Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  “No, Dante, you cannot know that. She may truly have slipped,” Rhea whispered, shaken by Dante’s tormented memories.

  “The last words she spoke to me, except for calling my name, were, ‘Perhaps death will be my only escape from this hell I have created for those I have loved.’ Then she asked for my forgiveness.”

  Dante opened gray eyes shadowed by the past, and Rhea felt as if she were staring into a stranger’s eyes. “She wanted my forgiveness. Dear God, the irony of that! Her words still haunt me. The villagers of Merleigh say that her windswept figure can still be seen on stormy days silhouetted against the dawn above the cliffs near Merdraco. Some have even said that she haunts the great hall, and that her voice can be heard calling to someone, but of course there is no one to answer. Even the vicar of Westlea Abbot, a neighboring village, has claimed to have seen a specter that appears atop one of the towers of Merdraco on a moonless night. Of course,” Dante added with the cynical look that Rhea knew only too well, “he preaches more from the bottle than from the Good Book, so you can’t take his word as gospel.”

  “How do you know all this? I thought you’d not returned to Merdraco in over fifteen years.” Rhea wanted to learn all she possibly could about this man she had come to love, yet knew so little about.

  Dante seemed momentarily startled by her question, then he shrugged. “It is not important how I know,” he said, unwilling to explain. “Most good people think it a sin for someone to take his own life. They believe that the soul will never find peace and is destined to wander for eternity, or perhaps be damned. My mother did not make a very good bargain when she traded one hell for another.”

  “Dante, I am so sorry,” Rhea said awkwardly. “I never knew. You do not speak of the days before you left England. I wish you would tell me,” Rhea urged, her slim hand touching the hardness of his tanned cheek.

  But she was unprepared for the violence of his reaction when his fingers wrapped round her hand and he pulled her from her chair and onto his lap. Staring deeply into her startled eyes, he spoke coldly. “You are not a part of that life. Never do I want you to be touched by it, or even learn of the man I once was. I wonder if you will continue to be faithful to me, no matter what may happen, or what you might learn. Or will you, my most beloved, find life with me so unbearable that you would turn away from me? Will I hurt you as I have everyone else in my life? Or will you remain true, little daffadilly?” he demanded, his gaze lingering on the golden glory of her hair.

  “Dante, you know you have my love forevermore. I have pledged that to you.”

  Dante loosened his viselike grip when he saw the hurt expression in her eyes. Turning her palm upward, he pressed a gentle kiss against its softness.

  “Forevermore? If only I could believe that. But I fear that nothing is forever. You will only be hurt all the more if you are deceived into believing that what happiness we have found today will be there tomorrow,” Dante told her.

  Perhaps he was unaware of the cruelty of his words. Rhea turned her face away. His casually spoken words frightened her. There was such a hopelessness about them.

  Dante’s touch was gentle this time as he turned her face to his. “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I? I did not mean to, but now you can see how easily an ill-spoken word can cast doubt on or even destroy the feelings we thought inviolate,” he warned her. “Never let anyone turn you against me, Rhea. Promise me that.”

  Rhea stared at him in silent confusion.

  “Promise me?”

  “I promise you,” Rhea finally spoke the vow.

  “You may have doubts about me one day, but never doubt that I love you. You may hear of scandal associated with my name, but however genuine it may sound, come to me and let me explain. Give me the chance to deny it. Or perhaps to confirm it. But give me that chance, Rhea. Never run away without letting me explain,” he asked her, almost pleadingly, she was later to remember.

  “I’ll never leave you, Dante,” she told him again, trying to reassure him, for she had just seen a side of Dante that few people knew about, and it had been anything but arrogant.

  “How easy it is for you to promise that now, but what of later?” he murmured as his mouth closed over her lips and he parted them, savoring the familiar feel and taste of her.

  Rhea’s hands moved caressingly as she cradled his head and responded to his kisses with a growing passion of her own. It was always this way, she thought drowsily as she felt his fingers moving with purpose against the laces of her bodice. She could deny him nothing. She could think of none but him when he looked at her, touched her, made love to her. The rest of the world ceased to exist when they were together.

  Unfortunately, however, the rest of the world still had business to take care of, and a persistent, not-to-be ignored knocking finally intruded into Rhea’s consciousness. Reluctantly, she freed her lips from Dante’s possessive kiss.

  “There is someone at the door,” she tried to tell him, but the words were little better than a breathless whisper.

  “The damned fool can bide his time,” Dante replied, unwilling to stir himself for some misadvised oaf demanding entrance, not when he could bury his face in the fragrant, golden tresses he had loosened to fall free about Rhea’s pale shoulders.

  “Dante, please,” Rhea pleaded. She felt his mouth moving along the curve of breast revealed by her parted bodice. The knocking was becoming impatient.

  “Either the bastard’s crazed, or he has an army at his back, for few men would dare disturb my privacy. One of the few advantages of being thought the devil incarnate, my sweet,” Dante muttered as the knocking continued and a noisy shuffling could be heard beyond the solid oak of the door.

  “I do believe ’tis an army. I suppose there’s nothing for it but to face the enemy.” Dante sighed as he allowed Rhea to slide off his lap. He was far from being in good humor as he watched her cross the room and, her back to the door, straighten her bodice.

  “Enter at your own risk! Pistols primed!” he called out, sounding more like the captain of the Sea Dragon than a gentleman of leisure.

  Rhea spun round in surprise, expecting to see Dante standing with a pistol in each hand. But he was still sitting where she had left him. A wicked grin was widening his mouth as he stared at the door.

  “I daresay the worst of your reputation has now been confirmed, and by your very own lips,” Rhea commented dryly while adjusting the delicate fall of lace adorning the sleeves of her muslin gown. “Half of the maids in the inn are scared witless whenever they happen to cross your path. I truly believe that you enjoy causing an uproar,” she accused him, but the smile curving her lips took the sting from her words.

  “Do I really?” Dante asked, sounding genuinely surprised to hear such an accusation, but he was even more surprised by the sudden silence beyond the door.

  “Well? Enter, or be damned!” he called out, ignoring Rhea’s expression of feigned exasperation.

  “Lord, ’elp us!” whispered one of the chambermaids cowering just outside the door.

  “What’d Oi tell ye? A bloodthirsty pirate ’e is. Sailed from the Indies on the devil’s own ship, ’e did. ’Eard tell, even, that one of them treasure chests full o’ gold was filled with the bleached bones of pirates. Devil’s treasure, ’tis,” her companion declared.

  “No tellin’ what a gent like ’im might do, then?” the first maid questioned timidly, feeling a weakness in her knees at the thought uppermost in her mind.

  “Aye, and ’tis somethin’ a supposedly decent miss like yerself shouldn’t even be knowin’ about, much less thinkin’ about,” the elder of the two girls responded knowingly.

  “Ooooh, but ’e is an ’andsome devil, though,” the younger girl stated, unmindful of her more experienced friend’s advice while she momentarily forgot, or perhaps dreamed, about Dante Leighton and his adventurer’s less-than-respectable reputation.


  “Well, ye don’t ’ave t’be worryin’ none.”

  “Ye think not? Don’t reckon ’e’ll be castin’ them bonny eyes at either one o’ us, not with her ladyship at his side,” the young maid predicted wisely, even while tidying the mobcap perched atop her russet curls.

  “Such a beauty she is too. And sweet as can be, with not a mean word to anyone. Not at all snooty, either, if ye knows what Oi means. Why, just t’other day she says to me—”

  “Damn the two of ye! I knew it, damned if I didn’t!” roared the innkeeper as he stomped along the corridor, the two guilty maids fixed in his stare. “Knew ye’d be standin’ here gossipin’ while I’ve got customers to be fed and seen to. Don’t know how a man can run a decent business nowadays, what with the wages bein’ demanded and the poor service bein’ given in return,” he complained as he grimly eyed the nervous girls.

  “We knocked! Again and again, we did! Even pounded on the door with our fists! ’Tis the truth!” they chorused.

  “But we was frightened cause a voice, soundin’ for all the world like the devil ’imself, says to enter or be damned!” one of the girls said on a rising note of hysteria.

  “Good! Then we’ll be wastin’ no more time standin’ here,” the innkeeper declared, his appreciative laugh rumbling down the corridor and somewhat relieving the tension of the two young men standing at a safe distance, their arms full of carefully wrapped bundles.

  Without further ado, the innkeeper opened the door and, with a hand clasped firmly on each girl’s shrinking shoulder, escorted the two into the dragon’s den.

  “Ah, at last. I had begun to think my hearing was playing tricks on me,” the captain of the Sea Dragon commented conversationally.

  Without his coat and waistcoat, his ruffled shirtfront parted nearly to the waist and revealing a bronzed, muscular chest, the close-fitting buckskin breeches leaving no doubt of his virility, Dante looked every inch the piratical captain half of London suspected him of being.

  Sitting with a booted foot resting casually against a tapestried stool while he idly toyed with the rapier lying across his lap, his languid pose was quite deceptive, for the narrowed gray eyes raked the newcomers and missed nothing.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord, m’lady, but if ye’re finished dinin’, then the girls here will clear the table,” the innkeeper explained at his most genial. His bonebreaker’s grip was coming close to shattering each girl’s shoulder as he pushed them toward the table.

  “’Tis quite all right,” Dante murmured, his gaze moving to the two uneasy young gentlemen hesitating in the opened doorway.

  “It was a delicious meal, Mr. Parkham.” Rhea Claire complimented him with a smile that took hostage of the gruff innkeeper’s heart. “Our young friend, Mr. Brady, found the gooseberry pie especially delectable.”

  “Did he, now?” Mr. Parkham said with a beaming smile. “Well, I’ll sure be tellin’ Mrs. Parkham about yer kind words, m’lady. Be glad t’hear it too. Ol’ Nell Farquhar, proprietress of the King’s Messenger, off St. Martin’s Lane, claims she bakes the best gooseberry pies hereabouts, though I don’t know how her customers have ever gotten a mouthful. I figure she eats most of ’em herself. A waist as round as a hogshead of molasses she has, and as mean as a—”

  “If you will pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Parkham.” Dante spoke softly, yet effectively halted the garrulous innkeeper. “What business do these gentlemen have here?”

  “Says they be makin’ a delivery, m’lord,” Mr. Parkham replied while leveling a questioning stare of his own at the two men. “And they had better be tellin’ me the truth, for if I finds out that they’ve bamboozled me, and be here to try to sell their wares on the sly, well…” he warned, the ugly glint in his eye promising swift retribution. There was little doubt that he meant it, for Mr. Parkham was a burly man who was well used to keeping order on his premises.

  “Oh, ’tis true enough, m’lord,” one of the young men quickly spoke up, preferring to address the gentleman who most likely would be tipping him. “We’re from Madame Lambere. She sent us along with the clothes she finished for Lady Jacqobi. She said to be quick about it, that her ladyship needed them, and madame isn’t one to disappoint a customer. The Dominicks always pay their bills, she said. Otherwise, m’lord, we wouldn’t have intruded so late in the evening,” the young man explained, although his eyes, once having located the lady in question, had never moved beyond that stunning vision in white.

  “’Tis true, then, m’lord?” Mr. Parkham demanded, thinking privately that this glib young gent in his finery probably did more than just deliver packages for Madame Lambere. But at his lordship’s nod, he had to acquiesce, and relaxing his defensive stance, he grudgingly allowed the two young gentlemen access to the room.

  “Be about yer business, then, and don’t be botherin’ his lordship any longer than need be. And ye two, get clearin’ the table,” he ordered the two maids, who’d been standing in awed silence while ignoring their less than interesting duties. “Ye’ve work to see to, so quit yer gabbin’ and gawkin’ and get crackin’. I’ll be expectin’ to see them silly faces back in the kitchens by the time I’ve gotten there meself,” he warned them, little realizing how quickly the two would follow in his very footsteps.

  The two young gentlemen wasted little time unwrapping their bundles. Spreading the contents across the wide four-poster in the far corner, they revealed a dazzling sight.

  A primrose yellow damask gown embroidered across the voluminous skirt with a scattering of delicate wildflowers and butterflies, and a blue quilted satin petticoat spilled forth like a breath of spring on a winter’s eve. A rose brocade with a white silk stomacher, richly embroidered in a pale green leaf pattern with small satin rosebuds, and elbow-length sleeves trimmed with a cascade of three point-lace ruffles burst into glory, next followed by a watered silk turquoise taffeta, flounced and furbelowed with Valenciennes lace and violet bows on the sleeves. A lavender petticoat tumbled out next.

  But it was the last gown revealed that drew gasps from the two mesmerized maids who were now staring quite openly at the finery piled high on the bed. The gown was an exquisite, ethereal creation of gold tissue which shimmered in the firelight like dancing fairy lights in the woodlands. The sleeves and ruffled skirt were trimmed in soft, silken blond lace that resembled gold-spun cobwebs.

  The pelisse of sapphire blue velvet, trimmed with ermine, went almost unnoticed, as did the assortment of handkerchiefs, some edged in lace, some embroidered, some colored. And the silk stockings in every shade imaginable, with kid gloves to match, remained carefully folded and set aside. The rose-colored satin slippers and the purple velvet ones soon became lost under the mountain of velvet and satin and lace, along with the pair made of yellow kid. The lavender silk hat with violet plumes might have captured a quick glance, but the straw hat with jonquil ribbons and the bergère with lovely sarcenet roses went unappreciated by the two bemused serving girls, their rounded eyes glued to the gown of shimmering golden threads.

  “With m’lady’s permission, I’ll leave this package wrapped, for ’tis m’lady’s chemises, stays, and under petticoats,” the more talkative of the two men suggested courteously, but the look in his eye was anything but respectful.

  “How considerate,” Rhea said, ignoring the man’s leering wink. “My mother and I have always been most pleased with our purchases from Madame Lambere’s. We have never had reason to complain,” Rhea said, the remark sounding quite innocent, especially so accompanied as it was by a sweet smile. “Madame Lambere has surpassed herself where this gown is concerned. ’Tis truly magnificent.”

  “Madame will be most pleased to hear your praise. Of course, m’lady has excellent taste. And, if I may be so indiscreet to say so, I knew the moment m’lady walked into madame’s that this gown could be for none other than her. In fact, madame had quite often confided in me that the Duchess of Camare
igh is her very favorite client. And, if I may be so bold, one of the most beautiful ladies in all the realm, as indeed is her daughter. How very fortunate a man His Grace is to have two such beautiful women gracing his home. Ah, and could there possibly be a more perfect setting for such unequaled beauty than the lovely perfection of Camareigh? To quote madame, C’est magnifique!” the young man exclaimed and kissed his fingers to his lips. His accent was atrocious, despite the eloquence of the gesture.

  “Madame has told me how extraordinaire an estate Camareigh is. I believe madame traveled to Camareigh just last year to sew many new creations for Her Grace and m’lady? Yes, indeed, His Grace is a most fortunate man,” he added, his eyes lingering on Rhea’s décolletage as if his fingers itched to take in a tuck or two along that entrancing curve of seam.

  “Very perceptive of you to have noticed, m’sieu, but as I am the gentleman being billed for these garments, and not His Grace, you will in future kindly address any such remarks to me,” Dante’s cold voice interrupted the tête-à-tête and left the young gentleman from Madame Lambere’s with little hope that his lordship would be generous about a tip. Indeed, as he risked a glance at the notorious captain of the Sea Dragon, he wondered if he might consider himself lucky to be leaving the room in one piece.

  He was in fact edging toward the door with that very goal in mind when one of the serving girls let out an ear-piercing scream that must surely have raised several of the dead. Then, her tray of china scattered across the floor in shards, she fled the room, her cries of terror echoing along the corridor. Her squealing companion was not far behind.