Jill Noelle - The Dark Count (Ellora's Cave)

by james

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  The question was posed casually enough, but Bridgett sensed some underlying emotion. Concern? Irritation?

  “Your sister invited me to ride with her,” she told him, trying to keep her tone light.

  The Count gathered up her hair and began to twist it, until it formed a tight knot at the base of her neck. “I believe this will do. If you’ll hold on to it for a moment, I will get some pins to secure it.”

  She did as he instructed, and waited while he gathered several jeweled pins from the dressing table.

  “Where did you learn to style a woman’s hair?” It was difficult to keep the laughter from her voice. This was a side of him she could never have imagined.

  His reflection reappeared in the mirror, and he began to anchor her hair with deft fingers.

  “When Marie was younger, there was a period of time when she would allow only me to touch her.”

  Bridgett frowned. “Why?”

  He put the last pin in place, and then stepped back. “I was the only person she could trust.”

  Turning her head from side to side, pretending to examine his handiwork, she studied his face. He looked tired, and very sad.

  “Would you care to join us?” Bridgett turned to him and smiled. “Perhaps it would do you good to be out-of-doors for a bit.”

  He shook his head. “I have other responsibilities today. You go on. I’m sure my impatient sister is wondering what’s keeping you.”

  She nodded, a bit disappointed that he’d declined her offer, then started for the door.

  “And Bridgett?”

  She paused and turned back.

  “Tell her to take a groom.”

  She smiled sheepishly, knowing that Marie would not be happy. “Yes, milord, I’ll tell her.”

  He returned her smile, as if he’d read her thoughts, and she ducked out of the room before he could say another word.

  * * * * *

  “I fear he will be very angry with us.” Bridgett tried to concentrate on guiding the gentle mare along the trail, but her thoughts kept drifting to the Count, and what he would say when he discovered they’d left unattended.

  Ahead of her, riding a handsome chestnut gelding, Marie heaved a sigh. “My brother is entirely too stiff. We’re perfectly safe. Sometimes I feel as if he would like to wrap me in tissue and put me in a box. I’m not as helpless, or fragile, as he believes.”

  Bridgett shook her head. She’d tried her best to convince Marie to take at least one groom with them, but her argument had gone unheeded. She sensed that there was more to this show of defiance than met the eye. As if Marie had something she wished to prove.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a trail that runs along the cliffs above the sea. The view is spectacular from there.” Marie urged her horse into a trot. “Come on. You’ll also be able to see the home of our nearest neighbors, the St. Claires.”

  The tiny mare tossed her head, obviously unwilling to be left behind, and Bridgett loosened the reins and allowed her to catch up. The jolting gait brought back painful memories of her journey two days past, and she cringed. Her backside would never forgive her the insult.

  They rode through the dense woods until they reached what appeared to be the end of the path. As Bridgett pulled her horse to a stop beside Marie’s, she gasped with delight.

  “How beautiful!”

  Marie grinned. “I told you. You should see it at sunset. The water turns blood red, and the sky is a lovely mixture of reds, pinks and blues.”

  From their vantage point, Bridgett could not see where the water met the shoreline. The drop off was too steep. Miles and miles of open water stretched before her, clear to the horizon. The sea looked calm, like a sheet of glass, broken only by the occasional tiny white-capped wave.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Marie laughed. “My guess is that there are many things you have never seen. If Vincent told the truth about your upbringing, you’ve led a more sheltered life than even I have. Come on, let’s ride down this way a bit and I’ll show you where the St. Claires live.”

  They turned their horses to follow a narrow, rock-strewn path, and Bridgett glanced warily towards the steep cliff nearby. It seemed very close. Dangerously close. She averted her gaze and concentrated on keeping her horse as far to the side as the path would allow.

  They rounded a bend and Marie stopped in front of her.

  “There. Isn’t it lovely?”

  Sitting atop the highest point of land was a large, stone manor house with dozens of peaked roofs, outlined in dark, heavy beams of timber. Although not as old as the Renault castle, and, in Bridgett’s opinion, not as grand, the home seemed warm and inviting. Even in this forbidding terrain, someone had managed to fashion a front lawn, of sorts, with flowerbeds and trees lining a winding pathway.

  “It’s charming,” Bridgett admitted. “Do you know the owner very well?”

  “The house sat empty for many years, I’m afraid, and was terribly neglected. Fortunately, a young cousin to the former owners took residence a couple of years ago and brought it back to life. The gardens are new, and he’s made some much-needed repairs.”

  “He?”

  “Christopher St. Claire, the new owner.”

  “Have you met him?” Bridgett sensed that, as with Marie’s refusal to take a groom on their ride, there was more to this situation than was first apparent.

  Marie looked at her, studied her for a moment, before taking her hand. “Bridgett, can you keep a secret?”

  Taken aback by the sudden seriousness of her friend’s tone, Bridgett could only nod, but she squeezed her hand for emphasis.

  “Christopher and I have become friends. Very close friends. You’ll meet him, I’m sure, the next time my brother takes it in his head to ride off chasing his demons, but you mustn’t mention it.”

  “Why?” It was the only response she could think to make. Chasing his demons? What did that mean? And why should Marie feel it necessary to keep her friendship with Christopher a secret from her brother?

  The pounding of hooves on hard-packed earth echoed from behind them, and they both turned to see who approached. Bridgett flinched when she recognized the rider, but noticed that Marie seemed to sit straighter and taller in her saddle, as if preparing for battle.

  As she watched his approach, taking in his angry glare and Tempest’s fierce, flaring nostrils, something tickled her recollection. Her stomach tightened and a light throb started behind her temples. Her vision blurred, and the scene took on a surreal quality as a sense of déjà vu washed over her. The memory returned full-force, bringing with it a sudden and complete understanding, but she was not afforded the luxury to analyze it further.

  The Count jerked his mount to a stop just inches away from them, throwing stones and dirt into the air. She shook her head and blinked, hard, to clear her vision. Tempest pawed at the ground, as if voicing the irritation that was clearly visible upon his master’s face.

  “I thought I told you to take a groom!” He addressed Bridgett, and she winced at his anger.

  “She told me, Vincent. I chose not to do so.” Marie maneuvered her horse between the other two, and faced her brother head-on. “If you’re angry, you must take it up with me. Bridgett had nothing to do with it, and I’ll not allow you to speak to her in such a fashion. Look at her. You’re frightening her half to death!”

  Bridgett took strength from Marie’s take-charge attitude, and sat up taller in her saddle. The Count glanced at her, but returned the full force of his anger to his sister.

  “Anything could happen to you out here. As your guardian, I insist that you obey my instructions. If you can not do so, I will confine you to the castle.”

  Marie’s face turned scarlet, and when she spoke, her voice held a note of barely controlled rage.

  “How dare you? For the last year you have left me alone, for months at a time, while you disappeared to Lord k
nows where. I have not had a guardian since our mother was alive, and I’ll not tolerate your over-protective, overbearing posturing any longer.”

  Marie shook her head, and Bridgett could almost see the anger draining away.

  “I know you love me, Vincent, and you only want to protect me, but you must understand that I’m a grown woman. If I’m a bit unconventional, I presume you know why.” She paused and placed a gloved hand on his. “Protecting me is one thing, and you have done so for years, but controlling me is another. I’ll not allow any man to control me. Not even you.”

  Throughout his sister’s entire speech, the Count had remained silent, but Bridgett hadn’t failed to notice his clenched jaw and blazing eyes.

  Brother and sister stared at one another for the space of several seconds before Marie backed away and shook her head.

  “Never mind. I can see by the look on your face that nothing I say will make a difference.” She turned her horse. “I’m going home.”

  The Count stared after her, and Bridgett waited silently, loath to draw attention to herself.

  Her mare shifted uneasily, and he glanced in her direction. His mouth was a tight line, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. In truth, he looked awful. Haunted. Weary.

  “Shall we return to the castle, milord?”

  “I fear for her safety, that is all.”

  The sadness in his voice, the deep despair, made Bridgett forget how much she’d admired Marie for standing up to him. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was comfort him.

  “She knows that, milord, and I’m sure she’ll take a groom with her the next time she rides.”

  He smiled. “I seriously doubt that is true, but I thank you for saying so. Come along. I still have papers to look over today.”

  He backed up Tempest, and indicated for her to precede him down the path. Bridgett kneed her mount and started forward, every fiber of her being aware of his presence behind her.

  Sweat began to trickle down her spine, causing her to itch. Now that he seemed his old self, her awareness of him as a man returned full-force. She had to fight the urge to look back, to see if he watched her, to gauge his thoughts and mood by the expression on his face.

  Was he as aware of her as she was of him? Or had his thoughts drifted back to the confrontation with his sister?

  “Wear your hair up for dinner tonight.”

  Bridgett glanced over her shoulder and her stomach fluttered. It seemed impossible that a man could caress a woman with his eyes, but that was precisely how she felt beneath the heat of his stare. She bit her lip and returned her attention to the trail before her.

  “I will take pleasure in releasing it, in allowing it to slip through my fingers to fall about your bare shoulders.”

  She refused to look back.

  “As you wish, milord.”

  They entered the inner courtyard and two grooms rushed forward. One of them helped Bridgett to dismount, and then led her horse toward the stables. The other man took Tempest’s reins and followed, leaving Bridgett alone with the Count.

  She looked up at him, studying his dark countenance in the late afternoon sunlight. Lord help her, he was handsome. Especially when he smiled and looked at her with eyes that had turned a smoky, smoldering gray… As he did now.

  They stood near one another, and she took a tentative step closer and placed her hand on his chest.

  Suddenly, she was in his arms, and he lowered his head to kiss her.

  She opened her mouth to accept the soft caress of his tongue, whimpering with the force of her pent up emotions.

  Please, please, please. The same word, the same thought, ran through her mind, a silent, desperate plea. She thought she would weep, so intense was her desire, and yet she could not put a name to it, could not tell him exactly for what she yearned.

  She trembled, and he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. Her breasts brushed his chest and she moved against him, wishing that she could feel his naked flesh against her hardened nipples.

  He pulled back, just enough to nibble at her lips and run his tongue along her jaw.

  “You are a fiery little minx,” he whispered at her ear, “and I have half a mind to take you upstairs this moment.”

  “Why don’t you?” She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed by the wanton words that had simply slipped out of their own accord.

  He chuckled and gently set her away from him. “I’m afraid I cannot, as much as you tempt me, but I will count the hours until nightfall, bella mia.”

  The heat of a blush rose in her cheeks, and she looked away from his knowing gaze. Determined not to allow him to see how his words affected her, she struggled for a tone of nonchalance.

  “I will leave you to your work, then, milord.”

  He cupped her chin in his palm and turned her to face him.

  “There is no shame in desire, little one. I love your passion. Do not hide it from me.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded, unable to voice a reply.

  He brushed her lips with his own, briefly, lightly, and then turned and strode away. She stood alone in the courtyard until she was sure her legs would carry her, then made her own way into the castle.

  Chapter Eight

  The heavy silk of her skirts swished around her ankles as Bridgett made her way down the staircase into the great hall. She dragged her feet, dreading the thought of being together with Marie and the Count after their squabble earlier that day.

  The doors to the dining room stood open, and she paused in surprise as laughter filled the air.

  Curious, she stepped inside. The Count sprawled in a chair at the head of the table, laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. Beside him, looking slightly less amused, sat Marie.

  “I’ll never forget the look on your face,” he said. “There you were, covered in mud from head to toe, while Valdez stood nearby, innocently munching on a patch of clover.”

  “No one told me he’d been trained as a jumper.” Marie’s smile turned into a laugh. “I suppose it is funny, now, but it certainly wasn’t at the time.”

  Bridgett, relieved that the two seemed to have made peace, moved further into the room.

  Marie looked up. “Ah, you’re just in time. Vincent is in a reminiscing mood this evening, although his humor appears to be at my expense.”

  “So I heard. Who is Valdez, and why were you covered in mud?” Bridgett waited as the Count pulled out her chair. He brushed against her and placed his hand at the small of her back in a gesture of intimacy. Instantly, her body responded to his touch. Light tremors of excitement raced up her spine. With effort, she focused her attention on Marie and sat.

  “Valdez was my horse.”

  “A very large horse, and Marie, at the tender age of eight, insisted on proving to everyone that she could control him.” This information was followed by another deep chuckle, which earned him a scowl from his sister.

  “And I was handling him perfectly well, if you remember. Until we reached that puddle and the insane beast decided to jump over it instead of running throughit.”

  “They were at a full canter when he took the leap, and Marie fell off when they were half way across.”

  Bridgett gasped. “You could have been killed!”

  “Or seriously injured, at any rate. As it turned out, the only wound I suffered was the one to my pride.”

  “You were ever headstrong.” The Count gave her a warm smile. “All a person had to do was tell you that you couldn’t do something, and you would go right out and attempt it.”

  Bridgett caught his underlying meaning and held her breath, waiting for Marie to respond.

  “I suppose that some things never change, brother dear. Now, would you mind ringing the bell? I’m famished!”

  Throughout the meal, the siblings kept Bridgett entertained with amusing stories from their youth. She could well imagine them as children, and the tales of their squabbles did not surprise her. If a person did not know them well, he would never
guess that the two were related, so different were their personalities and appearance. Marie, with her fair complexion, blonde hair and penchant for fun, seemed so different, on the surface, from her dark and brooding brother. But in just a few short days, Bridgett had learned that they had a few things in common, as well. They were both passionate and stubborn and loyal to one another.

  Although they talked for hours, they never once referred to their father or mother. It was as if the two had grown up alone, in a world all their own, which of course was not true. Why no mention of their father? Hadn’t he only passed away last year? As with so many things these past few days, Bridgett sensed that there was something important, lying just beneath the surface, that had gone unsaid.

  “So tell us a tale from your childhood, Bridgett,” Marie said. “We’ve bored you long enough with stories of our own.”

  Instantly, Bridgett recalled her reaction to the Count’s approach earlier that day. She frowned, debating if she should share something that had affected her so profoundly, wondering how the Count would react. Marie smiled encouragingly, and Bridgett shrugged.

  “There is something, I thought of just today. I was very young, perhaps seven or eight,” she began, losing herself in the memory. “There was a fair of some kind, with games and tournaments, and musicians. I attended with my sister. Melanie was supposed to watch over me, but of course, as soon as we arrived she disappeared into the crowd.”

  Bridgett smiled softly, remembering her lack of fear and intense excitement at being free to explore without enduring her sister’s biting tongue. “I roamed the marketplace for hours. I’d never seen such luxuries. Exotic fabrics and brilliant gems from all over the world. And the people! If I’d had any sense, I would have realized a young girl all alone in such a crowd was bound to find herself in trouble.”

  Bridgett paused, frowning as she remembered how quickly her excitement had turned to sheer terror. “I lost all track of time, and before I knew it, the sun had begun to set and the atmosphere had changed. The revelers had become bolder, more boisterous, which undoubtedly had something to do with the amount of spirits they’d imbibed during the festivities. I became concerned, and wandered down each aisle between the merchants’ stalls, hoping to catch a glimpse of Melanie. I found myself alone, behind an enormous tent they’d set up for those participating in the tournaments.”