Midnight at Mallyncourt

by Jennifer Wilde

“So there you are,” he said in a lazy drawl.

  “Hello, Edward.”

  “I’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone for hours.”

  “I was—walking.”

  “I see that. You look wonderfully windblown and radiant, my dear.”

  I ignored the compliment. “You said you were looking for me. Was there something you wanted?”

  The minute the words left my mouth I regretted them. Edward looked at me with eyelids drooping and smiled, his lips curling slowly at one corner. I didn’t like that smile, nor did I like the look in his eyes. He wanted something, yes. His manner made that perfectly clear.

  “What did you wish to see me about?” I asked stiffly.

  “I wanted to remind you of our date.”

  “Date?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He nodded slowly. “I promised to show you that old Roman fort, remember? I thought we might go tomorrow.”

  “I—I had forgotten all about it. I’m—really not all that interested, Edward.”

  “No?”

  “Besides, I have things I must do. The fort is five miles away, you said. We’d be gone most of the day. I—I promised Lettice I’d help her with some embroidery, and Lord Mallyn will want me to—”

  “In other words, you’re afraid.”

  I—

  Edward came closer, stopping not more than a foot away from me. Lips curling, eyes hooded, he rested his forearms on my shoulders, and I looked up at him. I could smell the male, leathery smell, and the smell of slightly damp silk, and I could feel the throbbing warmth of his body. Beneath the chilly, remote façade, he was an intensely sensual man. I had always known that. The façade was missing now. Now he was simply male.

  “You’re afraid,” he repeated.

  “Edward, I—”

  I couldn’t finish my sentence. The words seemed to catch in my throat. I felt weak, trembling inside, and I despised myself for that weakness and despised him for knowing it was there.

  “Why deny the inevitable, Jenny? Why put if off any longer? It’s something both of us have known would happen, something both of us have wanted to happen.”

  I looked into those incredibly blue eyes, and I knew that he was vile. He was perfectly aware of the power he had over me, and I was aware of it, too. I couldn’t deny it any longer. I fought it, even now, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight much longer. Edward seemed to sense my thoughts. The smile broadened on his lips.

  “Good,” he said.

  “I despise you, Edward.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll prove otherwise.”

  “I—I don’t intend to go.”

  “You’ll go.”

  Edward continued to gaze into my eyes, his forearms resting heavily on my shoulders, his body inches from my own. His magnetism was almost overwhelming, that lazy sensuality he could turn on or off at will, and I felt helpless under the force of it. He cared nothing for me. I was merely a tool, someone he intended to use to further his own ambitions. I knew that, but the knowledge didn’t help at all, not now, not with his eyes gazing into mine and the weight of his forearms bearing down on my shoulders. Intellect and instinct told me to pull away, to demolish him with some scathing remark, but I couldn’t.

  Several long seconds passed, each one tormenting. The sun was sinking rapidly now, tinting the air with a blazing orange light that would be gone in minutes. Shadows moved like black veils drawing over the dark brown wall behind us. Edward finally stepped back, dropping his arms.

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  He took my elbow and led me into the house. The side door opened into a long, narrow passage that led directly to the back hall. Strong rays of bright orange light spilled through the windows, fading almost as soon as they touched the opposite wall. Our footsteps rang on the bare stone floor. I was silent, a battle raging within me, and Edward still smiled, the confident, victorious male, so pleased with himself, anticipating what he knew was to come. We stepped into the back hall. Almost all the orange light was gone now, and the long hall seemed to be filled with a misty blue-gray haze that deepened even as we passed down the length of it. Edward stopped a few yards from the wide stone steps.

  “I’ll have Cook pack a picnic basket,” he said. “As you don’t ride one of the men will drive us there and come back for us a few hours later. We’ll leave around, say ten o’clock in the morning. It should be a most enjoyable day—”

  He cut himself short as footsteps rang above us. We both looked up to see Vanessa descending. She wore a gown of cream-colored satin printed with delicate pink roses and tiny jade leaves, the small puffed sleeves dropping off the shoulder. The low cut bodice left half of her bosom bare, and the skirt belled out in rich, creamy folds. Her hair was loose, spilling down in lustrous ebony waves. Seeing us, she hesitated for a moment, her cheeks rather pale. Edward wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him and holding me in a loose, affectionate grip almost as though he wanted to flaunt our closeness for her benefit. Vanessa came on down the stairs, slowly. She was completely poised now, but her violet-blue eyes were dark with an animosity she didn’t even try to conceal.

  “You’re dressed for dinner,” Edward remarked lazily. “Is it so late? I had no idea.”

  “It would appear you had other things on your mind,” she said acidly.

  “Yes,” he said. He gave my shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “Jenny and I have been making plans. We’re going for an outing tomorrow. She wants to see the old Roman fort. I’ve decided to take her there.”

  He seemed almost to be taunting her with the words. I had the curious impression the two of them were enacting some private drama that had begun much earlier, perhaps when they had quarreled out in the back lawn. Vanessa smiled a very tight smile.

  “How perfectly delightful,” she said.

  “We’re taking a picnic lunch,” Edward continued. “We plan to be gone most of the day.”

  “Picnics were never my sort of thing.”

  “I should think not,” he said mockingly.

  “If you’ll excuse me—”

  She swept on past us. Edward chuckled quietly, dropping his arm from my shoulders. He turned around, watching her until she passed into the hall leading to the front of the house, and when he turned back to me his eyes were filled with wry amusement. A faint smile played on his lips. There had been much more to that little scene than met the eye. I was certain of it now. Edward shook his head, amused.

  “Poor Vanessa,” he remarked. “She hasn’t been at all herself since Prince departed so abruptly. It must have rankled to see the two of us so chummy when she’s been left high and dry. Extremely frustrating for her, I should think.”

  “You were taunting her,” I accused.

  “Was I indeed?”

  “I—I saw the two of you on the back lawn yesterday.”

  “Oh?” he inquired dryly.

  “She was livid, berating you furiously. You—obviously you’d said or done something that outraged her.”

  “Vanessa,” he replied, “is a consummate bitch. We needn’t be concerned about her. Come, we’ll both have to hurry if we intend to be down for dinner on time.”

  His hand gripping my elbow loosely, Edward led me up the steps and into the long gallery above. He seemed hardly aware of me now, a preoccupied look in his eyes. The potent sensuality he had displayed a few minutes earlier might never have been, but I knew it would be back full force tomorrow. I prayed for the strength to resist it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE SKY was a pale, pale gray, almost white, mottled with faint blue-gray clouds sent scurrying across the surface by a brisk wind. I had learned to read the weather in this part of the country, and I feared we would have a storm before the day was over, but Edward had insisted on our going to the ruins just the same. Despite the rather ominous signs, it was warm today, extremely warm, and I hadn’t even brought a wrap. I wore a light jade-green muslin frock printed with miniscule emerald flo
wers and tiny black leaves, the square-cut neckline modestly low, the puffed sleeves dropping just off the shoulders. My glossy auburn locks tossed and tumbled in the wind as we rode down the lane in the open carriage.

  The coachman perched on the front seat, clicking the reins to urge the grays on at a spanking pace, and, beside me, Edward sat silently, his profile stony. Deeply immersed in his own thoughts, his manner grim, he hadn’t said a word since we left the house. It was as though this were an unpleasant obligation he was being forced to fulfill, something he would much prefer not to do. Under the circumstances, I found his attitude surprising, to say the least, but I was also relieved. The sensual, romantic Edward Baker of yesterday might have been a figment of my imagination. He was like a stranger, remote, hardly aware of my presence as the carriage rumbled along.

  This morning he had been crisp, snapping instructions to the servants, having the carriage brought round, the picnic basket placed in it, and he had ignored me then, too, handing me into the carriage without a word, his blue eyes frosty. I told him I would just as soon not go. “We’re going,” he retorted, and that was that. I wondered what had happened to put him in such a foul mood. He seemed to seethe with suppressed anger. Had something happened, something I didn’t know about? Edward had gone to his study immediately after dinner last night. Restless, worried, plagued by doubts and apprehension, I had been unable to sleep, and I had heard him coming to his room at two thirty in the morning. He hadn’t had a good night, either, but that was hardly enough to explain the stony silence, the grim expression on his face as he sat beside me in the carriage.

  I turned my attention to the countryside. We had come a long way from Mallyncourt, and although there were low gray stone walls on either side of the lane, the rolling fields beyond were unplanted, covered with dark emerald-green grass. There were hills and slopes rising like dark green mounds on the horizon, divided into sections by the gray walls, and when I saw the flocks of sheep in the distance I realized that this was grazing land. The wind grew brisker. The sky, it seemed, was already a darker gray, and the clouds were massing together, scuttling across the sky and causing deep blue-black shadows to scuttle across the fields, making the green darker, making patchy, moving patterns. There was a distant rumble. Thunder? Hardly a suitable day for a picnic, I thought wryly, but Edward must have his way. He always did.

  Always? No. Today he wasn’t going to have his way. Today he was going to experience his first failure.

  Yesterday, when he had come out of the house to meet me as I returned from my walk, Edward had made it quite clear why he wanted the two of us to spend the day together, alone, away from Mallyncourt. The visit to the ruins was merely an excuse. He intended to convince me that I loved him. He intended to employ all his considerable masculine charms, convinced seduction would be a simple matter. This morning seduction seemed the last thing on his mind. Rarely had he been so cool, so stern. I was glad. That would make it all the easier for me to stand firm.

  There was another distant rumble. The noise broke into my revery and brought me back to the reality of here and now. Silky auburn waves sprayed across my face. I brushed them back. The sky, now, was the color of slate, and the wind seemed stronger than ever. The countryside was like one of the new impressionist paintings, all done in varying shades of green and grays, slate gray sky, dark green hills, darker black-green patches where ominous shadows moved, low gray walls intersecting the green, everything beginning to blur in the misty light. The clouds, blue-gray before, were gradually changing to an ashy black.

  “It’s going to storm, Edward,” I said. “We’d better turn back.”

  “The storm may hold off for hours,” he said dryly. “Besides, there’s shelter at the ruins.”

  “It’s madness to think of a picnic on a day like this.”

  “Relax, Jennifer. A little bad weather shouldn’t disturb you.”

  “It’s grown much worse since we left. I think we should—”

  “I told you to relax,” he said crisply.

  I sat back against the padded leather seat, irritated, almost hoping we were caught in a deluge. It would serve him right. The grays skittered nervously down the narrow dirt-brown lane, made uneasy by the weather, and finally the driver brought them to a halt. Edward climbed out of the carriage and reached for my hand. I alighted, stumbling against him. Edward took the picnic basket from the floor of the carriage and stood back. The driver turned around to face us, looking uncertain.

  “Come back for us at three,” Edward ordered.

  “Yes, Sir, but—uh—Sir, the weather—”

  “You have your instructions, man! Obey them!”

  The driver clicked the reins. The carriage pulled away and, making a difficult turn on the narrow road, headed back in the direction from which we had come. Directly behind us, there was a small gate in the low gray wall. Beyond there was a wide, flat field that gradually began to slope up to the crest of a hill that loomed high on the horizon, the climb becoming steeper and steeper as it neared the top. Clusters of trees grew on the crest of the hill, looking like mere sprigs from this distance, and I could see broken blocks of gray-brown forming ragged squares, barely visible from where we stood.

  “It’s a long climb,” Edward said, holding the gate open, “at least half a mile to the top. There’s part of an old Roman wall on the other side of the crest, then a sheer drop to the valley below. Good site for a fort, ideally located.”

  “I suppose so,” I replied, not at all enthusiastic.

  We crossed the field and began to trudge up the slope. A worn footpath wound about the side of the slope, and it was easy going at first, becoming more and more difficult the higher we got. Gripping the handle of the picnic basket in one hand, Edward strode along at a brisk, athletic pace a little distance ahead of me, not at all bothered by the climb, but I soon found myself short of breath. The wind tore at my hair and sent skirt and petticoats spinning and flapping. I paused, hand against my breast. Edward turned and looked down at me with a faint smile flickering at one corner of his mouth. He wore shiny black boots, close-fitting black trousers and a loose white silk shirt with full-gathered sleeves ballooning at the wrists. A long black cloak was fastened about his shoulders, and it fluttered like demonic wings behind him, crackling in the wind. His hair whipped about his head, waving like short blond banners, and his blue eyes were filled with a kind of detached amusement as he regarded me.

  “What’s taking you so long?” he inquired in a lazy drawl.

  “You go ahead,” I said acidly. “I’ll catch up.”

  There was a frightening noise. I was horrified to see three huge brown and white cows cantering around the slope toward me. The horror must have registered on my face. Edward chuckled. I hurried up the path to join him as the cows continued on their way, lowing threateningly. Edward took my arm, pulling me up to his level. The cows glowered at us belligerently and lumbered rapidly on across the side of the slope.

  “All this land belongs to a chap name of MacLean,” Edward explained. “His farmhouse is a little further on, beyond that cluster of trees on the left. He keeps cows.”

  “Will—will there be more?”

  “Probably. They frequently graze among the ruins.”

  “Wonderful,” I said petulantly.

  Strangely enough, my petulance seemed to restore Edward’s good humor, or at least it caused that earlier grimness to disappear. We climbed on up to the top, moving at a far more leisurely pace now. Although rocky, the crest of the hill was mercifully flat, perhaps an acre across. The trees that had looked like sprigs from below were oaks, quite large, lifting heavy boughs overhead. The ruins spread out at our feet, enormous, crumbling brownish blocks sinking into the ground in spots, half walls remaining in other places. A labyrinth of connected square holes, ten feet in diameter, formed a kind of basement. This, I knew, would have served as a heating system for the now nonexistent rooms above. There would have been vents opening into each room through which
the steam of a central fire would rise and warm the whole building.

  “Careful,” Edward warned. “One could easily have an accident.”

  “They’re fascinating,” I cried, all else forgotten. “Look, that must have been the bath—”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “And over there—the graneries. This—why, this must have been the barracks. Look, that part over there is still standing, ceiling and all. It must have been one of the corner towers—”

  “You’re quite knowledgeable, it seems.”

  “Can’t you just see them in their shining breastplates and plumed helmets, reigning like haughty lords over the downtrodden natives? They were quite militant, you know, the early Romans, I mean. Look, over there in front of those trees. That would have been the parade grounds—”

  Edward was quite tolerant of my effusive remarks, setting the basket down and following me around the ruins like a patient parent indulging his child. I couldn’t help my enthusiasm. The ruins were indeed fascinating, and I wanted to see each stone, explore each room. Skirting around the deep square holes, climbing over tumbled walls, we walked from one end of the fort to the other while I tried to reconstruct each chamber in my imagination. The wind didn’t bother me now, and I paid no attention to the darkening sky or the clouds that gathered in ponderous black masses. The light had grown dimmer, and the air seemed to be tinged with a light purple tint as at twilight. The ruins were grayish-brown, streaked with dark gold and rust-colored stains, and the grass here on top was dry and stiff, greenish-brown. A solitary cow ambled leisurely along the crest, the bell hanging around its neck clattering. It paused to stare at us curiously, then mooed defiantly and ambled on out of sight beyond the trees.

  Almost an hour passed. Satisfied now that I had explored the ruins as thoroughly as it would be possible, I was ready to examine the old ruined wall running along the edge of the crest. Somewhat wearily, Edward suggested we eat first as it was after noon now and both of us had worked up quite an appetite. I agreed, and, taking the basket, spread the tablecloth out on the grass near one corner of the ruins. The wind had died down now, completely. Everything was still, silent, as though the elements were poised on the verge of chaos. The clouds hung heavy, ponderous black masses that seemed to sag down with their own weight, and the dark gray sky was smeared with purple. It was going to storm, no question about it, but perhaps it would continue to hold off until we got back to the house.