Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  “Oh, you and your damned quotes and your damned red hair!” Caroline rudely interrupted. His unruly red curls had always bothered her. If not for them, she would gladly have determined to become the next Marchioness of Wrainton, but she just couldn’t see being married to someone with red hair, or living in a moldy old castle in Scotland.

  “Caroline! Apologize this very instant. Your behavior is outrageous,” Sir Jeremy ordered.

  “Well, how dare he speak to me in that manner?” she demanded, her cheeks puffing out with anger.

  “I only wish I’d had the intelligence to take a switch to your derriere years ago, young woman!” Sir Jeremy roared. Struggling to his feet from the comfortable armchair he’d been resting in, he looked as if he intended to set the record straight right then and there, company or not.

  “Oh!” Caroline wailed. Setting her half-uneaten dish of rice and apple pudding down on the table with a small bang, she jumped to her feet and stormed from the room, her skirts swishing as she threw open the doors.

  Sir Jeremy was too embarrassed to stay. Politely excusing himself, he limped to the door. The Earl of Rendale, despite his curiosity to learn more of this scandalous incident concerning the Marquis of Jacqobi, decided it would be better to make his excuses as well, and with his usual gentlemanly show of manners he bowed and left the room. Francis watched his stiff-backed, retreating figure, surprised that for once the man realized he would have been de trop had he remained.

  Walking around to the front of the settee, Francis squatted in front of his sister’s still figure. “That was an unpleasant surprise for you, was it not?” he asked softly, his blue-gray eyes understanding. “I am sorry. I could strangle Caroline sometimes.”

  With a smile for the outraged-looking James, he added, “But I shall refrain from doing so, and I trust you have not taken my words seriously, James,” he warned, little realizing how much like the duke he sounded. He wanted no repeat of the episode which had very nearly cost Dante Leighton his life.

  “We’re keeping an eye on him,” Ewan reassured his cousin while dodging a carefully aimed elbow from his hotheaded younger brother. For although James had been disciplined by both the duke and the general, he had a dangerously short memory.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to her. Or to him,” James denied. “Honestly I wouldn’t, Rhea. You do believe me, don’t you, Rhea?” James asked in growing concern lest his cousin become displeased with him again. He had agonized more over her disapproval of his act of recklessness than even his father’s, which had been only too predictably severe.

  “James, please do not trouble yourself any further, for I know you were only trying to help me. Dante will recover, and he forgives you. I know you would never do anything so reprehensible again,” Rhea told her young cousin for the hundredth time. Turning to Francis, she said, “I was shocked, but only because I was unprepared to hear such a thing about Dante. Of course I do not believe it, and hope that no one else at Camareigh will either,” Rhea said, her voice tremulous, for she was badly shaken.

  “I think you should ask Dante about it,” Richard advised, thinking that Francis had certainly matured in the past year, far more so than his younger cousins, he thought with a frowning glance at the two younger ones, who were about to come to fisticuffs as they argued about whether or not James could be trusted. “You should hear his side of the story, Rhea.”

  “I know, and I shall. ’Tis strange, but Dante warned me that I might hear unpleasant gossip about his past, and he made me promise that I would come to him for his explanation,” Rhea said, remembering also how nervous he had seemed about it.

  “He was expecting this?” Francis murmured, for he had heard nothing bad about the man, and had secretly begun to respect Dante, who had left his home and family and led so adventurous a life. And from what he had come to learn, her husband was genuinely in love with Rhea and treated her well.

  Rhea placed a gentle kiss on the top of Dawn Verrick’s red curls. Carefully, she handed the child back to Richard’s waiting arms.

  “You’re going up to him?” Francis wanted to know.

  “Yes, but if you are concerned, I shall have one of the footmen follow me just in case Dante decides to attack me,” Rhea said with uncharacteristic sharpness.

  “Rhea, I didn’t mean that, really I did not,” Francis denied. Rhea closed her eyes, then smiled apologetically.

  “I am sorry too. I do not know what has come over me of late. I feel so snappish sometimes. Please forgive me, Francis.”

  “Always, you know that,” her brother said, but he looked worried as he watched her leave the room, and he wondered why loving someone always seemed to make you less happy than you were when not in love.

  * * *

  Beyond the tall windows of the Long Gallery, lightning illumined the blackening skies. The sudden, blinding flash highlighted the lone figure standing so still before one of the portraits. In the golden glow from one of the wall sconces, its flame flickering, the painted figure looked almost medieval. The reds were Venetian; the yellows aged like antique gold; the greens as dark as a huntsman’s cloak; and the blues of wild woad.

  Dante stood staring up at the Elizabethan, wondering what manner of man he had been. His eyes were black as a raven’s wing, as was his hair, the curls framing a boldly staring face. The lips curled in a slight smile, while the eyes remained coldly assessing, wary.

  This was the Dominick who had so fascinated Rhea Claire. Dressed so finely, in embroidered doublet and lacy ruff, his bejeweled hand holding a pair of gauntlet gloves while the other rested on a decorative sword belt, he did not look much like an adventurer.

  A deafening clap of thunder sounded overhead, followed by another flash, and then a rumbling shook the room. The crystal chandeliers tinkled melodically. A thunderbolt hit with an earthshaking reverberation, and then rain hit the windows in cascading silver sheets.

  Dante glanced at the painted image one last time, then hobbled toward a high-backed, tapestried chair set against the wall, the crutch Kirby had managed to produce for him keeping the weight off his ankle.

  Resting the crutch against the paneled wall, he relaxed against the chair back, his eyes roving the darkened gallery as he wondered how many times Rhea Claire had walked along it, perhaps dreaming of her swashbuckling ancestor, little realizing that one day her own life would become entwined with an adventurer’s.

  Dante Leighton, former captain of the Sea Dragon, smiled as he sat there in the darkness. He had made it past those forbidding wrought iron gates into Camareigh. He remembered the first and only time he had spoken to the duke while under his roof. The arrogant Lucien Dominick had actually apologized to him, reassuring him that no similar incident would occur. Then, much to Dante’s surprise, the duke escorted two subdued, uncomfortable-looking boys into the room. Dante’s gaze had gone first to the taller of the two. A redheaded lad, his face had turned nearly as red as his curls while he made a muffled, though sincere, apology. But when Dante’s eyes encountered the violet eyes of Robin Dominick he had been mystified. There had been something so tantalizingly familiar about the lad with the curly black hair and strangely tinted eyes. Of course, the eyes were like Rhea’s eyes, but still…there was something else about the small boy who made his apology with such stiff-backed pride and defiance.

  The apologies included Kirby and Conny, whose presence the duke had requested. But Dante could see, as he took note of the glaring glances exchanged between Conny Brady and Robin Dominick, that all was not settled between those two.

  Dante stretched his leg with a sigh, cursing the injury which had kept him isolated from the rest of the household, making him feel like a pariah. But since he could get around on his crutch, that would change.

  Just then he heard the staccato beat of heels approaching along the gallery. Remaining hidden in the shadows, he waited in silence to identify the trespasser. His hand
tightened on the broad end of the crutch, for he felt naked without his sword. Indeed, he was quite defenseless, he suddenly realized, should anyone take it upon themselves to rid the Dominick family of its newest member. But as he waited patiently for the figure to approach, he understood that it was a woman. The rustling of skirts was unmistakable, and then, to his surprise, because she seemed in such a hurry, the woman stopped before the portrait of the Elizabethan.

  “Does he continue to fascinate you, little daffadilly?” Dante asked quietly.

  Startled, Rhea cried out, glancing upward, as if the man in the portrait had spoken those soft, seductive words.

  “Rhea!” Dante struggled awkwardly to his feet, just managing to reach her in time to steady her. “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologized, his arms holding her close. Her body remained strangely stiff.

  Rhea stared up into the shadowed face of her husband. Lightning flashed, and in the unnatural brightness, Dante saw that her eyes were wide with terror. It was an expression Dante had not seen in them since that first night he had come face-to-face with her aboard the Sea Dragon and she had looked upon him as someone to be feared.

  “Rhea? What is wrong? Don’t you recognize me?” The fearful expression remained.

  Dante’s pale gray eyes narrowed speculatively as he continued to search Rhea’s ashen face. “Rhea! Look at me!” he commanded sharply, gently shaking her.

  “Dante,” Rhea whispered, her darkened eyes sliding away from his gaze. “You frightened me. I wasn’t expecting to see you in the gallery. I thought you were still bedridden. How did you get in here?” she asked, and Dante could feel her body continuing to shake. “For a horrible moment I thought…” she began to say, then, shaking her head, she closed her eyes.

  “You thought your Elizabethan had spoken to you?” Dante guessed. “Is that what frightened you? Trust me, I’m no apparition,” he said, pressing his lips against her forehead affectionately. Placing a caressing hand against the soft roundness of her breast, he said, “Your heart is pounding so, you’ll make yourself ill. Here, come and sit for a moment.”

  But Rhea jerked back, and whether she or Dante was the more surprised by her rejection, neither knew.

  Another flash of lightning revealed their faces, and Rhea swallowed against the fear rising inside her as she met Dante’s blazing eyes. “It was not your imagining that a ghost spoke to you that frightened you half out of your wits. I frightened you,” Dante accused her, his hands tightening on her shoulders. “Look at me! My God, you’re scared to death of me, aren’t you?” he demanded, his voice harsh with anger and, perhaps, with his own fear.

  “No, please, Dante, that isn’t it,” Rhea told him breathlessly, trying to still the wild beating of her heart. “My mind was on something else, and when I stopped here by the portrait, trying to gather my thoughts, I was not expecting to hear your voice. I had expected to find you in your bed,” she explained, her hands touching him now, caressing him.

  “I think that may be our problem,” Dante murmured more to himself than to her, for it had been almost a month since they had made love. “What were you thinking of? Not me, surely, or you would not have been so frightened. Or were you thinking of me, little daffadilly?” he asked, betraying the disquiet he felt.

  Rhea’s awkward silence condemned her. “Has someone said something against me? Was I too rude to Rawley when she tried to force more of that concoction down my throat?” he jested.

  “No, Dante, it was…” Rhea began, but her words faded away, and she had to glance away from that penetrating gaze. “I wasn’t fearful of you, but for you.”

  “Fearful of what? You may as well tell me now.”

  Rhea glanced around the shadowy room. It was so quiet, except for the distant sound of thunder as the storm gathered against the hills. When the faint rumbling died, it was suddenly too quiet.

  “Rhea, I will not let you leave me until I know the worst,” Dante told her.

  “Thunderstorms have always made me nervous,” Rhea tried to lie, but she knew he could see right through her.

  “I remember how you used to snuggle close against me when the Sea Dragon rode out the storms. But I haven’t been able to calm you this time, Rhea. Why?”

  “Because no one accused you of murder before,” Rhea said matter-of-factly.

  “And did you believe this person?”

  Rhea placed her hand on his thigh, feeling the tensing of his muscles beneath the soft buckskin. “Of course not.”

  Dante stared at her in the growing darkness, for twilight was falling, and he realized that it could only become darker before the dawn once again painted the eastern sky in rosy hues. “I had hoped you would be spared hearing the ugly story, but that was foolish. I ought to have told you myself. What exactly did you hear?”

  “That you were accused of murdering a young girl.”

  “Suspected, not accused. There was never any evidence to try me. There was, however, some circumstantial evidence. Had they convicted me on that, they would have sent an innocent man to the gallows. I was innocent. I was not innocent of having a bad reputation, however, inviting trouble and scandal. I am not proud of that. But believe me, Rhea, I did not murder Lettie Shelby,” Dante told her, and in the light, Rhea could see him staring at her with a pleading look. What had become of the arrogant captain of the Sea Dragon?

  “Who was she?”

  “A local girl, from Merleigh. Her father had been the bailiff at Merdraco until I discovered he was cheating me. I fired him. He had been buying and selling the cattle, taking care of the purchase of feed for the animals, as well as seeing to the tenants. Unfortunately, he was reporting a far lower amount in the books and pocketing the remainder. But what I objected to the most was his brutality where the tenants were concerned. Jack Shelby had a vicious streak and he misused his authority. However, I dismissed him too late, for his daughter had been hired to work at Merdraco by that time. The first time I saw her she was cleaning soot and ashes from the hearth in the salon. Even with her face smudged with ash, Lettie was beautiful. Not in a classical sense, but in a very earthy way. She was the type of woman who possessed a natural seductiveness. She knew how to catch a man’s eye with the movement of her hips, how to make a man aware of the softness of her lips when she licked the dryness from them. Seduction came as easily to Lettie Shelby as breathing, and she knew how to use her talent to get whatever she wanted. I was very young and foolish, but I wasn’t the only man she was free with. But I was the one she stole a watch from, and that watch was clutched in her hand when the body was found.”

  “What happened?”

  “She apparently went to meet someone on the moors. Perhaps she had met the man there before. It was a secluded spot, very lonely and wild, certainly a place where lovers could enjoy complete privacy. But this time her rendezvous ended in her death. She was beaten, then strangled.”

  “And she had your watch?” Rhea questioned. “But that surely wasn’t enough to cast suspicion on you, especially if what you said about her was true. Why didn’t they suspect other men as well?”

  “Because, the day before she died, she spoke in public of her ‘gentleman lover’ and how he was going to give her everything she wanted. She said he had promised her a big house in London and all the clothes and jewels she could ever ask for. Never before had she been so indiscreet, for although the villagers knew she wasn’t above a roll in the hay with one of the local lads, she had never mentioned a gentleman before. I suppose she couldn’t resist bragging. She said she was one of the few smart girls in Merleigh and knew how to get what she wanted out of life, that she would be the fine lady one day and make their lives hell for doubting her. She also had mentioned the gentleman to her father, and since he had seen Lettie and me together once, he assumed she meant me. He had a grudge against me anyway, and was only too quick to think me the murderer. I was disre
putable and one of the few gentlemen of wealth in the area, so suspicion fell heavily on me.”

  “You had no alibi?” Rhea asked curiously, but Dante remained silent. “Where were you when she was murdered?”

  “I was with a woman.”

  “I don’t understand, then. Why didn’t you tell the authorities you were with someone?”

  “Because she was a respectable woman, and I could not destroy her reputation just to save mine. After all, mine had been blackened long before,” Dante explained.

  It was Rhea’s turn to remain silent as she thought about what Dante had just told her. Finally she said, “You were involved with both Lettie and this other woman?”

  Dante’s laugh was harsh. “As well as others. I told you my reputation was hardly sterling. But after I became involved with this other woman, I had neither the time nor the inclination to be with Lettie. Fortunately, Lettie seemed not to mind. Her gentleman lover must have kept her very busy.”

  “You loved this other woman?”

  Dante smiled bitterly. “I thought I did at the time.”

  “And she loved you?”

  “I thought she did.”

  “And she said nothing of that night? She let you be suspected of murdering that girl when she knew you were innocent?” Rhea demanded, feeling all the bitter anger Dante must have felt then.

  “I could ask nothing of her. Besides, since nothing was proven against me, there was no harm done,” Dante excused the woman’s heartless actions. “We were young, Rhea. So very naive and foolish, and because we thought we were in love, we risked everything to be together. If we’d been discovered, many people would have been hurt. But you do her an injustice, for she was willing to come forward, but certain events preceded the testimony she would have given, and then it did not matter anymore.”

  “Were you intending to wed her?” Rhea wanted to know.