tenderly. “Do you know and love me?” He moved over her, his eyes glowing with the fire of passion, his chest gleaming in the ruby light.
“Aye,” she whispered, her hands moving instinctively to his hips. “That I do.”
He came to her then in a single bold thrust that took her breath as their bodies rocked together, sealing them in a bond of dark splendor. Her eyes widened and she knew him then as if she had always known him. With a surge of passion she moved her hips to meet his, her pleasure mounting quickly to a frantic, fevered level of tempestuous delight. It was an endless ecstasy, a rapturous race to the pinnacles of happiness.
They soared together, caught the clouds, and saw the stars explode into a million rays of shooting light. It seemed to Silvia that she had reached another plane of life and would never again return to that world from which she had come.
A long moment passed before she had strength to open her eyes, and even then she could barely see beneath her drooping lids. Her head lay heavily on the pillow. The weight of his body had left her, but she felt its magical warmth still beside her. Her lips moved, forming words of love in a voice as fleeting as her wakefulness.
“Sleep now, my sweet.” She heard his rich, loving whisper lulling her into a dream. His arms wrapped her like a warm cocoon, his fingers idly drawing circles upon her back.
Smiling to himself, he smoothed the tangles from her hair and pulled a sheet over her flushed body, watching as the satin molded to her alluring curves, its luster dimmed beside that of her skin. He envied its closeness to that sweet flesh and soft warm body as the heady lavender scent of her perfume filled the air. Breathing deeply of it, he sighed contentedly and dropped down beside her.
Hours passed while they slept. Silvia woke first with a start, confused by the strangeness of her surroundings, thinking she was caught up in one of her haunting dreams. But he lay there beside her, the golden man who had claimed her, his breathing deep and slow, a smile resting gently upon his lips. Smiling softly, Silvia bent to kiss his throat and slipped from her finger the small gold band that had belonged to her mother.
Gently taking up his hand, she placed the ring on his finger. A moment later she lay back to nestle in the curve of his arm, her eyes again closed in sleep.
Chapter 15
The first thing Silvia was aware of when she awoke a second time was that she had been wrong about the pregnancy. There would be no child in the spring. It was a realization that brought her a mixture of joy and sadness.
Her mistake had undoubtedly been due to nervousness and the strain of her situation. She knew such a thing could happen to women who desperately wanted a child. Possibly the same condition could inflict itself on a woman afraid of conceiving.
Her second awareness was that it was midday and she was alone, as she had expected, in her own bed, wearing her own gown. That pagodaed bed with rosy velvet curtains was only a misty, dreamlike memory. Her eyes sparkled like crystals. The dream would sustain her through much disaster.
She gazed about the room. The fleecy robe she had worn the night before lay folded neatly over the stool of her dressing table. At the sight of it, a smile set delightfully on Silvia’s lips, and she suddenly felt lighthearted and gay, although she knew she still ought to feel grim the day after her husband’s funeral.
But her merriment was far too pleasant. She even gave a light chuckle as she slowly sat up and plumped her pillows against the head of the bed. A most wondrous and real dream it had been. Silvia settled back, huddling her legs to her chest and stretching her arms out wide. Nothing could dim the secret happiness in her heart. Absently she raked the tousled hair from her eyes and sighed.
Moments later, she tossed the covers carelessly aside and went to the dressing room to attend to her feminine needs. She realized then that at least part of her dream had been quite real.
Though the sun was high in the sky and beamed its bright light through the open windows, she returned to the cozy warmth of her bed. She smoothed out the coverlet, and in doing so disturbed an object at the footboard.
“Nooo,” she cried, in disbelief.
One trembling hand held a crumbling red rose, long dead, its petals blackened and dry. Another was wrapped about a small clay doll very evidently made in her likeness. The features were plainly recognizable, and if they had not been, there was no mistaking the bit of curling black hair that had been painstakingly pressed into the little head when the clay was wet.
Willy’s doll. He had made dozens of them, but she had never seen this one of her. He must have kept it hidden. So he had been the one to come to her room and cut the lock of her hair. And he had left the rose as a gift. Silvia realized she had been right—Willy had wandered unattended through the castle at will. Vivien had not succeeded in keeping him locked up. Or could someone have aided him in his midnight walks?
Silvia twisted her hands nervously. She had told only Roman that she believed Willy had been murdered. Willy’s murderer had obviously left these two items as a warning against her interfering. But who? Vivien? Roman?
Silvia could make no sense of it, and clearly her ghostly lover could not protect her. A sudden, suffocating heaviness, as if the walls of the castle were tumbling in, closed over her. Had he been the one to leave the doll and the rose? Was it he who meant to harm her?
Silvia dr
essed without Anna. She wanted to hurry downstairs and tell everyone that she planned to leave on the next ship that docked. There was nothing to keep her here anymore and everything told her to leave. What did it matter to her to know the terms of Wilhelm’s will? How could she possibly hope to match her wits against someone who knew her every move? Her fears driving her on, she darted through her door in a near run.
“Silvia, wait.” Roman caught her shoulder before she was fully in the hall. “We have matters to discuss before you go down.” His grip was painfully strong on her arm. “Come back inside.”
She hesitated. Did she dare to be alone with him? Before she could decide, he had ushered her into the sitting room and shut the door.
“What is it you want?” she choked out.
He led her to the love seat and gently nudged her to its fat cushions. A moment later he was sitting beside her, holding both her hands in an agitated grasp.
His face was drawn, and his eyes darted about anxiously. The tight press of his fingers was beginning to stop the flow of blood in her hands, and noting her distress, Roman eased his grip.
“I believe what you said about Willy’s death. That it was not accidental.”
“Do you?”
“I know there’s little reason you should trust me, but I believe your life is in danger as well.” His burning eyes caused her composure to slip as they compelled her to meet his gaze. “Silvia, someone intends to kill you.”
“You’re sure of this?” she questioned softly, turning her face from him. If only she could believe he had no part in it.
“Yes, by God,” he ranted. “Sure enough to know you must leave the island.”
“I intend to leave.”
He squeezed her hands tightly.
“A ship will dock in a few days, then follow the southward route to the Indies. I can get you aboard secretly. Given time, I believe I can discover the killer, but until I do, you and the child are not safe.”
“The child?”
“Willy’s child.”
“Roman, I want to explain—”
“No,” he interrupted. “It isn’t necessary to explain. And don’t dare mention the child to anyone else. The knowledge that a Schlange heir is expected would render your life worthless.”
“Roman, I must tell you—”
“Please, say no more. When the killer is caught, I’ll send word for you to return. But for now, until the ship docks, I want you to stay in your room. Pretend to be ill or otherwise distressed. Keep Anna with you. Trust no one else.”
“And you?”
“I’ll stay away. I wouldn’t want to draw more attention to you. And there are things to be done before the ship docks.”
“But Roman...Silvia protested.
“You must trust me in this, Silvia.”
“Must I?”
“Yes. You must.”
She trusted him. Perhaps unwisely. Or perhaps because there was little else she could do. She would not admit even to herself that deep in her heart she still held a secret longing to hear Roman proclaim his love for her.
It was easy enough to plead illness and distress following Willy’s death. And saying she did not wish to be alone, she had a cot made up for Anna in the dressing room. But as the days dragged on, she grew weary of the solitude, and a new thought, like a seed sprouting in the barren soil of a craggy cliff, began to grow in her head.
If she were to leave, the killer might never be found. It was left to her to expose Willy’s murderer. With Roman’s help, she knew how it could be done.
***
“Good morning,” she said gaily, entering the drawing room, where Eric and Martha sat engaged in heated conversation with Morgan and Roman.
With deliberation she had selected the richest gown in her wardrobe, a shirred moire silk of deep blue with a décolletage that brought a gasp from each of the men. The daring gown was ruffled in yards of delicate lace woven through with gold threads and hung so low on her shoulders it seemed any moment she would be exposed to the waist. Her cheeks here pinched to a ruddy red and she had told Anna to fashion her hair in a particularly frivolous style. Curls cascaded flirtatiously over her shoulders and winked temptingly at her temples.
“Should you be downstairs?” Martha blurted out quickly, giving a tight smile as her hand brushed the skirt of her own chaste dress.
Morgan dashed to her side and Silvia watched with a high degree of interest as the color drained from Eric’s face. In Roman’s eyes she saw a sudden raw fury.
“I’m feeling fit as a fiddle,” she chirped.
“Anna said you were extremely weak,” Martha went on in her soft voice. “I am pleased to see you have recovered so quickly.”
“And so I have.” Silvia smiled. “But a quick recovery is not so unusual for someone in my condition.” She carried a black enamel fan, and spreading it open, fanned lightly. Momentarily the fanning stopped and her little chin went up. “Have I interrupted you?”
“No, no,” Eric said abruptly. “We were discussing business, the mill and the shipments for the New Star. But we shan’t bother you with it.”
“No?” Silvia asked briefly, her brows arching sharply. “I expect you’ll be consulting me for all matters of business soon.” She snapped her fan shut. “It will all be mine, of course, when the will is read. The entire estate will belong to me and the child I carry, Willy’s child, grandchild to Wilhelm Schlange.”
Her eyes coyly marked the expressions her words drew.
“A child,” Martha whispered, her lips quivering almost imperceptibly. “Why, that’s wonderful news,” she continued. “Are you certain you should be up?”
“I am perfectly sound.” She nodded. “I think, in fact, I’ll take a stroll in the garden. I’ve missed the roses and the fresh air.”
She spun on her heels to leave, and glided out the door before anyone could speak again. Just out of sight, Silvia paused and heard the din of excited voices start up. She leaned against the wall for support, her hand pressed against her breast. Her breathing had the rhythm of a wind-whipped sheet and her heart pounded as if it would explode.
A short while later Silvia hurried on to the garden. If she were right, someone would soon seek her out.
“Are you mad?” His voice was surly and dry. Roman snatched her around by the shoulders. You won’t last the night after that news. Don’t you know, woman, the killer could be anyone, even me?”
She trembled beneath his rough handling but hid the fear in her voice.
“I’m not mad,” she answered calmly. “But I will be if this doesn’t end soon. Don’t you see that if I leave, the killer will never be found. This is the only way to draw him out.”
“No!” he bellowed. “It’s too dangerous. The New Star docks today. You’ll be aboard tonight and sailing to the Indies by morning.”
“I won’t go.”
“You will go.” His voice was a snarl as he pulled her violently to him. “And until then you’ll stay behind locked doors. Pack a bag, a small one, and wait for my knock at midnight. Promise me.”
She breathed a great sigh and made ready to defy him, but before the words came she saw something deep in his eyes that broke her resolve.
“I promise,” she stammered. She did not regret her announcement, but it was suddenly clear to her that she should not cross Roman Toller again.
Roman snapped his riding crop against his breeches and tossed the reins of his lathered mount to the groom. “It’s done. We’ll be rid of her.”
His companion nodded slowly.
“And past time, too. She should have been dealt with long ago. We’ve come too close to losing for my satisfaction.”
“We won’t lose. Not when the stakes are so high.”
“You’re convinced, then, it’ll all blow over once she is gone?”
“Bloody hell, I’ve told you she won’t hinder us again! Give it a rest.” Roman’s eyebrows lifted. “What I need at this point is a brandy.”
***<
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Silvia fretted around her room. Midnight was hours away. As she waited, the horrid oppressiveness of her solitude returned and with it all her fears and uncertainties. Had she been wise to trust Roman? His sudden concern for her safety had been disarming, and she had quickly agreed to his plan. But now that she had had hours to think it through, she wondered if leaving was best...if trusting Roman was not a frivolous decision.
She lay back in a chair, her eyes fixed on the pretty painted dial of the enamel clock, her ears ringing with its endless ticking. Anna would be back soon with a pot of tea from the kitchen. That would keep her alert until the time came to leave.
She heard a light knock at the door and quickly sprang up to admit Anna.
“Your tea, madam.” Anna’s reassuring presence relaxed her a little. “Made it myself, some biscuits and good English brew, not like that concoction Miss Martha makes. Do you good, I say.” She shook her little round head so that the crisp white cap bobbled. “But if you ask me, it’s more rest you’re needin’. Such a terrible shock, Mr. Willy dying right after his father, and so soon after the weddin’.” She dropped her head so that her eyes were hidden. “And you in that condition,” she added excitedly.
“I’m feeling fine, Anna,” Silvia responded. The news had spread quickly. “And I do intend to go to bed shortly, just after I have tea.”
“Oh, madam!” Anna snapped her head up. “There’s a note for you. I almost forgot.” Her plump hands dipped into her pockets.
“A note?” Silvia’s eyes flashed open wider. “Who gave it to you?”
Anna stopped her search for a maddening minute, looking totally befuddled.
“I can’t say, madam. I was getting the biscuits from the pantry when someone left it on the tea tray.” Smiling triumphantly, Anna withdrew the note from a deep pocket.
“Here it is. Got your name, though, so I knew it was meant for you. I can read my letters,” she added proudly.
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