Darkest Dreams

by Jennifer St Giles

  With my mind made up, I hurriedly finished dressing. The family usually gathered for a late breakfast, and I wanted to be gone before they started to head down the stairs for that meal. Careful not to wake Gemini, Prudence, Rebecca or Bridget, all of whom slept in the same wing as me, I slipped quietly from my room and went down the servant’s staircase that led directly to the kitchens and the back door leading to the stables. My chances of encountering Cassie were limited that way.

  The huge hearth blazed with a welcoming fire as the rich aroma of kidney pies and fresh scones filled the air. Maids scurried to follow Mrs. Murphy’s jovial instructions, and she turned my way as I exited the stairs.

  “You’re up a bit early, lass.”

  “Yes,” I said, pasting a confident smile on my face. “I’ve a number of important errands to attend to, and I’m not exactly sure when I’ll be back.”

  Mrs. Murphy’s brows arched. “Then you’ll be missing the morning meal?”

  “Unfortunately. And most sorry I am. It smells delicious.”

  “No need to worry. I’ll wrap a few scones for you to carry with you.” She told a maid to ready a basket for me, then turned back. “Will Miss Gemini or Mrs. Killdaren be joining you?”

  “No.”

  Her brows lifted again before she stepped a little closer to me and studied my face. “Not to be intruding where I shouldn’t, lass, but is everything all right with you? I heard about the events in town yesterday. I can imagine ye’d be a mite upset over it.” Her warm eyes were just as inviting as the kitchen and almost tempted me to spill everything that I had locked up inside of me. But I also knew Mrs. Murphy would then feel compelled to tell Cassie, and the last thing my sister needed now was to shoulder my burdens.

  “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern. And when you see Cassie, tell her I’ve gone to see about the errand we spoke of, will you?”

  “I’ll be sure to.” Mrs. Murphy stepped back, and the maid handed me the warm package of wonderful smelling scones, but I was too nervous to eat. Smiling and waving my thanks, I hurried from the kitchen to make my way to the stables, a little unsure of what to do next.

  In Oxford, my family and I most often walked the short distance we needed to go, or if there was need of a carriage, we’d send a servant to hire one for the event. We hadn’t the funds or the space to afford horses. Since coming to Killdaren’s Castle, we’d always had the carriage brought to the house. I’d ridden a horse once or twice, but was nowhere near comfortable enough on horseback to attempt riding alone.

  The best I could do was go to the stables and make my need known. Stepping into the bright sun of the morning, I drank in the tangy scent of the sea and fresh scents of forest and flowers. Morning always dispelled the darkest dreams of the night, but it seemed to me here on the coast that was truer than anywhere else on earth. The salty air washed the day to a brighter shine, and the pulse of life beat in tandem to the constant music of the sea. A flock of pelicans swooped overhead, going out to find their morning meal amid the energetic blue waves.

  Edging along Killdaren’s rich gardens and the dark shadow of the maze, whose legacy I deliberately ignored any time I was alone, I hurried to the stables. Blinded by the sun, I stepped into the open door, unable to see, and ran right into Bridget. The words in her mind shouted at me, shocking me. Bloody, stubborn arse of a man! It’d serve him right if found myself another man. A vampire lover!

  Bridget was Miss Prudence and Miss Rebecca’s lady’s maid and my sister Cassie’s dear friend. She’d been an unfailing ally for my sister when Cassie had come to Killdaren’s Castle as a maid at the beginning of the summer. The turmoil in Bridget’s mind jolted mine. She warred between elation and despair, happy that she loved Stuart Frye and that her brother and her mother now lived at the castle since her mother had been declared consumption-free, and yet hurt and saddened over Stuart’s noble rejection of their love and the continued silence from her sister Flora. Flora had left in the spring for a new performing career in London and had yet to write.

  With both his mother and brother under arrest for Mary’s death, Stuart refused to allow Bridget to involve herself with him. Bridget also wondered if Stuart would be so quick to reject her if he found her naked in his bed.

  I immediately backed away before I could see more.

  She blinked. “Miss Andrie, forgive me. I didn’t see you.”

  “Nor I you, Bridget. I’ve some errands to attend to. Who should I see about a carriage?”

  “That would be me.” The deep voice came from just a few feet away. Stuart Frye stood with his back against a stall and his arms crossed tightly, as if in the midst of weathering a storm. I didn’t doubt that Bridget’s red-haired fury was a force to be reckoned with, but cut from the same cloth as Sean and Alexander, Stuart had the appearance of a man who could withstand anything life chose to burden his broad shoulders with.

  “I don’t mean to intrude, but if you could have someone ready a small conveyance and a footman to drive me, I would be grateful.”

  “You’re not interrupting at all, Miss Andrews. Bridget and I are through.” He ended his sentence there, not adding anything, like through carried a wealth of meaning, and Bridget gasped in response.

  I bit my lip at the sudden sheen of tears I saw in her shadowed blue eyes. Stuart’s jaw clenched much as a doctor’s would when administering a painful but necessary treatment. I noted he fisted his hands tightly, as if he was trying to keep himself from reaching out, and his dark eyes were full of mixed emotions.

  After a moment or two of silence, Bridget left without saying a word.

  Stuart cleared his throat, making me think that he had trouble finding his voice. “It’ll take just a moment. Where will you be going? Just the short distance to Dartmoor’s End or further?”

  I swallowed my lump of apprehension, realizing this was my first step to a life alone, one that would likely defy many notions of propriety. “Just a short distance, but I won’t be going to Dartmoor’s End. I’m going to Dragon’s Cove.”

  Stuart froze in midstep, then turned to me. “You’re going to Viscount Blackmoor’s?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at the castle, clearly wondering who else would be going with me.

  “I am traveling alone,” I said. “And I would appreciate as little attention as possible be given to this.”

  “In other words, the fewer who know the better?”

  “Exactly.” Even though I saw concern rather than judgment darken his gaze, my insides still twisted as tightly as my lace-gloved fingers.

  “Very well, Miss Andrews. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “I do.”

  He shook his head. “I wonder. Tread carefully, Miss Andrews. The viscount isn’t a man to be trusted in some ways.”

  I met his gaze and resisted the temptation to ask exactly what he meant. After a moment he nodded and went to secure my transportation. By responding to Stuart’s warning, I would have opened the door for more conversation, which I wanted to avoid. Whatever he was cautioning me against, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want anything to deter me from the course I had set upon.

  Twenty minutes later, I questioned my wisdom. Perhaps I should have come armed with everything I could find out about Viscount Blackmoor and his past. The dark castle spires on Dragon’s Cove came into view, and I shivered at how their sharp points stabbed at the heavens, at how black the stone of the walls was against the bright beauty of the distant sea. Unlike Sean’s castle, which nestled cozily along the open coast, Alexander’s domain rose amid cliffs of jagged rock where the sea could be heard crashing violently against the earth rather than lapping the shore.

  More fortress-like than any structure I’d seen before, with fanged dragons carved menacingly upon its battlements, the castle loomed over the cove like a preying beast, ready to devour all who dared to enter its lair. As the buggy drove up the long stretch of road, I could readily see why the rumors about the Killdaren brot
hers were so rampant. The castle was not a vision of wealth from a family blessed, but an outward warning of a family cursed beyond redemption.

  More than a few doubts about the success of my venture burned in my mind, as if the dragons encircling the rooftop had set fire to them. I couldn’t fail, I told myself, refusing to give in to the worry. Instead, I focused on the heat I’d seen sparking in Alexander’s gaze yesterday. On some level I interested him, and I needed to use that to my advantage.

  The road between Killdaren’s Castle and Dragon’s Cove was rough from disuse, giving me a rather bumpy ride. Just before the driver came to a stop before the black doors, I tugged my dress and fichu into proper place. Only my lace fichu caught on Aphrodite’s ring and jerked from its nesting place, leaving the décolletage of my lavender tea gown scandalously low. The emerald eyes of the serpent ring glinted in the sunlight, as if laughing at my predicament. Exasperated, I tried to inconspicuously stuff it back, but gave up as the driver halted.

  I managed to shove the lace into my pocket before the driver reached to help me exit. Wild thoughts ran through my mind as I stood at the top of the stairs with my basket of scones and studied the black doors to the castle. They were carved with images, as was customary with most impressive buildings, but somehow the dragons on these glass-like obsidian doors looked startling real. A great attention to detail had been given to each rough scale and needle-point fang. Even a starburst etched the pupils of each of their dark eyes, but the most shocking fact was that each dragon had stabbed the other in the heart with a forked spear. I snapped my eyes closed, somehow feeling the pain roaring from the dragons’ wide mouths.

  “Lass, I believe you’ve come to the wrong establishment. Where is it yer looking to be?”

  Opening my eyes, I saw a taller, thinner version of Mrs. Murphy, a woman whose motherly appearance was as inviting as her eyes were warm and kind.

  “This is the Viscount Blackmoor’s residence, is it not?”

  “Yes,” she said cautiously, with a hint of cool reserve to her tone.

  I forced a smile. “Then I am at the right place. Would you inform him that Miss Andrews is here to see him? He is expecting me.”

  Her eyes widened and she peered closer at me. “You’re the sister of Master Sean’s new wife.”

  It had been a long time since Sean could be referred to as “master”, but then I knew this woman and her sister, Mrs. Murphy, had looked after Sean and Alexander since they were little. “Yes…Mrs.…”

  “Lynds. Mrs. Lynds,” she said, stepping to the side. “Come in. I’ll show you to the parlor and let his lordship know you are here.”

  Moving inside, I immediately became lost in the immense collection of art filling every available nook. Greek statues, Chinese silk screens, Spanish armor, African masks all tried to out-display large portraits of men and women dressed as ornately as kings and queens. Polished to a high gleam, the rich cherry paneling on the walls served as a backdrop for the eclectic menagerie of art. It surprised me to find little evidence of the castle’s sinisterly dark façade in the inner decor. This same cluttering of art was everywhere I looked.

  Mrs. Lynds sniffed the air, calling my attention to the fresh scent of beeswax and cinnamon. “I smell my sister’s scones. Not a soul in Cornwall can bake them as delicately as she does,” she said.

  I held up the basket and she laughed. “Martha should have sent more. It’ll take his lordship less than a minute to finish those off. Have a seat. I’ll be but a moment.”

  She left, and rather than sitting, I placed the scones on the tea table and wandered about the room to examine some of the art more closely. It was utterly fascinating to have so much within my grasp that I couldn’t resist touching. I brushed a lace-covered fingertip over the smooth, vibrant red porcelain of a Chinese vase with a black dragon curling around its surface. The treasure had to be older than Britain.

  I needed more. Sliding off Aphrodite’s ring, I removed my gloves and placed my entire palm upon the cool vase. Nothing forced its way into my mind, no emotions of anger or joy, no images of murder or indiscretions. My mind was free to take flight and let my imagination flow.

  I imagined that I stood next to Marco Polo, seeing the secrets of the Orient for the first time, and the emperor, Kubla Kahn, had just made a gift of this priceless ruby vase to me, asking me to make a record of his vast collection of treasures.

  “You came alone?”

  Turning, I found Alexander, frowning fiercely as he stood just inside the parlor door. He wore slim black breeches tucked into leather boots and a loose white shirt with full sleeves, a style reminiscent of a time when a man needed to wield a sword to live. Oddly, there was a black dragon embroidered over his left breast. He appeared as if he’d been exerting himself, and indeed had a long, thin-bladed sword in his hand, which he set carefully upon a nearby table. His ebony hair was a bit mussed, his darkly tanned skin had a sheen of perspiration on it, and his eyes were alight with a challenging fire along with an edge of irritation. He clearly did not welcome my intrusion.

  I had to swallow in order to speak. “Yes, the matter I wish to discuss with you is private, and I thought it best.” I desperately searched about for reasons he needed me to catalogue his menagerie of artifacts.

  Much to my relief, he left the door open and crossed the room. As he drew closer, his gaze slid down my lavender dress slowly, then snapped back to a point below my chin where he stared a moment before lifting a questioning brow as he met my gaze. “A private matter? Very interesting.”

  I didn’t know if his seductive tone was a deliberate attempt to make me uncomfortable, or if he were truly that intrigued by me despite his frowning countenance, but I wasn’t about to go fleeing from his lair. Still, the room became hotter, my pulse beat faster, my skin grew damper—everywhere—and the fire burning my cheeks sucked my breath away.

  Joining me next to the vase, he slid his fingertip over the smooth enamel, slowly tracing the figure of the black dragon on the porcelain. I found his hands as fascinating as the perfectly sculpted art, with one difference—his hands weren’t cold, nor was he. The heat of his body penetrated into mine.

  “Did you know that the Chinese think they descended from dragons?” he asked softly. “That the emperors believe they are dragons. Their clothes are called dragon’s robes, their throne is the dragon’s seat, and their beds are known as the dragon’s bed.”

  The dragon’s bed. Fire breathed down my spine. I glanced at the emblem on his breast, wondering just what sort of bed he slept in before I snatched my mind back from that precipice and stiffened my shoulders. If I didn’t take charge of the situation, I would be lost.

  I cleared my throat. “Thankfully no one has such delusions in England, do they, my lord?” Lifting my brow in return, I hoped to imbue an added challenge to my voice. I didn’t doubt that he was deliberately trying to unnerve me.

  A smile tugged the corners of his frown before he turned away and moved to the tea table and its neighboring settee. He invited me to sit upon its cushiony white and gold brocade while he sat opposite in a darker, sterner wing chair.

  “You appear well. So, I assume you’re not here to speak of yesterday’s incident. If the man killed his wife as Constable Poole reports, then he met with a fitting end.”

  I shuddered. “It was horrible, and I have to confess that I have deliberately refused to think about it. As you say, justice was served. The reason for my visit this morning concerns a different matter—I have come to see you about an employment opportunity.”

  “You wish to hire me?” The devilish gleam in his green eyes deepened as his gaze dropped to the V of my dress.

  Lace gloves made a sorry fan for my heated cheeks, and Aphrodite’s ring pricked my palm as I tightened my fist around it.

  “No, my lord. You need to hire me, assuming you haven’t already engaged someone to catalogue your antiquities. You mentioned the need earlier this summer, and from the chaotic state of your artifacts I can
not be in more agreement.”

  “Chaotic?”

  “From what little I have seen in the grand entry hall, the corridor and the parlor here, there appears to be very little rhyme or reason to their placement in your home, a situation that detracts from the beauty of the art.”

  “No one can accuse you of mincing words, Miss Andrews.” He leaned back in the burgundy silk wing chair and glanced about the room before adding, “Tell me, since you couldn’t have been aware of the ugly and disordered state of my art before arriving, what exactly were your reasons for employment before coming?” The underlying steel in his green gaze wasn’t going to bend.

  I sighed, fearing that I would have to tell him more than I wanted anyone to know. Setting my gloves and ring on the table, I drew a deep breath and straightened the skirt of my dress that I realized had oddly bunched across my lap. Then I looked him directly in the eye. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

  Oddly, he paled as if shocked, then clenched his fist. “I see. Well, you have my word as a gentleman then.”

  “I will soon have to live alone and support myself. So, in truth, I need a job. I know antiquities well and am very adept at organization and art. To secure a living, cataloguing private collections will require sterling references. And since you did mention your need of such services before, I thought we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

  He rose suddenly, as if he couldn’t sit a moment more. His clipped steps to the window were angry and jerked the knots in my stomach taunt. At the window, he stared out at the bright day, his expression a dark cloud that eclipsed any hope I had of success. Tears stung my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I had been counting on him, nor how desperately I needed the hope of some acceptable future for myself.