“Yet you will soon be able to relinquish the care of the estate to Tynan,” I pointed out. He did not seem to be doing a great deal to prepare his nephew for that responsibility.
“If only it was that simple.” He did not elaborate and I did not ask him to. We reached the end of our perambulations and Uther gave the sky a knowing glance. “We should set off,” he said, and I thought, or perhaps hoped, I heard a note of reluctance in his voice. “Those clouds on the horizon will bring rain.”
He was right. The weather, so perfect on the ride to Port Isaac, changed abruptly as we rode back. Raindrops as large as coins spattered down on us. A brisk wind blew the puddles dry before they had even formed and slapped the sea into waves. This remnant of last night’s storm had the effect of slowing my sluggish mount even further, and I began to worry that the downpour would ruin my beautiful new habit. There was no shelter to be seen for miles around, but Uther gestured for me to follow him off the road and down a tree-lined path. At the end there was a tiny cottage, obviously empty and desperately ramshackle. We tied up the horses and went inside.
“One of our retired farm workers lived here until he died a few months ago. It is not exactly luxurious, but at least we will be dry,” Uther explained, searching in the pantry for some kindling to add to the pile of logs in the desolate hearth. Before long he had also found a tinderbox and managed to get a blaze going.
“Take your jacket off and hang it before the fire,” he ordered as I stood shivering and holding out my hands to the meagre heat. I obeyed and soon the fine wool was steaming as it dried over the back of a rickety chair. My cotton chemisette clung damply to me like a second skin. Uther threw himself down into a faded armchair and held out a hand toward me. Mesmerised by the light in those panther-like eyes, I placed my hand in his and allowed him to draw me closer so that I stood imprisoned between his knees. “Now this,” he said quietly, plucking at the wet material of my shirt. It was a command.
Slowly, I undid each of the tiny buttons. He did not take his eyes from my face. When my shirt was completely undone, he reached out and slid it from my shoulders. I swallowed the sudden constriction that appeared in my throat as, taking his time, he studied my high, pointed breasts.
“Very pretty,” he said at last.
I bit my lip. “Too small,” I whispered, hanging my head.
Reaching out a leisurely hand, he placed it over my right breast. “Not so. See how my hand covers your breast so completely? Just as if they were made to fit perfectly together.” His voice was detached, as though he were still discussing the weather. “I like the way your nipple springs to life at my touch and presses itself so insistently into my palm, demanding more. Which you shall have.” A wicked smile crossed his features. “Take off your skirt.”
I did not hesitate, such was the hypnotic power he had over me. I stood shyly before him in just my cotton bloomers. With deft fingers, Uther loosened my hair so that it tumbled about my shoulders and down my back.
“But you are beautiful, Lucia,” he said hoarsely. I melted against him, a soft, sighing groan escaping me. His hands slid inside the waistband of my bloomers and down to cup my buttocks. I nearly swooned.
“Before we go any further,” he said, pushing me from him slightly, his large hands almost spanning my waist. “I want to explain something. I am not going to take your virginity, Lucy…not yet, anyway. I have my own reasons for that reticence, which need not concern you. But fear not. You have been longing for this, I know. And I am going to give you what you want. I will make you scream with delight, that much I can promise.”
Matching actions to words, he slid my drawers down as he spoke and pulled me, naked and trembling with wanton anticipation, onto his lap.
* * *
On the return journey, we rode together on Uther’s stallion, leading the little mare alongside by her reins. I sat in the circle of his arms, drinking in the delicious smell of him and wondering if I had imagined the events of the past few hours. A raw, throbbing memory between my legs told me I had not. Occasionally, I blushed and hid my face in his neck as I remembered the ways in which he had fulfilled his promise and my accompanying screams and gasps. Correctly interpreting my embarrassment, he chuckled and dropped a kiss onto the top of my head. I reached up to trace the scar on his cheek with wondering fingers, assuring myself that he was real. That this was real.
When the castle was in sight, I slid from the comfort of his arms and mounted my own horse once more. Softer skies left by the passing of the rain clouds dispelled the sadness of the scene. Tenebris watched our approach, silent and lonely. I felt, for the first time, that it really was the exalted place the Jagos believed it to be. Its heavenward aspirations drew my gaze to the ramparts, where a lone figure stood silhouetted against the weak light. Even at this distance, he was unmistakable. Tynan continued his vigil as we clattered into the stable yard.
Had he seen—could he have interpreted—the tenderness of our shared ride? Would my face somehow reflect my newfound depravity and betray to an observer exactly how we had spent the afternoon? I consoled myself that happiness, unlike sorrow, leaves no scars.
I felt shy and intensely aware of my every action at dinner. While Uther behaved with every semblance of normality, I could not. I watched in fascination as he deftly carved a chicken. Was I forever condemned to a state of aching arousal at the thought of those hands? My lips felt bruised and swollen, as did other, more intimate, parts of my body. My nipples tightened painfully whenever I looked his way. His mouth was heartbreakingly sensual. The memory of those lips anointing my skin, the scratch of his stubble on my tender flesh, his tongue tracing its determined pathway made me quiver. When he spoke, I didn’t hear the words he said now. Instead I was transported back to that mean cottage, where he had explained to me in graphic detail exactly what he was going to do to me. And, as I tried to eat my meal and not betray my desperate lust, Uther knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Every now and then he would throw a glance my way that told me he, too, was remembering.
* * *
Hoping that fresh air might help me make sense of my jumbled emotions, I took a walk, following the inland footpath. The wooded area was cool and gloomy. My nostrils twitched appreciatively at the scent of pine needles, damp earth and bonfire smoke. A narrow stream chuckled carelessly over pebbles and twigs, and I paused a while to watch it. Here and there, it had cheerfully found new pathways around an obstacle such as a boulder or a fallen tree. I wished I could see some similarity with my life. I was too fond of order, I decided. Perhaps it was time to adopt the approach favoured by nature and change course when forces beyond my control intervened.
Behind me, the sound of twigs breaking underfoot made me turn to see who approached, but there was no one in sight. The cloak of total silence, just minutes ago so comforting, now felt sinister and oppressive. I was suddenly, unaccountably, afraid and, shivering slightly, turned back to retrace my steps.
My eyes lit on the mangled body of a squirrel close by and my stomach roiled uneasily. The injuries the little creature had suffered were too similar to those inflicted on the rabbit to be coincidental. I had the oddest feeling I was being watched, and I called out, “Who’s there?” No answering voice pervaded the silence. Tearing my eyes away from the bloodied squirrel, I found the path again and hurried along it. Behind me I was sure I could hear footsteps shuffling up the leaves of bygone autumns.
Terrified now, I broke into a run. My foot caught in a hidden tree root and I fell to my knees with a cry of pain. I felt, rather than heard, something whizz past my ear and thud into the tree trunk beside me. A gunshot sounded a fraction of a second later. Mocking laughter rang out through the moisture-laden boughs of the forest depths. I don’t know how long I remained there, crouched in abject terror, with my arms shielding my head. Eventually, I rose and, on legs that would scarcely support me, made my way back to the castle. Until then, I never imagined I could feel glad to see Tenebris slumbering like a preh
istoric beast in its clifftop lair.
Uther was in the great hall and I almost collapsed into his arms, stammering out my story. I had landed on a jagged stone and my skirt was torn, my knee badly cut. Uther made me sit down while, raising my skirt above my knees without hesitation or invitation, he examined the injury. Even in my current state, his assured hand circling my calf made me tremble with something in addition to shock.
“It is a nasty wound,” he said, pulling my skirts back down, “but I don’t think you need a doctor. You must, however, get your maid to clean and dress it for you.” Constraining me to drink a glass of brandy, he insisted I repeat again what had just happened. A dark frown marred his brow. “You are quite sure it was a shot?”
I nodded vigorously. “I can show you the tree where the bullet is embedded if you do not believe me.”
“That will not be necessary,” he assured me. “I suppose I was simply hoping you might be mistaken! And you saw no one?”
I shook my head. “Could it be poachers?” I asked, shuddering as I took another sip of the fiery liquor.
“It seems the most likely explanation,” Uther conceded. He ran a hand through his hair, disordering it, and I fought down the temptation to smooth it back into place. “Although there is very little game worth having in that part of the estate, as any poacher worthy of the name would know.”
Demelza whirled into the room at that moment, aflutter with concern at my horrid experience. She exclaimed and commented on the story, with many a darting glance at Uther’s inscrutable countenance. “Where is Tynan? Was he not with you?” she asked eventually.
“I have not seen him today,” I replied, finishing the brandy.
“I will find him,” Uther said grimly, “and also set some enquiries underway as to who is responsible for this despicable piece of carelessness. I am shocked that such a thing should have happened to you under our roof, Lucy. Please be assured I will do all I can to set the matter right.” With an old-fashioned bow, he left us.
It was much later that day, as I was slowly descending the stairs on still wobbly legs, that I overheard Uther berating Tynan’s valet, Desmond. “What possessed you to let him go out alone, and with a gun?” They were standing just out of my sight on the half landing.
“I didn’t know he had a gun, sir!” Desmond’s voice was defensive. “Besides, he insists he did not. And anyway, you know yourself how stubborn he can be once he gets an idea into his head.”
I was too tired, shaken and sore to fully process the conversation. Uther noticed me then as I rounded the curve of the stairs. He glanced at me before quickly gesturing Desmond into silence. Tynan’s glum-faced servant bowed his head at me before departing. Uther offered me his arm and escorted me to the drawing room, where Demelza and the teacups awaited us.
A few minutes later, Tynan erupted into the room. His eyes searched the company and, seeing me, he started impulsively toward me. Uther made a movement to check his approach, but Tynan brushed his restraining hand aside furiously. “Hweg!” He threw himself down next to me on the sofa, possessing himself of both my hands. “What is this dreadful story Desmond has been telling me?”
While I repeated the story for the third time, Uther studied Tynan’s face. I knew not what expression he sought, but there was only sympathy on Tynan’s fine features.
“But I would not have had this happen to you for all the world!” Tynan exclaimed when I reached the end of my discourse. He raised first one of my hands then the other to his lips.
“Where have you been today?” It was the voice of an inquisitor, and Tynan’s brow darkened as he turned his head to look at Uther.
“I was not aware,” he said with a cold pride that I had not seen in him before, “that I must account to you for my movements, uncle.” Relenting slightly, he added, eyes twinkling, “I took the forest path and paused to rest a while. I must confess, I suppose, that I slept for several hours.”
“Did you take a gun?” My eyelids fluttered closed as I grasped Uther’s meaning.
“Good God, no! Why should I? I am no hunter, as you well know.”
The air was thick with tension. “Indeed, I do know it. And you are an abominable shot, yet there is a rifle and several rounds of ammunition missing from the munitions cupboard,” Uther stated. Demelza, I noticed, appeared unruffled. It was clearly their observed routine that Uther should do all the talking.
Tynan shrugged. “You hold the key to that cupboard.” His hand shook slightly as he brushed his hair back from his brow.
“I did hold the key.” Uther raised up a heavy ring of keys. “But it has been removed from my fob.”
Tynan sprang up at that, his slender frame coiled like a spring. “I see what you are about! You are trying to blame me for what happened to Lucy. If you imagine for a minute that I would ever do anything to hurt her, or anyone…” With a stifled mutter of rage, he turned on his heel and swung out of the room.
“Would you care for more tea, Lucy?” Demelza asked quietly, and I regarded her benign expression in amazement.
* * *
It was as if nothing had happened between us. Uther was cool and aloof toward me, and I began to wonder if I had imagined our intimacy. Or perhaps he was regretting his actions? I was, after all, a young female relative—however distant—and dependent on him, the head of the household, for protection. His conduct toward me had not exactly been protective…or gentlemanly! I hoped it was reasons of propriety, and not the alternative—that he had no wish to repeat the experience—that prompted this new circumspection.
My answer came a few days after our visit to Port Isaac.
“Take your clothes off.” Uther marched into my bedchamber, slamming the door closed and turning the key in the lock. I looked up from my book in surprise. It was early evening, and he had clearly just returned from riding. Mud splattered his boots and breeches and his dark hair was in disarray. “Now,” he said coldly, his eyes narrowing with impatience.
A discordant and highly inappropriate thought flitted through my mind. My stern governess had not bethought herself to inform me of the etiquette of an occasion such as this. How should a young lady respond when an unmarried gentleman bursts into her room and orders her to undress? This was a part of my education that had been sadly neglected. A secret smile touched my lips. I would have to improvise. I rose from my chair and began to undo the buttons at the back of my dress. Although I struggled a little, Uther did not come to my aid. He strode about the room, a slight frown marring his brow. I indicated my tightly laced corsets helplessly, and he clicked his tongue in exasperation. I held onto the bedpost, glad of its support as he roughly jerked the laces free and threw the offending corset across the room. With a swift, unexpected action, he caught hold of the fine cotton of my bloomers in both hands and ripped the delicate material apart so that the ruined garment fell about my ankles. I stepped out of it.
“Sit here.” He indicated the small chaise that occupied a corner of the room. In thrall to that mesmerising power he had over me, I continued to do as he asked without question. He prowled the room, fetching a branch of candles and placing it close by so that I was bathed in golden, flickering light. He stepped back, studying the scene. By this time I was quivering with desire.
“Lean back,” he ordered, and I allowed my head to fall back so that my neck was exposed and my breasts tilted skyward. I already knew how much he liked my breasts. In the cottage, he had spent an inordinate amount of time admiring them from all angles, stroking, squeezing and tasting. He was fascinated at how their rose-pale tips darkened at a touch of his hand, a flick of his tongue or sometimes even a glance from those gold-flecked eyes. Pausing now, he leaned over me, placing his lips over my nipple and suckling it with infinite tenderness. I tangled my hands in his hair to hold him there, but he laughed and moved away again.
“Raise your legs.” He demonstrated what he meant by grasping one ankle and lifting my foot onto the velvet surface of the chaise. He repeated the action
with the other leg and then spent long, thoughtful minutes studying me. I blushed to be so exposed to his gaze, but, at the same time, exulted at the look of pleasure in his eyes. Turning away, he brought the small hand mirror from the dressing table over to me.
“See how beautiful you are, Lucia?” He placed the mirror in my hand and angled it so that I could view my own vulva. “See how pretty and pink, like flower petals unfolding?” He used his fingers to hold my outer lips apart while I watched in fascination. “You are wet already. Can you see that, Lucia?” One long finger pressed into the slick depths and he withdrew it, holding it up to show me the moisture that glistened there. “There is nothing more beautiful. It tells me how much you want me here.” His fingers returned to delve and stroke some more. “And here.” As I watched my reflection, he circled the tiny pink bud that throbbed so insistently for his touch. I arched my back, closing my eyes in rapture. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Keep looking.” He knelt before me. “Watch as my tongue tastes this precious nectar….”
* * *
Lady Morwenna Vernon was travelling back to her home in Penzance after visiting her family in Bodmin. By making a slight detour, she was able to stay overnight at Tenebris and spend time with her dear friend, Demelza. The arrival of Morwenna’s carriage, just before noon, prompted a flurry of activity. The family dutifully assembled in the great hall to greet her. Her Ladyship was a voluptuous redhead, rather past the first blush of youth, but not less attractive for that.
She greeted Demelza with apparent delight, before turning warm, appreciative eyes to Uther. “It has been too long,” she purred, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder so that she could reach up to kiss his cheek. “Far too long.” Her eyelids fluttered down as her lips stroked his flesh, and her body cleaved sinuously to his. My blood chilled, and I tasted the bitter tang of jealousy.
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