by Tess Oliver
This time Angel knocked but didn’t wait for an answer. The drapes were closed and the room was dark. Father had a compress on his head and a bottle of laudanum on his bedside table. He reached up with a shaky hand and lifted the compress from his eyes. “Angel, what is it? Is something the matter?” His voice sounded weak.
“Your head still pains you?” Angel asked.
“Yes, but the laudanum is dulling it. I should be up in a day or two. How is Jane?”
“Her memory seems to be coming back.”
Father tried to sit up but then he groaned and collapsed back against the pillows. “How do you know?” he asked sharply.
“She had a memory just now of a beating she’d received with a riding crop. She saw--”
“The scar on her shoulder? I wondered if that would stir up her past.”
“So you thought her memory might return? That is why you took her necklace before she could see it. Why did you let her know her name?”
“Damn it to hell, Angel, why do you love to enrage me?”
“Why did you call her by her real name?” Angel persisted.
Father’s arm dropped over his eyes and his chest heaved with each breath. “She opened her eyes unexpectedly. I could not think of anything else so I called her Jane. No sinister scheme behind it, Son,” he said with exasperation, “merely a lack of imagination on my part. Besides she did not remember her name and hearing it did not trigger any memory.” He reached over to his table nearly knocking the bottle of laudanum over. “Put ten drops in the glass, please.”
Angel opened the near empty bottle and wondered momentarily how many drops would kill the man. He counted ten and helped Father to a sitting position. “That was the last of it.”
Father lifted the container and shook it to be sure. “You’ll need to go in to the village and see the apothecary for more. I must have it or the headache will not go away.”
“Fine. I’m in need of gin anyhow. Why had you expected her memory to return when Zander’s never has?”
He winced as the medicine went down his throat then handed Angel back the glass and leaned back down on the pillows. That tiny bit of movement took effort, and he took several deep breaths. “I didn’t know,” he finally spoke on the matter, “but there is no telling what will happen this time. She is a different specimen, and we came about her in a completely different manner.” He spoke plainly but his answer seemed contrived as if he’d rehearsed it his head several times.
“Yes, she is different,” Angel said. He walked to the window and lifted the edge of the curtain.
“Do not allow the light in, Angel. It’s torture for my head.”
Suddenly Angel had the urge to throw the drapes wide open and bathe the room in sunlight. He let the panel drop and returned to his father’s bed. “Tell me, Father, why does Jane not have any marks on the back of her neck like Zander?”
The old man squinted up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Zander’s neck scars, you told me you’d put two probes in through his neck in order to send electricity to his brain. There are no such marks on Jane.”
“Well-- I-- well, Jane did not need it. The electricity to her heart was enough to bring her back. She was a much more perfect specimen. It will all work in my favor when Baron Rowntree arrives. It will show how much I’ve improved my craft.” This answer was obviously less rehearsed and he was visibly flustered.
“Craft? Witchcraft you mean,” Angel said darkly.
“Call it what you will, Angel. I’m far too miserable to argue with you right now. Tell Ellie to bring up some tea and brandy, and close the door on your way out.”
Chapter 13
After helping Ellie roll out tart dough for an hour, Jane felt restless and her wound was sore. Strands of a murky past twirled through her head making her both excited and uneasy. Zander sat in the kitchen with them rolling tiny balls of dough in his gargantuan fingers and then placing them in a design on the wooden table top.
Jane plunged her hands into the wash basin to remove the flour paste. “You know, Ellie, I think I’ll take another walk outside. Who knows, by tomorrow the beautiful sunshine could be replaced by storm clouds. I want to take advantage of it before the ravages of winter return.”
“Don’t forget your cloak, and don’t wander too far or I’ll be hearing it from the doctor.”
“I’m just going to head to the stables and visit the horses.”
The late afternoon sun had lost some of its warmth, and Jane lifted the hood of her cloak up over her head. The horses would provide all the warmth she needed. Something kept drawing her thoughts to the animals as if they were something she missed terribly from her past. She nearly stumbled when she reached the stables and found Angel with his long black top coat and boots standing in the center aisle saddling a horse.
He looked up the moment she stepped inside. Her presence always seemed to vex him. His gaze momentarily found hers then he continued with his task. “What are you doing here?”
Jane walked toward the horse and placed her hand on the animal’s cheek. “I needed to get out of the house for a bit, and I had a sudden urge to see the horses.”
He pulled up on the girth and checked that his saddle was secure then looked down at her. His long dark hair was tied back in a queue and his light brown eyes stood out in the olive tone of his skin. “Were you a skilled horsewoman?”
The horse snorted softly and Jane dropped her hand to the soft round muzzle. “I’m not certain, but I think I may have been. This all feels terribly familiar to me, and it doesn’t seem to drudge up grim emotions like some of the other recollections I’ve had. She reached up and stroked the horse’s neck. “What’s his name?”
“Titus. I won him in a fi—” He stopped.
“A fighting match,” Jane smiled and finished for him. “You still have the bruises of your last endeavor.”
“My last match was considerably less successful.”
“Will you be gone long?” she asked. Even though he’d made it clear he didn’t care for her, somehow she didn’t like to see him leave.
He shook his head. “I’m just going to the village to pick up some things.”
“I see.” A ride sounded incredibly inviting, and her face must have shown it.
“Jane, you must stay here.”
“But why? I’m feeling much stronger.”
It was obvious he searched for an answer. “You can’t be seen. It’s not safe. Remember someone killed— tried to kill you. You have to stay,” he said tersely.
“I understand, but when I’m able, I’ll leave here. I know it’s what you want so you needn’t worry on that account. I’ll take my chances with whoever or whatever it is out there that wants me dead.”
He looked down at her, and his expression softened some but he didn’t say a word. She turned to leave but he reached out and took hold of her arm. “Jane.”
She faced him and he seemed momentarily at a loss for words then he spoke. “While I’m in the village, please stay clear of Zander. Stay in your room if you must, but keep away from him until I return.”
“But he is as harmless as an overgrown child,” she said.
His grip tightened on her arm. “He has the strength of a bull, the temper of a stallion, and the brain of a pigeon. Please, Jane, do as I say.”
She didn’t know what caused her more bafflement, his description of Zander or the fact that he seemed genuinely concerned with her safety. “I’ll keep clear of him until you return.”
His grip on her relaxed but he still held her arm. She glanced down at his fingers. There had been anger in his grip and his face but now he looked at her almost possessively, passionately. She definitely needed to head back in for a rest. Obviously she was experiencing delusion from fatigue. The man could not have been more blunt about his hatred for her if he’d had it written across his forehead. The glimmer of admiration she’d seen in his face just now must have been the trickery of a tired mind.
<
br /> Angel led his horse out to the yard and climbed into the saddle. He looked dangerous and dashing all at once as he sat up on the tall horse. He looked down at her once more. “Go back inside to your room.” Then he kicked Titus forward and she watched him ride away.
Chapter 14
The warmness of the day had softened the road, and Titus slogged his heavy feet through the slush. The pond, the icy grave of the beauty who now graced the dismal hallways of Greystock, had been rendered unstable by the heated air.
Briefly Angel imagined Jane riding beside him to town. Her guileless charm and incredible face keeping him company on the quiet journey. His father had no idea what he’d done. Inexplicably, she seemed to be regaining her past, and it would not be long before she yearned to find her family, a family that had either wished or believed her dead or a family that urgently searched for her, ignorant of her horrific fate. Either scenario would mean trouble for Dr. Van Ostrand.
The fresh air and ride had done little to relieve Angel’s own yearnings. The girl had invaded every corner of his thoughts and nothing could erase her image, her voice, or her naturally sweet fragrance from his mind. He should have been reviled by her presence and yet the opposite occurred every time she came near him. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and taste every inch of her.
The warmer weather had brought villagers out from hiding and many people wandered the main road through town. The apothecary, Mr. Bitterman, lived in a small shop near the end of the pathway. There was no physician living in the village so many of the town’s inhabitants relied on the apothecary for medicinal treatments. Angel was fairly certain the man was responsible for as many deaths as successful healings.
Angel opened the door to the apothecary shop and a well-dressed man brushed past him, tipping his beaver hat as he passed. Angel had never seen the man before. The stranger dashed back into the street as if he was in a hurry.
Bitterman sat on a stool hunched over his counter and labeling a small parade of bottles. He glanced up at Angel. “Mr. Van Ostrand, I assume your father is in need of his laudanum?”
“Yes.”
“I have a bottle made up in the back.” Bitterman stood.
“Who was that man?” Angel said inclining his head toward the door. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“From down south. He’s just passing through. Apparently he’s looking for someone.” Bitterman dashed off to the back room and returned with a bottle. “Let me write on the label. Does it help his headaches?” Most of the people in the village respected Dr. Van Ostrand as an elderly, wise man who was once a great scientific mind. They had no idea of the treachery he was engaged in.
“I suppose if one takes enough laudanum, it would help relieve any pain,” Angel said. “You said the man was looking for someone. Did he say who?”
Bitterman clucked his tongue. “A young girl who disappeared from the family home a few weeks ago. He seemed quite distressed. Hopefully no harm has come to the girl.” He grinned up at Angel and handed him the bottle. “Still, knowing the fancy whims of young, romantic girls, the lass is probably halfway to Gretna Green with her lover by now.”
Angel thanked the man and left. The man he’d passed in the apothecary’s door had disappeared. It seemed apparent that Father’s troubles would begin sooner rather than later. Whoever the man was, he was alarmingly close to finding the girl, and there was no doubt in Angel’s mind that Jane was that girl. There was no rational explanation for his father to give once she was discovered living beneath his roof. The magistrate would wonder why he’d kept her without telling anyone, and if he tried to explain that he’d found her as dead and that he’d revived her in a bizarre experiment, they would certainly haul him off to an asylum. Yet with all of the ugly scenarios running through his head, scenarios that should have made him feel justified in his opposition to his father’s schemes, all Angel could think of was who was the man and what connection did he have to Jane.
Angel headed to the Elk’s Horn but he did not intend on staying long. With Father bedridden, Angel did not want to leave the women of the house alone with Zander. He was like a tame kitten in Jane’s presence but that could change in an instant.
Ruby was sitting at a table with the blacksmith again, and the man placed a possessive hand on her arm when he spotted Angel. Marty was leaning over the counter having a conversation with two customers.
“What will you have, Mr. Van Ostrand?” Marty asked as Angel reached the counter.
“I’d like an entire bottle of your best gin.”
Marty nodded and reached below the counter for a bottle and a glass. Angel waved the glass away. “Just the bottle. I can’t stay.”
“What’s this? Off so fast,” Ruby came up from behind. “Seems like all the worthwhile ones are only putting in appearances this afternoon.”
Angel smiled down at her. “All the worthwhile ones? I thought I was your one and only.”
She pressed against him. “Well, you’re definitely my finest, but a sharp-dressed dandy stopped by earlier but he came in and left so quickly, I couldn’t work any of my charms on him.”
“I told you he was just passing through, Ruby.” Marty looked up at Angel. “He’s looking for a young girl with auburn hair and violet eyes.” He laughed. “I told him we were all looking for that. He didn’t take kindly to my humor. A rather disagreeable fellow.”
“Did he say where he was going next?” Angel asked.
Marty shook his head. “Wasn’t my place to ask. He looked quite distraught though, and quite determined to find her.”
Angel did not doubt the man was determined. If he’d lost a girl like Jane, he would search through hell and back to find her. And hell was closer than the man realized. He almost felt pity for him, but his own selfish desires kept him from riding after the pathetic bastard.
In the long months since Angel had returned home from the war to recuperate from his injury, he’d always preferred to be riding away from Greystock Manor rather than heading toward it. His travels to brothels, taverns, and pugilist matches gave him sanctuary from home. But on this sun filled afternoon he urged Titus on like a traveler anxious to return home. As much as he’d tried to deny it, the reason for the sudden draw of Greystock Manor was the girl, and he was going mad from the internal debate raging inside of him. She stood for everything he despised about his father and his home and yet when she was near, he could not look away. She brought light to an otherwise dark house.
He’d told John, the stable boy, to stay in bed several more days. Bitterman had covered the boy’s chest with leeches hoping to bleed out the fever, and the lad looked pale and weak when Angel had stopped at their tiny farm on the way to the village.
Music floated from the house as Angel finished unsaddling and grooming Titus. He’d not heard the sound of his mother’s pianoforte since her death. He finished feeding the other horses and entered the house, walking directly to the drawing room.
Jane’s long, dark lashes curtained her cheeks as she looked down at the piano keys. A smile curled the ends of her lush red lips, and her fingers danced quickly over the keys. The flames of the candles on the pianoforte seemed to flicker with the rhythm of the music. Zander stood nearby mesmerized by the sound of it and the swift movement of her hands. He had not noticed Angel walk in, but Jane looked up briefly and her smile widened as she spotted him.
Angel leaned an arm on the mantle of the fireplace, lit a cheroot, and watched her play. The sound of the music only increased the intoxication that overcame him when he drank in every inch of her, from the tendrils of auburn hair that framed her face to the perfect swell of her breasts above the décolletage of the dress she wore.
The song ended and she beamed at her accomplishment. “I sat down and started tapping and the next thing I knew my fingers flew over the keys. Apparently I play the pianoforte.”
“And quite well,” Angel added.
Zander’s face turned and he saw Angel for the first
time. “Why are you here, Brother?” There was anger in his tone.
“Zander,” Jane said sharply.
Zander stared down sheepishly at the floor. “You play for me only.” The rage had still not left his tone.
Angel dropped his unfinished cheroot into the fire and moved cautiously closer. More and more he did not trust Zander and his bizarre impulses. It was obvious that the mindless giant was becoming possessive of Jane and that could only be dangerous.
Jane’s gaze flitted nervously toward Angel, and she seemed to sense the same possibility of trouble. She shook her head so slightly Angel was not entirely sure he saw it.
She forced a smile up at Zander. “I promise to play that song for you only next time.”
Zander slammed his fist on the top of the piano, rattling the instrument and nearly startling Jane from the bench. “Only me.”
“Zander,” Ellie called from the doorway. “There are beans to count in the kitchen.”
Rage seemingly forgotten, Zander’s face took on its usual boyish quality and he rushed off toward the beans.
Ellie obviously had no idea of the potential disaster she’d just thwarted with her counting suggestion. She cast a pointed glance toward the piano. “Does she not play beautifully?”
“That she does.”
Ellie left them alone in the drawing room.
Jane readied herself to play again but Angel reached down and took hold of her hand. “I told you to stay clear of Zander and yet I find you alone with him. Jane, it’s not safe.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp. “He wouldn’t harm me. Besides, I was alone in this room. He found me.” She peered up at him. “Or would you have me hide in my room all day?”
“Yes, if I’m not here.”
She stood and walked over to the window. “And how do I know I am safe with you?”
He thought about that for a moment and recollected some of the visions he’d had of holding her naked in his arms or devouring every inch of her with is mouth. He grinned. “His strength is lethal and his mind is vacant. I can at least admit to having self-control . . . usually.”
