Garden of Dragons (Dark Gardens Series Book 3)

by Meara Platt

  Indeed, prettier than he remembered, he decided while rolling up his shirt sleeves.

  “Shall I continue pushing down on ’er belly with each contraction, Master?” Joe asked, speaking up for the first time.

  “Yes.” He thrust his arm into Penelope’s opening. The stench almost knocked him onto his back. “Now, Joe! She’s having another contraction.”

  Joe pressed down while Saron turned the unborn calf and felt it shift ever so slightly. “Excellent, Joe. Push down again…now.” He felt it shift again. A short while later, having repeated the process several more times, the calf began to slide out of its mother.

  “Ye got ’er, Master!” Joe cried excitedly as the calf’s nose emerged through the opening.

  Saron stepped back in satisfaction. “The little tyke will slide right out on his own now. Here he comes.”

  “Perhaps it’s a she,” Anabelle remarked, popping to his side.

  “Thank you, Anabelle. I don’t know what I would do without you to correct me.”

  She grinned a very satisfied grin, then gasped. “The calf’s out! Oh, you did it! How wonderful! You’re simply wonderful!”

  Saron knew he wasn’t. He was a cold, bitter man, consumed with hate and thoughts of revenge. He was as scarred on the inside as he was on the outside.

  “Ye are wonderful at that, Master. Ye saved our Penelope.”

  In a moment, the afterbirth slid out to the cheers of Anabelle and Joe. “I’ll take over from here, Master, with yer permission.” The old man flashed a jubilant, toothless smile. “Ye done saved ’er life ye did.”

  “You and Anabelle did the hard part, keeping the calf and its mother alive these precious hours.” He felt his leg spasm as he rose to his feet. Damn, that hurt!

  “Thank ye for yer kind words,” Joe said, then hastened to fetch a salve for Penelope.

  Saron watched him amble away, then glanced toward Anabelle. She was wiping her hands on a moistened towel. She smiled up at him, a sweet, open-hearted smile, and he felt as though he had conquered the world. She had an uncanny ability to lighten his heart with merely a glance or even a glower.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, handing him the towel and noticing his limp as he stepped forward to take it.

  “My leg’s a bit stiff from the long ride. You did it, little one,” he whispered, quickly washing up and drying himself off on the towel, then tossing it over the stall gate. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m tingling all over.” Her eyes began to mist and she let out a dreamy sigh. “Thank you for saving Penelope.”

  He found himself enthralled by her half-closed eyes and lopsided grin, by the way her body strained toward his, by that silly ruffled cap at her side which she’d probably claim was the height of barnyard fashion. “Anabelle,” he murmured, running his hand along her slender neck. He felt her shiver at his touch and noticed a sudden, womanly passion in her eyes. “Damn you, little one,” he said bringing his lips to hers, “you’ll be the ruin of me.”

  *

  At last! Anabelle closed her eyes and brought her arms up around Saron’s neck. Her lips melted into his and she kissed him back as boldly as he kissed her. She’d wanted to throw her arms around him to welcome him home the moment he’d stormed into Penelope’s stall looking even more magnificent than she remembered. And though he had come upon her in a temper, she had been too overjoyed by his presence to care. Oh, he felt magnificent, too, she thought, running her hands along his back to draw him closer.

  “Anabelle,” he whispered, his lips toying with hers, the pressure of his mouth against hers first lessening, then, just as she thought he would pull away, demanding deeper entrance.

  Sweet madness! She was suddenly overwhelmed by a need to touch him intimately, to run her hands along his body, to feel his bare flesh against her palms. Perhaps he felt the same, for she heard him groan as he ended the kiss, and then his mouth came down upon the most sensitive spot on her neck, inflaming her senses with his gentle, sensual caress. She choked back a sob as her body ignited in a desire so intense, she feared the barn would burn down about their heads.

  “Anabelle, Anabelle,” he whispered between caresses. “What have you done to me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand. I should hate you. I try to, but I keep forgetting.” Her entire body was wrapped in pleasurable numbness and she could feel nothing but the warmth of his hand as he lovingly stroked her cheek.

  “You don’t have it in you to hate,” he murmured, suddenly laughing as he took in their appearance.

  She started to laugh with him, realizing they were both quite disheveled. Though their hands were clean, their clothes were covered in hay and Penelope’s essence, yet neither one had noticed or cared. She rested her head upon his chest as if it naturally belonged there, and felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. He was so controlled, she thought with disappointment, while her own heart raced so madly she could hardly breathe.

  “You’re possessed of a rare kindness, little one. It is the source of your strength against foes mightier than you.”

  She grinned into his chest. “Enough strength to defeat you?”

  He cupped her chin and raised her smudged face to meet his gaze. “I was never your enemy.”

  Her expression softened as she smiled up at him. “I realized that after you left here last month and placed me in charge of Harleigh.”

  “It was a sensible business decision. Nothing more.”

  “Then significant sums of money mysteriously appeared, first in the Harleigh operating accounts, then in my personal account. Hardly the actions of a sensible businessman.” She ran a hand along his cheek. “I haven’t touched any of it,” she said proudly. “Harleigh generates enough profit to pay for itself, and as for me…” She shrugged and gazed down at her simple black gown. “I require little for myself.”

  “You have little need of adornment. I’m well aware of that, but the ton doesn’t look beyond outward appearances. That’s why you must have a suitable wardrobe when I take you to London. I thought I left specific instructions to use the funds in your personal account to that end.”

  She shook her head. “It was a needless expense. I don’t care to return to London, and few members of elegant Society would care to visit me. Don’t scowl,” she said gently, “you’re not as despicable a character as you would like me to believe. Your glower doesn’t frighten me.”

  “It should,” he said with such sudden iciness, she felt a chill rush through her. “I’m not a kind man. I don’t care that you prefer to remain here. Resign yourself to the fact that I shall take you to London.”

  She took a step back, at a loss to understand the sudden change in him. Then, she understood it all. “I see. Your soft words and smooth touch were just a ruse to gain my cooperation.” She’d been a fool. A stupid, trusting fool. “I should have realized your kisses were nothing more than a calculated attempt to bring me under your control. You seek to control everyone and everything, and tricking me into willingly going to London is just another part of your game of domination. Well, I’ll have no part of it. I’m not your prize filly to be led about to the oohs and aahs of your acquaintances. If you dare put me on display, I shall go out of my way to humiliate you in front of your precious Society friends.”

  “You cannot humiliate me,” he said harshly, brutishly, for he’d been the one to initiate the kiss, to give her hope of something more between them when he knew there could be none. “I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t care what you think of me. You silly, ignorant child. You would hurt only yourself.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, her heart breaking as he continued to gaze coldly down upon her. “I was mistaken,” she said, turning away to hide her devastation. “The Dragon of Draloch only wears a coat of kindness to conceal his evil form. Forgive me for being so naive as to think the organ beating within your chest was a heart. I know now that you have none.”

  “You would be wise never to forget it.�
�

  “I won’t.” She turned away and started out of the stall. Nor could she forget the gentleness of his kisses, or that he had just saved Penelope and her newborn calf. The man was the strangest mix of cruelty and kindness.

  *

  Saron knew he should not have kissed Anabelle, but having done so, he was forced to undo the harm he’d foolishly inflicted on the girl. He gazed into her sad doe eyes, wondering whether he had succeeded in making her detest him almost as much as he detested himself. He knew she was overset because he intended to take her to London and marry her off by the end of the Season. Better that she hate him, that she want nothing more to do with him.

  She stopped him just outside of the stall and placed a soft, small hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for threatening to shame you in front of your friends. I spoke wrongly, out of anger and frustration.”

  He sighed, wishing he could take back that foolish kiss. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t care.” He spoke with purposeful cruelty. “But I do,” she said in a whisper. “I can’t help caring.”

  He shrugged out of her grasp, taking her hand and holding her delicate fingers in his grip a moment longer than was prudent. “You mustn’t. I will only hurt you.”

  As she met his gaze, her eyes filled with confusion and despair. “Why offer me the warning?”

  He shrugged. “Next time I won’t.”

  She followed after him when he started to walk away. “What’s really troubling you? Won’t you tell me?”

  “Leave me alone, Anabelle.” She had been happy only moments earlier, her eyes bright with mirth and wonder, but he’d succeeded in chasing it all away. That’s what he did best, hurt and destroy innocents. He was no better than the Dragon Lords. They’d put their taint on him and it would never wash off. “I’ve had a long ride and I’m quite spent.”

  “Very well. Bessie has your room ready. Would you like refreshments brought up? Oh, and I’ll send a man up to see about your clothes.”

  “Don’t! Just leave me alone.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Believe me, I wish I could. But I will not stop hounding you until you tell me how you acquired those scars on your back.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “You’re mistaken. I haven’t any.”

  “I don’t know why you feel compelled to lie to me. I felt them through your shirt when I wrapped my arms around you and…you know, while you were kissing me.”

  It had been a mistake to touch his lips to hers, to draw her soft body close and savor her sweetness. He’d known it and hadn’t cared. He’d been so hungry for her, so desperate to surround himself with her innocence and beauty. “Forget about the scars. They’re very, very old,” he said, his voice taking on a faraway quality as he fought off memories of his unhappy past.

  “Childhood injuries?”

  “What does it matter? They don’t hurt anymore.”

  “I think they hurt more than you can bear,” she said with aching tenderness. “Who put them there?”

  “It no longer matters.” Though he would never forgive his parents for giving him over to the Dragon Lords as a boy. That both of them had been dead for many years did little to diminish his anger.

  Anabelle reached around him and closed her eyes as she slid her hands along his shirt, across his shoulders, and down his back. “There are so many,” she whispered tremulously. “They’re all over you. Who would do such a thing to a child?”

  He tried to pull away, but his leg, already stiff and tender, chose that moment to break into spasm. “Bloody, cursed–”

  “You’re injured! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Damn it, Anabelle. Go away.”

  “Stubborn, impossible man,” she said angrily and reached out to put a hand on his leg.

  He grabbed her wrist to stop her.

  “What happened to you in the month you were away?”

  “Nothing,” he shot back, determined to get away from her, for their closeness, the earthy scent of Anabelle after a night’s exertion, brought on an ache far more acute than the discomfort of his injured leg.

  Destroying demon portals was a hazardous undertaking at best, but he’d relished this latest assignment. Killing Bloodaxe, however, was proving to be a far more difficult task. He didn’t care that he’d been ordered not to harm that Dragon Lord. He had a score to settle, and settle it he would, even if it condemned him to eternal damnation. He was probably beyond redemption already.

  “Do you often writhe in pain when nothing’s wrong?”

  “I’m not writhing.”

  “Are you dancing, then? Do you think to convince me that this is one of the latest London dance steps? Let me help you to your chamber and I’ll tend to your injury. I won’t poke you more than necessary, I promise.”

  He clutched his thigh as another intense spasm struck. She pushed his hands away and replaced them with hers. “Let me see.”

  What little of his heart was left immediately shot into his throat. What little feeling he had left shot straight to his groin with the force of a lightning bolt. Her touch felt exquisite.

  “Scars, bruises…I’ve never experienced violence or hatred, but you seem to experience such horrors on a daily basis.”

  “Let go of me.” In another moment, she would notice his arousal. Or worse, realize the nature of his injury. Would she understand that it was more than a mere arrow wound? Damn, he didn’t want her to find out. Not that she would ever guess who had shot him, but he didn’t want her asking questions, nor did he want her treating him as tenderly as she treated her precious animals. He was no soft lamb or newborn calf to be coddled. “Anabelle–”

  “Be quiet, you horrible man. Do you think I enjoy being kind to you when I know you’re determined to break my heart, determined to take me to London and betroth me to the first buffoon who offers for me? Did you think me so foolish as not to realize your intent? New wardrobe, a trip to London in May, the height of the Season. But unlike you, I’ve never been forced to beg or grovel before people who wanted me dead, to withstand their torment and abuse because I was powerless to remedy their mistreatment. I’m so sorry for you, so sad for you. I want to hate you, but I simply can’t, not at this moment.”

  “Don’t think to sway me with your kindness. We will go to London and you will be married off by the end of the Season.” He had meant to break the news to her more gently, but there was little harm in blurting the truth when she’d suspected it all along.

  “I’m so sorry that you’ve never known love, that your life has been so vile.”

  She couldn’t begin to understand the depths of the depravity he’d experienced. His father had always been a brutal man and his mother too uncaring to intervene to save him. Then, they’d turned him over to the Dragon Lords and the real terror began.

  “You warned me that you’d endured unspeakable cruelty,” she said, delicately stroking his cheek with her trembling fingers. “I can only promise that you’ll never experience the same from me.”

  Lord, the girl wasn’t listening to a word he’d said. “Let go of me, Anabelle.”

  Finally, after several more commands, she did so and moved a small distance away. Apparently finding the space between them liberating, she sighed raggedly. “You’ve mercilessly played with my emotions, breaking my heart with a glimpse into your terrible past. Now I can’t hurt you without hurting myself, which is really too bad, because I spent this past month plotting such sweet revenge.”

  He groaned inwardly. “Forget the damn scars.”

  “I can’t.” Her words came out in a tortured laugh. “Nor can I forget your kisses. They left me breathless and aching for more.”

  The girl was clearly attics-to-let to admit such a thing to him, yet oddly, he was the one left feeling defeated. He’d learned long ago to defend against cruelty and dishonesty, to protect his mind, heart, and body against such assaults, but how was he to protect himself against Anabelle’s barrage of unrestrained honesty and selfless concern? He
leaned against the barn door for support as the spasms continued with heightened intensity.

  Dewy moisture soaked his shirt, a result of his exertion to hide the pain.

  “They were wonderful, even if they meant nothing to you,” she foolishly continued.

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “No, I have one more thing to say to you. I must be mad or delirious–”

  “Quite so.” To admit she’d enjoyed his kisses was tantamount to allowing in the Trojan horse, to opening her heart to that which would destroy her.

  “Or perhaps just exhausted. I’ve been up all night and am too tired to think straight, but it wouldn’t matter if I had fully slept through an entire day and faced you with my strength intact. You’d overpower me, rip my heart into a thousand pieces with little effort.”

  “Anabelle, please understand, I’m a gruff man and often give hurt where none is intended,” he said, deciding to try a different tactic since cruelty only seemed to bring out her kindness. He should never have kissed her. “I wish only the best for you. I asked you to go to London–”

  “Asked?” She let out a groaning laugh. “You haven’t asked me. You’ve ordered me to go.”

  “My apologies, little one.”

  “But you won’t change your mind. You twist things so. If you really cared about my preferences you’d leave me here. You know I don’t wish to be anywhere else.”

  “You’ll have to re-enter Society someday.”

  “Perhaps, but I’d rather it be on my terms.”

  He couldn’t blame her for despising all men at the moment. Her father had failed her and her brother had taken sides against her. Lord Markby had summarily ruled against her, and he…now controlled all that she held dear. “A woman with as much love to give as you, can’t help but want a family of her own.”

  “But not at Harleigh,” she said with utter dejection.

  “No, not at Harleigh. It no longer belongs to you.”

  She responded to his words as though he had slapped her. Yet, instead of running off in tears, she surprised him by looking him squarely in the eyes. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t do this.”