Dark and Dangerous

by Anwar, Hart, Harte, Mcbride(Lit)

  Then, too, if ever there was a relationship doomed to fail, one with a ghost, or whatever, certainly was. She was still vulnerable from the tragedy that had befallen her only the year before when her mother had been killed in a car accident on the way to the airport—to take this very trip. Finding herself suddenly alone in the world, she’d fallen for a con artist out to reap the rewards of her mother’s life insurance---their insurance salesman, no less. It wasn’t until she’d set her sights on completing the trip she’d planned with her mother that she’d finally realized that Kirby Higginbottom’s only interest was in her money, not herself. He’d been outraged that she would even consider ‘throwing away’ money on such an absurd jaunt.

  She’d refused to be swayed, however, which had led to the discovery that he’d ‘invested’ most of her money and lost it. He didn’t want her throwing away the last of it when he already had plans to invest in something sure to regain all that had been lost and more besides.

  If she’d really been in love with him, she supposed it would’ve been a crushing blow to discover that he was in love with her money. As it was, it had merely turned her stomach. She was furious about being used, but not hurt. She hadn’t even particularly cared about the money because the truth was it felt like blood money, and she would never have been able to enjoy spending it under the circumstances anyway.

  Finishing her lunch, she rose and left the terrace, deciding to take a long walk to try to throw off the morbid turn of her thoughts. It helped, but eventually her thoughts came full circle and she found herself speculating on the count once more.

  What would happen, she wondered, if the curse were lifted? He claimed that he had not died, but had merely been trapped here, but the fact was, with or without the curse he would have been long dead. If there was even a way to lift the curse, it seemed it could only result in freeing his spirit of this place.

  The thought saddened her in an indescribable way, but amused her too. The owners of the chateaux weren’t going to be happy if it was no longer ‘haunted’.

  She frowned. Whatever he had done in his life, she didn’t believe he deserved to be tormented for eternity—unless, of course, he actually had killed his wives so that he could enjoy their wealth without having to put up with them.

  But then, who was she to make such a judgment? If there actually was a way to break the curse, and she was the only one who had a chance of doing so, wasn’t she obligated by some higher order to try?

  It was late afternoon by the time she finally headed back to the chateaux and climbed the stairs to her room. She sensed Gerard’s presence the moment she entered the room.

  Chapter Four

  "A quaint tale, wouldn’t you agree?" Gerard murmured near her ear.

  Samantha’s heart thudded with a combination of fear and … though she hardly acknowledged it, excitement.

  Slowly, she turned to face him. He was standing so near, she could feel the heat of his body. How could he not be real? She wondered. "I suppose by that comment that you mean it was entirely made up?"

  His gaze flickered over her face assessingly. After a moment, he moved toward the window and stood looking down at the formal garden beneath her window. "So … you believed it?" he countered.

  Samantha studied his rigid back for several moments. "The statistics would be easy enough to check, even now, I suppose."

  He glanced at her over his shoulder, one dark brow lifted questioningly.

  "The marriages."

  Frowning, he returned his attention to the view. "I was eighteen when I wed Juliette. She was just turned fourteen when she bore a stillborn son and died."

  The words were spoken with detachment, but Samantha sensed, whether true or not, that the detachment was an effort to distance himself from pain rather than a reflection of a lack of emotion. She moved toward him. "So young?"

  He didn’t glance at her that time. "It was not so unusual in my time. She was not yet … a woman full grown when we were wed. I was urged to wait to consummate our marriage until such time as she was—which I did. Her mother urged me to wait longer still—which I did not—because I was young, thoughtless, enamored with my Juliette and I could not contain myself. Did I kill her? Yes."

  "You loved her?"

  He seemed to think it over for some time. "I believed that I did. Now, I am not so certain. So many years have passed. I wanted to feel nothing—no guilt, no remorse, no pain for my loss, and, eventually, I felt nothing. I have felt nothing for so long that I can not recall what feeling something was like."

  She might not have understood that so completely if she hadn’t been wrestling with guilt, and remorse, and loss herself. She could certainly empathize with feeling responsible for the death of a loved one, however. If she’d been a better driver ….

  She shook the thought off. There’d been times when she’d wished she felt nothing at all. Feeling too much seemed so close to hell that she’d begun to think living was hell and death was heaven, because it was the only time a person found peace from suffering … Except Gerard obviously had not found it.

  "A second marriage was arranged for me when I was twenty five. I killed her, as well, and in much the same manner. She was kind enough to produce the much sought after heir, but he was weak and sickly and did not live to see his first birthday.

  "I refused to wed again, but after the deaths of my parents I came to realize that it was my duty to produce an heir and wed for the third time. My third wife produced my heir and lived to the ripe old age of sixty. No doubt she would have followed my first two wives if I had not been … ah … constrained from doing her in."

  "It wasn’t really unusual for women to die in childbirth back then, though, was it? From what I’ve read, it was pretty common well into the 1900’s."

  He turned slightly, his brows rising. "What is the year?"

  Samantha was a little taken aback by the direction of his thoughts. "It’s 2004."

  He stared at her in disbelief for several moments. "Could it be that so much time has passed?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

  "The part about the curse, was that true?"

  For several moments, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, however, he seemed to emerge from his dark thoughts. A wry smile tipped the corners of his lips. "Behold me. Trapped for near an eternity. Does this seem to be a blessing to you?"

  Samantha’s lips tightened. "You wouldn’t be the first spirit trapped long after your death in a hell of your own making."

  A wave of fury abruptly washed over his features. "Then I am justly served, am I not?" he ground out, seizing her waist and jerking her full length against him.

  Before Samantha could protest, he caught a fistful of the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her brutally, his mouth hard, punishing. Despite that, or perhaps because she knew it was pain, not true anger, that inspired his roughness, Samantha felt herself responding. Lifting her arms, she laced her fingers together behind his head, pushing against him, soothing the rape of his tongue with a caress of her own. A shudder went through him. He lightened the pressure of his mouth over hers, lessened his bruising grip, but there remained the savagery of a deep hunger for all that that poured through Samantha’s veins like a drug, making her dizzy, bringing heat and moisture to her sex.

  She might have many doubts about Gerard, and in fact did, but she was in no doubt at all that she wanted him deeply inside of her as she had never wanted any other man. Restless to feel more intimate contact, to feel his bare flesh against her own, his body striving toward fulfillment, she moved against him, mindlessly, silently, urging him to claim her completely.

  It was Gerard who broke kiss, as abruptly as he had claimed her. Through narrowed eyes, he studied her, breathing heavily. "You do not protest?"

  Disappointment flooded her, but a touch of amusement, as well. "Should I?"

  "A lady who would not, would most certainly have a motive."

  Samantha’s lips tightened. "If you’re so damned cer
tain I only came to add to your torment, why even come to me? Why start something you’re not going to finish!"

  Briefly, a look of surprise crossed his features. "Because I can not help myself."

  He looked chagrined that he’d admitted that much, and then angry because he no doubt felt she’d somehow forced him to say it. "I am not a witch. I couldn’t put a spell on you if I tried!"

  "Release me, then," he said tightly.

  Samantha pushed away from him. "I just told you, I’m not a witch. I can’t release you. The curse, if it is a curse, isn’t of my making and I can’t break it."

  "You lie," he said through gritted teeth. Turning, he strode across the room. Fully expecting him to simply disappear as he had before, Samantha was surprised when he turned to look at her once more. "You alone of all who have come have breached the barrier that imprisons me from life. You could not do that unless you were a powerful witch. You could break the spell that binds me if it was your wish. I can only conclude that it is not and that your only purpose in being here is to add to my torment."

  "Then tell me what the curse is!" Samantha demanded. "I can’t help you if I don’t know what it is!"

  His eyes narrowed suddenly. "You do know it. It was you who placed the curse upon me."

  "Me?" Samantha gasped, stunned, indignant. "You think I’m … the reincarnation of the countessa?" she added with sudden insight.

  "I do not think … I know who you are … Juliette."

  He vanished. Some moments passed before Samantha realized that her jaw was hanging at half mast. Juliette? That didn’t make any sense at all.

  Frowning, Samantha turned to study the gardens as Gerard had before, her mind elsewhere.

  It was completely absurd to try to make any sense of a situation that made no sense, that had no foundation in logic, or the real world. Yet, it would have made a strange sort of sense if he’d accused her of being the reincarnation of the Countessa, the woman who had purportedly cursed him to begin with.

  She rubbed her aching temples. She didn’t believe in reincarnation. She never had. It would have been a great comfort to her if she’d been able to. Since she didn’t, though, it made it very difficult to try to unravel the possibilities.

  It occurred to her, briefly, to wonder how much personal reluctance was currently influencing her reasoning. She couldn’t deny that she’d felt resentment at the suggestion that she was not a unique person, that she was nothing more than a newer version of someone who’d lived before. It was worse, even, than being told you were ‘just like so-and-so’ or reminded someone of someone else. She didn’t think she would’ve liked it if anyone had suggested such a thing, but it had genuinely hurt coming from Gerard.

  Deciding she had no desire to probe those thoughts or emotions further, she resolutely dismissed it from her mind and concentrated on Gerard’s revelations, such as they were.

  She wondered if he’d been suggesting that Juliette had been a witch.

  Now that she thought on it, it seemed plausible. He’d begun to dabble in the black arts, according to the stories, after her death. What might have turned him in that direction if his young wife had not practiced the arts? It wasn’t something, as far as she knew, that men and women of the aristocracy had seemed inclined to dabble in. Maybe Juliette had introduced him to the craft?

  Even if she had, though, he’d lived many years after her death. If it had been Juliette who’d cursed him, he, surely, would have vanished after her death, not married twice more and met his end at the age of thirty six, or there about.

  What, she wondered, was actually known about his first wife? She had been so young when she died that it was hard to believe that she might have lived long enough to have accomplished anything more noteworthy to history than her marriage.

  After a while, she left the room again and headed downstairs to ask the concierge the directions to the family cemetery the guidebook had talked about. She was supposed to join a tour the following day, and the cemetery would be a point of interest on that trip, but she felt an odd sort of urgency to see it now.

  The concierge suggested she wait for the tour, but finally shrugged and gave her directions. It was considered to be within walking distance of the chateaux, but it was nearing dusk by the time Samantha reached it.

  A low, wrought iron fence surrounded the small plot. In the center stood a mausoleum, which took up most of the small cemetery. Around the mausoleum, there were several other, newer graves with headstones, but Samantha focused her attention upon the mausoleum.

  Dredging up her rusty French—which she’d learned to read and write better than to speak—she studied the writing carved into the front of the mausoleum on either side of the door. The name ‘Juliette du Beauchamp’ practically jumped out at her. Despite the intervening years since it had been carved into the stone, the letters had obviously been cut deep and were still easily read. Below her name was a male name—Gerard. Her heart skipped several anxious beats, but it occurred to her after a moment that it was the infant, the child that she’d born.

  A wave of terrible sadness washed over her. How devastating it must have been for poor Juliette, to carry that child for months beneath her heart, to feel the life inside of her, and then labor to bring him into the world, only to discover that he had died even before he had had the chance to live. Juliette had not been much more than a child herself—not in modern terms, anyway—but in her own time she would’ve been considered a woman full grown, would’ve thought of herself in that light. She would have suffered, no doubt, both the emotions of a child and a woman.

  It occurred to her that Gerard had professed a great love for Juliette. He had not said that Juliette loved him as he had her. An oversight? Or had he been nothing more to Juliette than her duty?

  She finally decided that that was unlikely to have been the case. Juliette would’ve had to have felt strong emotions toward Gerard to consider cursing him, wouldn’t she?

  But then, everything, including the circumstances of Gerard’s disappearance, pointed to the fact that the Countessa had placed the curse upon Gerard.

  The conclusion she finally arrived at wasn’t very palatable.

  Gerard had loved Juliette beyond reason. He had had no interest in marrying again after her death. He must have meant, rhetorically speaking, that Juliette had cursed him because she had deprived him of his joyeux de vie. He had not found love again, only heartache—which was a curse in itself and required no magic beyond a deep emotional attachment.

  She couldn’t help but wonder how she reminded him of Juliette. It seemed doubtful that it was her appearance. Surely, if it had been that, he would have pointed it out?

  Realizing that it was growing late, Samantha shook the thoughts and turned her attention to examining the mausoleum while she still had enough light to see. On the opposite side of the door, she found two more inscriptions. Both of the names were women’s names—his second and third wives, undoubtedly.

  It struck her as a little odd that his last wife, who had outlived him by many years, had taken her place in the mausoleum with the others, but, perhaps, it was only because it was her place and had nothing to do with an emotional attachment to the man she lived with so briefly?

  Sighing, she left the small cemetery and headed back toward the chateaux. She’d only arranged to stay at the chateaux a few days. Truthfully, she really couldn’t afford to stay longer, even if she decided against going to the other places she’d had it in mind to visit. Considering the way they’d done her about arriving late, it seemed doubtful that she could convince the management to allow her to stay longer anyway.

  She wasn’t certain she wanted to.

  She’d achieved what she’d set out to do—met the spirit that inhabited the chateaux. She would never have thought in her wildest dreams that she might get caught up in trying to solve a several hundred year old mystery.

  She certainly hadn’t expected to be drawn in emotionally.

  She realized with
a great deal of dismay that she had, though. It was the very fact that she was reluctant to leave that made her all the more certain that she needed to go. If she’d had any sense, she would’ve packed her bags and left already.

  By the time she’d reached the chateaux once more she’d decided that she would leave. She would stay and take the grounds tour the following day, do a little sightseeing in the nearest town, and then she would hit the road and put as much distance between the Chateaux du Beauchamp as she possibly could and put it, and Gerard du Beauchamp, out of her mind.

  Chapter Five

  Although she didn’t realize, at first, what it was, the sensation of being watched woke Samantha. Confused, she opened her eyes slowly. As her vision focused, she discovered that Gerard was seated in the chair at the desk near her bed.

  He stood up. In an almost leisurely fashion, he began to disrobe, tossing each article of clothing to one side without glancing to see where they landed.

  Samantha’s heart skidded to a halt, then leapt into a frantic pace. Her mouth went dry at the purposefulness of his expression. It never occurred to her to protest. A sense of glad anticipation filled her as he advanced toward her. Her flesh tingled. Her nipples rose, hardened, throbbed. Her belly tightened, flooding her feminine passage with hot lubrication as he placed a knee upon the edge of the bed and flipped the covers away from her.

  She stared up at him as he paused, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of his form as moonlight, streaming through her window glinted off of the play of muscles with every breath he took, every slightest movement.

  Capturing her wrists, he tugged her upright.