Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around MeLegacy of DarknessThe Devil's EyeBlack Rose (Shivers (Harlequin E))

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “They pulled his body out of the sea two weeks later. I believe he could not live with the horror of what he’d done, and I know he would not choose to go on living without his darling Eleanor.”

  “But he had a son! Tynan was a mere baby,” I exclaimed. “No matter what else, whatever his anger toward her, or anguish at their unhappiness, he should have thought of his child first.” She gave me a long, measured look, and I was uncomfortably aware that I had spoken rather too hotly in defence of Tynan, who, after all, I scarcely knew.

  “I do not believe Ruan was in his right mind when he killed her,” she said quietly. “Uther assumed guardianship of Tynan, and I, of course, helped him. It was not an easy task. As a boy, he diced with death on many, many occasions.”

  “Yet he seems healthy now, apart, of course, from the shocking migraines he falls victim to. Was there a particular problem when he was a child?”

  She fluttered her hands in a vague manner. “No, there was nothing specific. He just seemed to succumb to every germ and he was quite horribly accident-prone as well. My poor nerves were in shreds with worry about him.” I did not believe her. I could not imagine Demelza allowing a child to interfere with her sybaritic existence. As indebted as I was to her, I was not blind to the fact that a deeply selfish individual resided just beneath her decorative veneer.

  “What do the doctors say about his migraines? Is there no cure?” I asked. The candlelight cast dancing flickers onto the walls, and applewood logs burned bright in the hearth. It should have been a cosy scene, but Demelza’s matter-of-fact recount of the brutality of a love gone sour had tainted my mood.

  “Well, you know we are very remote and…” She was fluttering again, and I had a lowering presentiment.

  “Aunt Demelza. Tynan has seen doctors, has he not?”

  Her tinkling laugh rang out for rather longer than was necessary. “Well, of course he has! Foolish child! Did you really think he had not? Dr Arthur in Wadebridge sees him regularly, but he tells us that there is very little that can be done.” She sighed. “Only, of course, to make him comfortable when he is in the throes of an attack.”

  “I know nothing of Dr Arthur, and I am sure he is a very worthy man, but surely, Aunt Demelza, you should be consulting the finest physicians available? Tynan is an earl, after all, and money can be no object. Were he to travel to London, even perhaps abroad—”

  “It is not to be thought of.” Her voice held a flinty and unusual finality that brooked no further discussion. We lapsed into silence and were joined shortly by both Uther and Tynan. The latter drew me aside with an invitation to play chess. I obliged, but my mind was distracted. I felt there was much more to the story of Tynan’s illness than Demelza was prepared to share with me.

  * * *

  To me, the library at Tenebris was as enticing as a feast to a glutton. It was there that I was able to gorge to excess on my love of reading. Bookshelves lined three walls from floor to ceiling and every imaginable delight was contained within those orderly ledges. Just before dinner one evening, I dashed in to change my book so that I had a new source of bedtime reading. The room was unlit and the book I wanted was out of my reach. I was in a hurry. Impatiently, I clambered onto a chair to take a closer look.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Uther’s voice was mildly amused and, as I looked over my shoulder, I wobbled slightly on my unsteady perch. He hurried forward and clasped his hands to my waist, swinging me down from the chair as easily as if I had been a child. “Nonsensical girl,” he said, the laughter in his eyes deepening as he observed my confusion. “Might I request that, in future, should you need a book that is out of your reach, rather than risk your neck, you ask for help from one of the footmen?”

  He retained his grip on my waist and I nodded, quite unable to speak. My eyes were level with the top button of his waistcoat and I kept them stubbornly fixed there. I drank him in like a fine wine, wistful hope fighting desperate arousal. As always, I sensed him reading my thoughts and being greatly entertained by them.

  I suppose I had always hoped that love would find me one day. But to fall like this, so fast and so hard, made me question if my feelings could be real. And was that what I was doing? Falling in love with Uther? But it didn’t feel like falling. It felt like floating and flying and rising far above the me I once knew. My body was undergoing some strange, chemical metamorphosis that began and ended with him. My senses were heightened. Colour more vivid, sound more musical, scent more powerful. When I was with him I was stingingly alive. When I was not, I was restless, my ears listening for the sound of his voice, my eyes searching for a glimpse of him. I was utterly, hopelessly captivated, and there was nothing graceful or hidden about it. But there was also a sense of guilt attached to my feelings. I had no right to aspire so far above me. No right to expect anything in return.

  For the first time, I imagined there must be more to love than the feeling itself. I did not know what “more” was, only that it was dangerous to want it, and that Uther knew of and smiled at my longing. But there was a constant, nagging emptiness deep inside me that ached for him to fill it. If I had been told then I could have one night in his arms followed by a life without any other love, I confess without shame that I would have taken that bitter bargain.

  So when he bent his head to kiss me as we stood in the dimly lit library, it didn’t come as a surprise. It was what I had been waiting for from the moment we met. And I just sank into his arms. It was as if my own body could no longer hold me upright and I had to delegate that responsibility to him. As his lips moved against mine, probing my mouth with infinite gentleness, I wanted to sob. Slowly and timidly, I copied his movements. But I didn’t feel slow or timid. I felt wanton. In that instant I finally knew what my woman’s body was made for. Uther gave an appreciative moan at my reaction and slid a hand behind my head, drawing me deeper into the kiss. My stomach plummeted and my heartbeat slowed. The heat that spread through me was the most wonderful, perfect, maddening sensation I had ever known. When he drew away, I felt, rather than heard, my own murmured protest.

  “Well, well.” The note of laughter was back in his voice, and I opened my eyes reluctantly. “Who would have thought, little Lucia, that there could be so much pent-up passion in that neat, prim body of yours?” His use of my given name made my heart sing. I gazed at the lips which had just devastated mine with mute longing. “Do you know what I would like to do now? I would like to take you—right here, on Demelza’s elegant new carpet—until you beg me for mercy, until you are spent.” I swayed toward him, willing him to match actions to his words, even though, in my innocence, I only dimly understood his meaning. The smile in his eyes deepened. “But we really mustn’t keep dinner waiting any longer, must we?”

  * * *

  One or two flickers of lightning and some distant thunderous growls announced the looming presence of the storm throughout the day. I felt restless, as though some of the electricity in the atmosphere crackled through my bloodstream. Tynan was edgy and distracted during dinner, but when the meal ended, he offered, with a great show of chivalry, to peel me an apple. We had a bet that he could not remove the whole peel in one spiral piece. With a frown of great concentration furrowing his brow, he took up a sharp knife and proceeded to apply himself to this task. With a crow of delight, he held up the peeled apple and the long green spiral he had sliced away. Solemnly, I congratulated him on his prowess. As he cut the apple into quarters, however, the knife slipped and cut the side of his thumb. Stifling a curse, he reached into his pocket and, waving aside my offer of help, produced a handkerchief, which he wrapped around his hand.

  Uther claimed my attention by asking if I cared to ride to Port Isaac with him the following day. With great and perhaps somewhat undignified alacrity, I accepted his invitation. Not only would I escape the sorrowful gloom of the castle for a few hours, I would once more experience the state of enchanted delight that only his company could induce in me. My lips still tingled from his kiss. I
did not exchange any further words with Tynan until we bade each other goodnight.

  The storm might have coyly kept its distance during the daylight hours, but it broke with a vengeful, violent roar in the middle of the night. I was jerked fully awake as the first crash rent the sky asunder. Almost before its echo had faded, I heard another sound. A distant scream rose on a wild note of terror.

  I sat up and listened intently, my heart thudding so loudly in my breast that I could hear nothing else. Rain sobbed against the window panes. The darkness was torn apart by a vivid flash. I winced when the thunder boomed again. I must have sat like that in the quivering intervals of brilliance and obscurity, alert and straining to hear more, for ten minutes or more. It was no good. I could not remain where I was and ignore the distressed sound I had heard. I prepared to thrust the bed curtains back. A faint rustling noise beyond their velvet folds made me pause.

  “Who is there?” My voice shook. A soft chuckle answered, chilling me.

  I reached out, seeking the tinderbox that lay on the bedside table. In my panic, I knocked it to the floor and, muttering, slid from the bed, scrabbling around to recover it. Despite my trembling fingers, I eventually succeeded in lighting a candle. Its faint slither of flame illuminated the familiar area around the bed and I began to feel better. Sliding out from under the covers, I snatched up my dressing gown and wrapped it round myself. Flashes of lightning lit up the gloom beyond my candle as I groped my way to the door. I knew it was locked. Since that first night, I made sure of it before I retired to bed. The key was hanging from a hook to the right of the door and, with hands that were not quite steady, I grasped it.

  I paused, listening intently. No sound met my straining ears as I slowly turned the reluctant key. With a quaking heart, I opened the door and peered out into the murkiness of the corridor. Managing to exhale a long, slow breath, I allowed my eyes to search the darkness and accept that there was no one about. I retreated back into the safety of my chamber, locking the door again.

  I was about to clamber back into the warm cocoon of my blankets when a white shape on the floor directly opposite the bed caught my eye. I bent to pick up the crumpled linen square. The embroidered emblem was unmistakable. A black shield with five golden stars and the familiar legend, Lucent in Tenebris. A few bright splashes of crimson confirmed that it was the handkerchief Tynan had held over his thumb at dinner just a few short hours ago. I climbed back into the safety of my bed and sat hugging my knees. What was the dreadful cry I had heard? And who had uttered it? More importantly, how had Tynan’s handkerchief come to be inside my locked room? The more I cudgelled my brain, the further away the answers seemed to be. I felt afraid, stupid and as though there were forces at work of which I was unaware. The storm continued to rattle the windows in its wild death throes. Eventually, the tempest began to recede. I blew out my candle and lay down to once again court sleep.

  * * *

  I arose on the following morning, rather heavy-eyed from the effects of my restless night. I forgot my own problems, however, when I saw Betty. Her face was ashen and her hands shook pitifully as she swept the grate and laid a new fire. The shadow of a fresh bruise discoloured one side of her face. It was as if her ear had been recently boxed.

  “Betty! What on earth has happened to you?” I knelt beside her before the hearth, and she tried to turn her face away. Her lower lip trembled pitifully and unshed tears shone in her eyes.

  “Please don’t ask me, miss!” She lowered her head and tried to continue with her task, but I took the brush away from her and, gripping her chin gently, turned her face back to me.

  “Did someone do this to you?” My voice shook with outrage. She nodded and I noticed deep scratches furrowing the smooth flesh of her neck. “Someone here in the castle?” Again that little nod, this time followed by an audible gulp.

  “Miss, I can’t …” Her voice failed her and a tear splashed onto my hand.

  “Betty, you must tell me who did this to you! I insist.” I tried to command her, outrage making my voice higher and louder than I meant. “You cannot keep quiet and allow anyone to get away with treating you like this.”

  But she would not budge. In the end I had to be content with pressing her hand and assuring her that, should she change her mind, I was ready to listen and to do whatever I could to help.

  When I entered the breakfast parlour, Tynan was already there. His eyes were bright and excited and his spirits high.

  “Morning, hweg!” he said, far too cheerfully, in my opinion. “What a slug-a-bed you are to be sure! Did you hear the storm? I sat up for hours just watching the lightning out at sea.”

  I reached into my pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. “You dropped this last night,” I informed him.

  “Did I leave it in the dining room?” he asked, taking it and stuffing it into his pocket. “My old nurse used to scold me something wicked for leaving my belongings scattered about the place! But it was devilish careless of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Wasn’t it just?” I returned, taking the seat opposite him and pouring tea into my cup. There was a restless energy about him this morning that jarred with my uneasy mood.

  “Did you hear someone scream last night?” I asked, watching his reaction closely. “Just as the storm broke.”

  Tynan looked mildly surprised. “No, I didn’t hear it,” he said. “Are you sure it was a scream? The thunder was fairly loud.”

  “It was a scream,” I said firmly and thought of Betty’s battered face and the gouges in her neck. My hand gripped my teacup hard. “It was the scream of someone in fear of her, or his, life.”

  “How horrid!” he declared, but I felt he was humouring me and was, in fact, unaffected by what I was saying. Uther came in then to remind me of our proposed jaunt, which had the effect of spoiling Tynan’s mood. He grunted something incomprehensible and lounged away.

  “Is there anything wrong?” Uther’s concerned eyes watched Tynan’s departing back and then scanned my face. “You look troubled, Lucy. Has something happened to upset you?”

  “I didn’t sleep well because of the storm.” It was halfway to the truth, I told my conscience, which was demanding I tell him the whole story. I don’t know why I didn’t. Some sort of misplaced protective instinct toward Tynan, perhaps?

  Uther said nothing, but continued to stare searchingly at me. “Very well,” he said at length. “But you would be wise to tell me the truth, you know, little Lucy. Nothing Tynan does has the power to shock me anymore.” He flicked my cheek with a casual finger and told me he would meet me in the stables in half an hour.

  Chapter Five

  The riding outfit my aunt had so generously bestowed upon me was of dark blue wool. The jacket was high-necked and tight-waisted with long, snug-fitting sleeves. I wore this over a plain, buttoned chemisette. Years of experience in India had taught me that riding and corsets did not mix well. My matching blue wool skirt was long and gathered in neat box pleats at the waist. The whole outfit was topped with a mannish hat adorned with a frivolous little veil. I was very well satisfied with my appearance and elated at the prospect of riding again.

  My excitement faded as I viewed the horse Uther had selected for me. He laughed at my disgusted expression. “Come now!” he said in a rallying tone. “Remember…I have no idea of your ability. Would you have me put you up on one of my own thoroughbreds and stand back to watch it cart you?”

  “Well, I would rather that than be mounted on a…” I studied the aging mare as I searched for the right words. She rolled a choleric eye back at me. “Fat, lazy slug.”

  “Indulge me, Lucy.” Uther’s smile was irresistible. “Once I have seen you ride, I will select the most suitable mount for you, I promise.”

  “But you won’t see me ride,” I grumbled, allowing him to toss me up into the saddle. “You will see me plod.” I arranged my skirts over the pommel and tried to instil a spark of life into the horse. She harrumphed crossly, but eventually followed Uther’
s glossy black stallion out of the stable courtyard and onto the narrow road.

  Sometime later, Uther brought his beautiful, skittish mount alongside mine. “I apologise,” he said, smiling down at me. “You have an excellent bottom, little Lucy.” Only by the faintest twitch of his lips did he acknowledge the double entendre. “And I promise,” he said, his eyes darkened with meaning, “to ensure that you are expertly mounted in future. Where did you learn to ride so skilfully?”

  “My father’s post required him to travel a great deal, and he liked me to go with him sometimes,” I explained. “And while most ladies preferred to be carried in a litter, such inactivity did not suit me. Conditions on Indian roads were poor and I was forced to quickly become a skilled rider. It was that or spend my time with a badly bruised backside.”

  Port Isaac was a centuries-old fishing village. A haven nestling between steep purple, green and gold valleys that sloped down to the stark, wave-lashed coastline. Tiny narrow lanes flanked by whitewashed stone cottages wound their way down to the port. The alleyway known as Temple Bar was so narrow that reports had it that larger visitors were advised to turn sideways for fear of getting stuck. I walked the length of the purposeful, bustling harbour and watched as the fishing boats landed their catch and returned to shore. Uther was meeting his man of business and had promised to join me there within the hour. I sat on a slate wall and watched the boats at sea bobbing on the frothy waves. Crowds of gulls swooped and screeched, and the salt air stung my skin. My enjoyment of the scene was tempered by my impatience to be with Uther again.

  “Penny for your thoughts, little Lucy?” His voice intruded into my daydream far sooner than I had expected.

  “I was thinking of you.” I bit my lip at my own guileless transparency. “Wondering how long you would be, I mean. Your business was concluded very quickly.”

  He offered me his arm and we strolled around the harbour’s edge, enjoying the mild sunshine. “Would that it were always so,” he sighed.