To Love a Dark Lord

by Anne Stuart

  Emma had no choice but to follow her. Lady Seldane was almost a foot shorter than she was, and much, much broader, and her exaggerated skirts only made the comparison more extreme. But Emma’s alternatives were untenable. To stay with Killoran, to allow him to touch her again, was more than she could bear. And the salacious, horrified curiosity of the other guests was almost as unsettling. Lady Seldane provided escape, even if it was only temporary. Even if it came with a price.

  She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until they reached the unexpected quiet of a small withdrawing room. The walls were pale rose, the furniture cozy and surprisingly shabby. Lady Seldane shut the door behind them and waddled over to the unfashionably comfortable-looking sofa.

  “This room surprises you, doesn’t it?” she said shrewdly, sinking down with a great amount of creaking. “I don’t wonder. Not at all in the style of the rest of the house, is it? I married well. Twice. But I grew up in a vicarage, shabby and poor and well loved, and I brought this furniture with me. When I need to feel truly myself, I come to this room and close the door. I never invite guests in here.”

  Emma looked at her, startled. “Then why did you invite me?”

  “Because you interest me, child. And because I have a great fondness for Killoran, difficult as he makes that. I want to know where he found you. Don’t look at me like that. I know perfectly well you’re no sister of his. It’s all part of his games. I want to know what he intends to do with you. I don’t want him hurting an innocent child.”

  “Why?”

  “For God’s sake, sit,” the old woman said, exasperated. “You’re too bloody tall as it is, and I’m likely to get a crick in my neck from staring up at you. Never liked being such a tiny dab of a thing. Not that you could call me such nowadays,” she added, wheezing once more.

  Emma sat, gingerly at first, but the chairs were just as shabby and just as sturdy as they appeared. She settled back with a grateful sigh. “Why should you care what happens to me?” she persisted.

  “You’re a wise child. There’s no reason why I should. Despite the fact that you seem a good sort, not like the hoity-toity ladies who sail through my salon nowadays, it’s Killoran I care about. If he hurts an innocent, it would go hard on him.”

  “Who would punish him? Killoran seems quite invulnerable to me.”

  “La, child, I may have to revise my opinion of your intelligence. Killoran would punish himself, of course. Don’t tell me you’re fool enough to believe that prince-of-darkness mask he shows society? He’s done his best to wipe out any trace of humanity or decency he has left, but it crops up at the most inconvenient times. I’m fond of the lad. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

  “I don’t see that anyone could stop Killoran from doing just as he pleases,” Emma said.

  “True enough. But when I saw you, I wondered...”

  The pause was maddening. “Wondered what?”

  “What do you know of Killoran?” the old woman asked abruptly. “Of his past, his family, his childhood?”

  “Very little,” Emma said. “Nathaniel told me his mother was Catholic and that his father came into the title just before he died.”

  “And do you have any idea what it means to be a Catholic in that land? You can’t hold office, can’t own land, can’t even receive an education. His father was a Protestant, the brother of an earl, which offered the family some protection during the early years. They were happy enough—they lived simply, with Killoran’s father raising horses and keeping clear of politics.”

  “Has he told you all this?”

  “Heavens, no. Killoran doesn’t air his linen in public. I was his mother’s godmother. Maeve was a sweet, gentle thing, never harmed a living soul, and her husband was a good, decent man as well.”

  “I take it Killoran doesn’t favor either of them,” Emma said wryly.

  Lady Seldane’s response was a wheezing laugh. “True enough. He was always a wild child, full of deviltry. If only Killoran’s uncle hadn’t broken his fool neck. James inherited the title and they had to leave the horse farm and take up residence at the grand manor house. And things went from bad to worse.”

  “I wouldn’t think inheriting a title and a mansion would be considered unfortunate,” Emma observed.

  “Ah, but you’re forgetting his Catholic blood. The slights, the taunts, the restraints were unbearable for a wild boy just turning into a man. He decided to fight back.” Lady Seldane leaned against the shabby sofa, waiting for Emma to ask for more.

  “What did he do?”

  “Did you ever hear of the White Boys? Probably not. You would have been too young at the time, and why should a young English girl be conversant with Irish politics? The White Boys were a group of reckless young Catholic boys. They wore white shirts and rode through the Irish countryside like avenging knights, causing trouble, tearing down fences, assaulting tax collectors and unfair landlords. It was only a matter of time before the Protestant bullyboys retaliated. But their retaliation was extreme. They hanged the leaders they could find. They went after Killoran, knowing the heir to a title would be particularly dangerous to the cause. They burned the manor house to the ground. Killoran was away that night. His parents were home.”

  “Oh, God,” Emma whispered.

  “He blamed himself, of course. That he wasn’t there to save them. That it was his youthful idealism that brought it on them in the first place. He’s never discussed it with me, but I have little doubt that it was then that he chose never to care about anything or anybody again.”

  “What happened to the men who burned the manor house?”

  Lady Seldane shook her head, and the towering wig trembled. “There were rumors, of course, but no one knows for sure. Killoran didn’t leave Ireland for a year after his parents were killed, and I imagine he was busy during that time. The strange thing about revenge, though, is that it can destroy the avenger as well as the criminal.”

  “Did it destroy Killoran?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “For a while I thought the lad was beyond hope. Until I heard about you. And I began to wonder whether he might have salvation in him, after all.”

  Emma didn’t want to hear this. Suddenly she wanted to run away, but she stayed rooted to the chair, and the words came out unbidden. “What have I got to do with it?”

  But Lady Seldane had had enough. She leaned back on the sofa, amidst various creaks, and fanned her face vigorously. “I imagine you’ll discover that soon enough,” she said wearily.

  “I don’t want to.” Emma spoke in barely more than a whisper, but the old lady heard her.

  “Cowardice, child? You don’t strike me as that sort. You have the heart of a lioness. I can see it in your eyes.” The old woman nodded. “He’ll need a lioness. To save him from his demons. You could do it, child. If you were brave enough and strong enough. Willing to risk it all. Risk heartbreak and death and even your soul for him. With little assurance of reward.”

  “Why should I want to?”

  Lady Seldane laughed, the fat chuckles rolling from her body. “Because you love him, child. Any fool can see that. And it dooms you. Even if you wanted to escape, it’s too late. You’ll save him. Or destroy yourself in the attempt.”

  She lapsed into silence, her crepey eyes staring down at the plump, beringed hands that rested in her capacious lap.

  A thousand denials sprang to Emma’s lips. None of them were uttered. She waited, for some final word of wisdom from her enigmatic hostess, some warning, some absolution. What she got, instead, was a snore. The old lady had fallen asleep.

  She loved Killoran. Any fool could see that. And Killoran was far from a fool. Emma wanted to run, to hide from the truth that was plain to others. But there was nowhere to run.

  She closed the door very quietly behind her, leaving Lady Seldane fast asleep. At first glance the hallway appeared deserted, the noise from the party far in the distance, and she wondered how she would ever face Killoran aga
in. And then the shadows moved, a dark figured separated itself from the blackness, and she knew he had found her.

  “Did you unburden your girlish heart?” Killoran asked pleasantly.

  “No.”

  “Did Lady Seldane unburden hers? ‘Struth, she could make even Babs blush if she set her mind to it. She’s lived an adventurous life, and she tends to believe in plain speaking.”

  You love him. She could hear Lady Seldane’s wheezing laughter in her head. Any fool can see it. “She does that,” Emma agreed faintly.

  She should have known Killoran wouldn’t miss a nuance. “What did she want from you? The scarlet details of your past? Did she try to find out whether you were really any kin of mine?”

  “She knew perfectly well I wasn’t your sister.” Emma managed to sound severe. “As a matter of fact, she simply wanted to warn me.”

  “Warn you? How surprising. Did she think I was going to seduce and abandon you?” He seemed no more than mildly interested in the notion.

  “I don’t know. She was more concerned for your well-being than mine.”

  “Ah. Perhaps she thought you were going to seduce and abandon me. Fortunate that she doesn’t know about your violent tendencies, or she’d be even more worried.” He took her arm in a formal, polite gesture, and she managed not to quiver. “I’m sending you home.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I intend to remain longer, and I don’t wish to be responsible for you. There are several enlivening games of chance going on in the green room, and Lady Seldane’s stepson is a wealthy, small-minded idiot. I wouldn’t mind lightening his pockets.”

  “You don’t need his money.”

  “No, in fact, I don’t. But I need the distraction of teaching him a lesson.”

  “What do you need to be distracted from?”

  He was silent for a moment, dangerously so, and his green eyes swept over her, slowly, languorously, with such heat that it was more potent than a touch. And then he did touch her, his hand sliding along the side of her neck, beneath her loose hair. “Perhaps it’s you,” he whispered, bending his head close to her, and she wondered whether he would kiss her again, as he had that afternoon in the dust-shadowed ballroom.

  She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and take her. Any fool could see it, the words whispered in her ear. And this time she did quiver.

  He released her then, with a mocking smile on his thin mouth. “More likely I simply need distraction from ennui, my pet. I am bored, dismally bored, and it will take winning a fortune or bedding a whore to entertain me.”

  She was glad the dim light hid the flushed unhappiness on her face. “Won’t Lady Seldane take exception if you deprive her stepson of his money?”

  “No. Nor will she take it amiss if I deprive her stepdaughter of a good night’s sleep, as long as I leave her virginal granddaughter alone. She’s a liberal old dame, and passes no judgment on her offspring or on me.”

  They were already at the door. A servant draped Emma’s cloak around her shoulders, and Killoran handed her up into the carriage. “I trust you’ll enjoy yourself,” she said.

  “I can but try,” Killoran said. “Forgive me if I don’t escort you home. John Coachman will see to your well-being.” He stepped away from the carriage, dismissing her, forgetting about her, she thought miserably.

  “I shall be perfectly splendid,” she said in her brightest tone of voice. “Perhaps Nathaniel will be at home to keep me company.”

  He paused, his back to her as he mounted the stairs, and for a moment she wondered whether she’d gone too far. He turned to glance at her, his expression oblique. “Nathaniel is wiser than you think,” he said. “He won’t endanger his life unnecessarily.” And he left her.

  The night was cold. She wrapped the fur robe around her, shivering, as the coach started forward with a jerk. They moved through the night-dark streets of London, only the sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled street breaking through her abstraction.

  She must have drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the furry comfort of the robe, when the sudden jarring of the carriage brought her rudely awake once more. The door was hauled open, and hands reached in, rough, dark hands, grabbing at her, hauling her from the safety of the carriage.

  She fought, clinging to the door and kicking out at them. She heard her dress tear, and then she was out in the cold night air.

  She couldn’t tell how many of them there were, and she didn’t care. Someone bundled something dark and evil-smelling over her head, and tried to hoist her over a burly shoulder, but she was too much of an armful, and her thrashing brought them both down on the pavement. She’d been too busy struggling to scream, but she chose that moment to tilt her head back and shriek at the top of her lungs. And then one of the brigands was upon her once more, flattening her to the pavement, knocking the breath and fight from her.

  She found herself floating, in the distance, wondering whether they were going to kill her, or rape her, or simply carry her off for God knew what dastardly reason. She felt the pearls rip from her neck and scatter on the frozen street beneath her, and she had the absurd notion that Killoran was going to tire of providing her with jewels if she treated them so poorly.

  She couldn’t breathe. Darkness and scratchy, foul-smelling wool was all around her, and the body that pressed down upon her was heavy and smothering. She was going to die, it was that simple, and she could feel very little regret. Her only sorrow was somehow wrapped up in Killoran, with his merciless eyes and oddly gentle hands.

  The explosion was thunderous. The body covering hers jerked and went still, and she could feel a wash of hot fluid that she realized was blood pouring over her. She shoved, hard, and the creature above her fell away,

  There was another sound, and this time she recognized it as a gunshot. She struggled out of the entrapping material in time to see one of her attackers disappear into the night. The man beside her lay dead, his blood staining her clothes, and another lay bleeding in the gutter.

  She looked up. It was Killoran, of course, holding a set of matching pistols and looking not the slightest bit surprised. He was on a huge black horse, one she’d never seen before, and he seemed entirely at ease.

  He pocketed the pistol and held out his hand to her. “You’d best climb up here with me. John Coachman isn’t in any shape to drive you home.”

  The street was hard and cold beneath her, and wet with blood. She heard the groan of the other man and saw Killoran turn, suddenly intent, the other pistol pointed straight at the wounded man.

  “Don’t kill him!” she cried in horror, clambering to her feet.

  “Why not? He would have killed you. Doubtless other people will try now that these singularly inept villains have failed. If I kill them both, it might serve to deter others.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  In the empty, icy street, she could see the vapor from Killoran’s breath as he smiled a wintry smile. “I expect you could answer that better than I. Though perhaps they only wanted to kidnap you. Take you as a hostage for Darnley to play with.” He nudged the horse closer. “Are you coming with me?”

  She glanced at the carriage. The horses were standing obediently still, but John Coachman’s figure was huddled on the box. On the ground beside her, the living villain moaned.

  She took Killoran’s hand. He was wearing thin black leather gloves, but the heat of his flesh burned through them. The strength was shocking, palpable, as he hauled her up, up through the air, settling her in front of him. She’d known he was strong. But this sudden reminder, in the midst of blood and death, was beyond disturbing. It threatened the very core of her being.

  “How did you happen to get here so quickly?” she asked in a quiet voice as he nudged the horse forward. His arms were on either side of her, holding the reins, his body devastatingly close.

  “I was following the carriage.”

  “You knew something was going to happ
en.” She wanted him to deny it. Wanted him to tell her that he hadn’t sent her out as a trap.

  But Killoran wouldn’t give her comfortable answers. “I expected as much.”

  “And you used me.”

  “That’s why you’re here, my pet,” he said calmly. “A tool, to be used, and to be well rewarded once your usefulness is at an end. It works out well for both of us. You’re in need of gainful occupation, and I’m in need of a young woman with your undeniable... attributes. It’s a perfect match.”

  “Scarce made in heaven,” she said bitterly.

  “No,” he agreed. “A match made in hell. But count your blessings, dear Emma.”

  “And what are those?”

  “At least you’ll get to escape.”

  Chapter 12

  Killoran stood in the front hallway, watching Emma as she dashed up the long, curving stairs, practically falling in her effort to get away. He felt an odd, momentary unease. Had he hurt her when he’d killed that creature? Had she sat stiffly in his arms in pain, bleeding, saying not a word?

  He shook his head, discounting the image. Emma was not the sort to suffer in silence. If he’d managed to hurt her, she would have informed him of that fact most bitterly. He found he could smile at the notion. For some reason, Emma made him uncharacteristically light-hearted. If such a thing could be said of a man who possessed no light, and no heart at all. And therein lay the very real danger she posed for him. She started making him feel things he had no right to feel.

  “What happened to the poor lady?” Mrs. Rumson demanded with her usual temerity, wiping her hands on her apron. “Did you hurt her, my lord? For if you did, you may have my word on it that—”