Garden of Dragons (Dark Gardens Series Book 3)

by Meara Platt

“How could I explain to you what I still do not understand myself?”

  “All along, this fight has been about Anabelle, hasn’t it?” she asked with doting softness.

  “Nonsense, Penelope.”

  “You never cared about the land. You wanted the girl. That’s what the legal battle has been about, you fighting for her. I’m glad.”

  “Me? Fight for her?” He let out a harsh laugh. “I doubt she’d see it that way. She believes I’ve made her life a misery.”

  Penelope squeezed his arm. “But you never meant to harm her. Tell her what you’ve just told me. Make her understand.”

  “That I prolonged her suffering for reasons still unclear to me?” he muttered with an exasperated shake of his head.

  “She’d forgive you if you offered her more than to remain as your ward.”

  “You know I cannot.”

  “Cannot? Or will not? There’s quite a difference.”

  “Not to me.”

  “So you’ll force her to remain under your charge while you retain control over Harleigh, drag her all over England while you attend to your business affairs, her position precarious at best? You won’t make her your wife and she’s too old to remain as your ward without gossip spreading that you’ve also made her your mistress. She doesn’t deserve the disgrace.”

  “How can you know what she deserves when you haven’t met her? In truth, she’s impossibly strong-willed and has a penchant for tossing objects about the room.”

  Penelope laughed. “About the room or at your head? The girl deserves a chance at happiness and she’d have it with you. I hear she’s very pretty.”

  “Most people think me a heartless bastard.”

  She placed her hand once more on his shoulder. “But I know you’re not.”

  He gently shrugged out of her grasp. As he did so, he felt the pull of the many scars crisscrossing his back. “I am, Penelope. I’m the monster the Dragon Lords created. The same cold blood courses through my veins as through Bloodaxe’s veins.”

  “No! You were an excellent father to Gideon and you’ve been wonderful to those who serve you.”

  A chill ran through him. “Don’t be fooled by the kindness I show you or others. I’m no different from that demon. We even have the same Draloch eyes and dark hair.”

  He’d inherited the Draloch features from his father’s line. There was no doubt that the Draloch family had ancient ties not only to the faerie realm but to the demon realm, no matter that Penelope denied it. Nor was it a coincidence that he’d been taken into the Underworld, kept a slave of the Dragon Lords as a child…or that his own child, Gideon, had been killed by one of them. Bloodaxe.

  Penelope sighed again. “You’re the finest man I know.”

  “Anabelle would not agree with you, nor would most of the ton.”

  “Because you haven’t let anyone but me or Gideon close to you.”

  “And Gideon is dead because of me,” he said, his throat constricting painfully.

  “Losing Gideon was a terrible blow for you, but not your fault, no matter how strongly you believe it was.”

  “The Dragon Lords never forgave me for escaping their realm. They sent Bloodaxe to exact revenge, and what better revenge than to take my child from me?”

  A tear streamed down Penelope’s cheek. “It’s done now and cannot be altered. Put an end to the killing and move forward, make new plans. Perhaps you’ll experience more pain and loss over the years, but that is no reason to deny yourself all chance at happiness. Do you wish to die a lonely, old man in a cold bed?”

  “I’ve never lacked for female companionship to keep me warm.”

  “A mistress is poor substitute for a loving wife. And you’re not the brute your father was, for you never would have sold Gideon to those demon lords. Gideon loved you, trusted you and with good reason.” She gripped his arm tightly when he tried to turn away. Her eyes were still glistening, a sign they were brimming with more unshed tears.

  He regretted starting a conversation he knew always ended with Penelope in tears. Talk of Gideon or of his own unhappy childhood always did. He still blamed himself for failing his son, but he wasn’t the only one burdened with shame and regret. Penelope blamed herself for not rescuing him sooner from his own unloving parents. The little good in him was to Penelope’s credit. “I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  “Thank you, dear boy.”

  However, he’d make no decisions until Anabelle’s future was resolved. He understood that Anabelle deserved to marry, to find a husband who would love and care for her, and also knew that she could not remain under his charge without becoming the subject of scandal and derision, as Penelope had taken pains to point out.

  He’d already planned to take Anabelle to London for a quick visit before returning to Draloch. He had business affairs in town that needed tending and she desperately needed new clothes, anything to be rid of those abhorrent black garments she insisted on wearing. Why not extend their stay and reintroduce her into Society? She’d made a successful debut two years ago. It wouldn’t take long for the besotted young bucks to fall panting at her feet once again.

  At the end of the Season, he’d sift through the offers of marriage and select the best prospect for her. He’d provide a generous dowry, of course, and after the wedding, quietly and neatly sever all ties between them. Lord Markby could not take issue with that. Indeed, he’d realize that Anabelle was well rid of him and the pain he’d inevitably cause her.

  More important, Anabelle would be free of him.

  He still felt the angry tug of the Stone of Draloch. The stone had chosen Anabelle for him, but he wasn’t going to make her his wife. He’d failed Gideon. He would not fail Anabelle.

  He’d promised to protect her…even from him.

  He shifted his stance to ease a sharp twinge running up his leg, the result of his latest encounter with Bloodaxe. He’d been shot with a demon arrow and the wound hadn’t healed properly. It still pained him.

  “Promise me you’ll have a doctor look at your leg as soon as you reach Harleigh,” Penelope said, noticing his discomfort though he tried to hide it.

  He nudged Penelope back to bed and helped her to settle beneath her covers. “I had better be off if I’m to make Harleigh by morning.”

  “Safe journey, dearest.” Penelope’s voice was muffled as she slid beneath the goose down counterpane.

  *

  Saron heard the cock’s first crow as he rode up the drive to Harleigh Hall a little past five o’clock in the morning. He was pleased to have made such swift progress riding in the dead of night. The steady rain that had plagued him and his traveling companions from London into the Lake District gave way to clearing skies as he left Kendal and drew nearer to Harleigh. Remarkably, the day promised to be sunny and far warmer than usual for late April.

  He dismounted, tied his horse to the decorative wrought-iron post, and climbed the stairs to the house. The pain in his leg had grown worse, intensifying with each step, but he didn’t care for he was back at Harleigh and eager to see its occupants.

  It worried him that he should be so delighted to be back. The estate and its inhabitants should have been insignificant to him, Anabelle particularly. Unfortunately, she had occupied his thoughts from the moment he’d left her to descend the Razor Cliffs into the realm of the Dragon Lords.

  He paused on the last step, changed his mind about rousing the household, and decided to enter the house from the servant’s entrance. The hour was early and he doubted his mysterious butler, Masterson, who had yet to make his presence known to him, would bother to answer his knock.

  He heard some small stirring of life emanating from the kitchen as he neared the back entrance, and noticed the door leading to the kitchen had been left ajar, presumably for the convenience of the servants as they hauled in firewood for the hearth and ovens, or brought in fresh milk and eggs for the morning meal. He entered undetected by the two occupants, and stood watching from the shadows a
s they efficiently attended to their duties.

  Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he smiled with the realization that Anabelle’s overly familiar manner had not completely destroyed the staff’s discipline. When the older servant turned toward the ovens, he recognized her as the Harleigh housekeeper, Dolly.

  “Get along with ye, Bessie,” Dolly chided the other domestic. “The fire isn’t yet lit and there’s much to be done in preparation for our Master’s arrival. He comes this afternoon with his aunt.”

  “What are ye fussing about?” the maid replied. “The Master’s room is in readiness, as are the two guest rooms. Dora and Agnes have polished the silver to a blinding shine. There’s not a speck o’ dust to be found in the house. Seems to me all we have to worry about is our mistress.”

  Dolly sighed. “I suppose yer right. The Master will be raging mad when he finds out she’s spent the night in the barn with Joe. Ye know how I keep me opinions to meself, but this time I had to speak out. It isn’t fittin’, I told her, for a lady to be doin’ what she’s doin’.”

  Saron’s smile faded as the import of Dolly’s words sank in. Anabelle had spent the night with a man. Had she done this before? he wondered, fearing he had been played for a fool.

  He’d believed her innocent in the ways of the flesh, had never considered that she might have given herself to another…or many others. Curse her! He’d allowed her full run of Harleigh and she had repaid his generosity by tumbling into the hay with one of the stable grooms.

  No, he couldn’t think that way. Anabelle was too much like Gideon. Innocent and pure of heart. He had sensed in her a delightful spirit, much in the manner of his son. His instincts rarely failed him.

  He shook his head. Right or wrong, what did it matter? He wasn’t going to marry the girl. But an unchaste female would be harder to marry off. Damnation. How had she managed to deceive him?

  Stealing out of the kitchen unnoticed, he made straight for the barn, his heart heavy with the prospect of what he expected to find. He stopped at the barn door and inhaled the fresh country air. It was as pure as he had once thought Anabelle. He didn’t know why her deception affected him so deeply, for he meant to get her out of his life. For the sake of her own happiness and safety, she could never mean anything to him.

  He took another deep breath and stepped through the doorway. Meager morning light filtered in haphazardly through cracks in the roof beams, shrouding the interior in a dusty haze. Cattle rustled in their stalls, chewing their morning meal. The whites of their eyes glowed eerily, little more than dots of light among the shadows.

  He moved silently from stall to stall in search of Anabelle, a part of him wanting to find her in the arms of a stranger, wanting to find her somehow lacking, because in truth, he had yet to find her significantly lacking in any regard. He would deny his growing attachment to the girl, deny it to anyone who asked, though it was impossible to deny it to himself.

  He’d resolved to do all in his power to quell this troubling sensation before it turned into something more dangerous. Still, there was a part of him that longed to believe in her, needed to believe in her goodness.

  The Stone of Draloch had drawn him to Anabelle.

  So had his damaged heart.

  As he passed, the animals sensed his turmoil and backed away.

  Unable to find Anabelle in the front stalls, he decided to search the hayloft before proceeding to the rear of the barn. He was about to climb the ladder, but took no more than a step up before noticing a dim light emanating from one of the rear stalls.

  He prowled toward the light and heard Anabelle’s voice, a sleepy, yet sweetly melodic trill. “Oh, Joe,” she said tiredly. “We’ve been at it all night without success. What shall we do now?”

  Pray for salvation, Saron was about to roar, but thankfully stopped himself in time. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scene in the stall and cursed himself ten times a fool. He struggled to cool the overheated demon blood that thrummed through his veins. It served him right for eavesdropping on Dolly. He wanted to laugh aloud. He wanted to shout with joy. He wanted to lift Anabelle into his arms and kiss her soundly.

  The hate and distrust that had tainted his life melted away at the sight of her. “I should have expected this,” he said in a whisper choked with laughter.

  Sweet, precious Anabelle. She was incapable of displaying base emotions. She was compassion, grace, and beauty. All was well, for Anabelle was immersed in her own world, a world that made perfect sense only to her and frighteningly, was beginning to make perfect sense to him. She was exactly as he had left her, from the top of her unmanageable mane capping a mass of unruly, red-gold curls, to the hem of that dowdy black contraption she called a gown. Although he had not left her lying close to a cow in the midst of giving birth.

  She scowled at him. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until this afternoon.”

  He bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. He needed to touch goodness, purity, and Anabelle was indeed that.

  She blushed. He wanted to kiss her again, touch his lips to her delightfully puckered mouth, but didn’t dare. The smallest taste of her and he’d be lost. No, this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she smelled worse than the cow lying beside her.

  “Look at me,” she said with a groan. “No, don’t. I’m a mess. My hair is coming undone and my gown is filthy.”

  He thought her quite beautiful, but didn’t tell her so. “Would you mind telling me what your arms are doing shoved up that cow’s–”

  “I know where my hands are.”

  “I assume you have a perfectly logical explanation.”

  “Of course, I do.” She regarded him as though he were daft, then nodded toward her companion, the ancient, toothless codger who stood over the cow. “Joe and I have been trying, but failing, to deliver her unborn calf.”

  It was a perfectly logical explanation by Anabelle’s standards.

  “I understand Joe’s reason for being here, but you?” Though she appeared ready to protest, he would have none of it. “Anabelle, you’re the daughter of an earl. And you have your hands, no your arms, rammed so far up that cow’s arse–”

  “I know where they are,” she snapped. “Oh, I see that you’re appalled, but frankly I don’t care. Penelope and her calf are in distress. They’ll die if the calf isn’t delivered soon.”

  “Penelope? That’s Penelope?” He recalled her dewy-eyed description of the animal that shared his aunt’s name.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes misting.

  Chalmers had been right about her. She was a girl whose compassion extended to all of God’s creatures. Could she save him? he wondered, then instantly put the notion out of his head. He wasn’t going to risk her life to save his. “Damned female,” he muttered under his breath. “Move away.”

  “You must be hungry and tired after the long ride. Why don’t you run along into the house and let Dolly get you settled. I’ll join you shortly.”

  He smiled wryly. “I have the distinct impression that you wish to be rid of me. Is that so, Anabelle?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I’ve been found out.”

  “I’m terribly disappointed.”

  “No, you’re not. You find my presence here quite amusing and wish to remain solely to provoke me. I will not have it. This is serious business. Do go away.”

  He knelt beside her, ignoring the painful twinge to his leg as he sank to his knees. He watched her struggle to turn the calf into birthing position. Having participated in a few barnyard births, he knew that Anabelle, though determined and well-intentioned, did not possess the strength to right the calf. “Get your hands out of there,” he gently ordered.

  “No. I must save Penelope’s calf.”

  “Step aside, little one. You don’t have the muscle.” He removed his jacket and did the same with his vest and cravat.

  “You?” She regarded him doubtfully.

  “We have cattle at Draloch. I’ve delivered one or tw
o in my day.”

  “How far do you intend to disrobe?” she asked when he started on his shirt cuffs.

  He arched an eyebrow. “How far do you wish me to disrobe?”

  She surprised him with another furious blush.

  “I’m not about to ruin a new shirt for the sake of your modesty. Besides, your presence here sufficiently persuades me that you have little enough of it left.”

  “Well, of all the indignities! Just wait till Lord Markby hears of this.”

  “And what do you think to tell him, my girl? Will you relate the entire sequence of events, or conveniently neglect to mention that half your body happened to be shoved up this cow as I was scandalously removing my shirt?”

  In truth, he’d merely intended to roll up his sleeves. He wasn’t about to disgust her by revealing the myriad scars on his back.

  She groaned in defeat. “I suppose Lord Markby would misunderstand my presence here.”

  “He would understand perfectly.” He plucked her out of Penelope and set her down behind him on a bale of hay. She bobbed back up but he pressed her down by the little white cap perched on her head, the only unsullied part of her. “Sit still.”

  She shook her head in protest, but the movement knocked the cap off her head. The few pins holding her hair in place went flying. He stifled a groan as magnificent red-gold waves spilled down her back. Lord, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  “Oh, drat!” She was about to reach for the spilled curls, then paused, her filthy hands helplessly poised in midair.

  “You try my patience, girl. I’ll help to pin up your hair when I’m done.” Though he considered it a sin to hide that stunning mane. “Now, go clean up while I save your precious cattle.”

  She glowered at him. “Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes.”

  She studied him intently as if seeking reassurance. Apparently finding what she sought, she gave him a curt nod and without uttering another word, set herself back down on the bale of hay, neatly folding her soiled hands across her lap. She resembled an empress on a golden throne, smiling encouragement and waiting for him to proceed.