Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  With that thought she returned to the task of designing her private retreat. The blue floral chaise in a room down the hall could be moved here and situated next to the fireplace. Add a few novels, and this could become a cozy sanctuary.

  Tabby intruded to remind Elizabeth that she had an appointment with her “lord and master” and she was keeping him waiting. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the woman’s odd phrasing. Tabby seemed to relish the idea of female subordination to a male master a little too much for her liking. Elizabeth had planned to ignore Donovan’s summons and claim forgetfulness. He deserved as much after his callow behavior last night.

  Elizabeth followed the housekeeper to the east wing. Tabby stopped at a door, indicating that Elizabeth should venture into the laboratory alone. She sucked in her breath, feeling like an errant child being summoned to Papa’s study for a taste of his leather belt.

  As she contemplated fleeing to her room, the housekeeper gave her a verbal prod. “He’s waiting, Madame, and his mood isn’t improving with the passage of time.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elizabeth gathered her courage and stepped through the open portal. As soon as she did so, the door was shut by the housekeeper, as if to further unsettle her.

  She focused on the books lining the oak shelves to the right of the entrance. Medical tomes in English, French and other languages she couldn’t discern. She stepped around a pile of wooden crates near the door and walked toward the windows. Sunlight reflected on the array of glass vials and metal instruments crowding a massive, rough hewn table near the tall windows. As she went deeper into the room, the pungent smell of chemicals and compounds became more pronounced.

  The silence of the chamber was unnerving. She turned to face the master of Ravencrest.

  Donovan sat behind a mahogany desk calmly puffing on a cheroot, watching her move about his lair. Dusty brown riding boots were propped upon the desk. Muscular thighs were encased in buff riding breeches that appeared shabby from frequent use. A cotton shirt marked him as a commoner, and a brown leather work vest completed his costume. He appeared the master of the stable yards, not the master of the estate.

  “Mr. O’Rourke.” She acknowledged tersely. They were alone, but she favored the distance of the formal address.

  “Sit down, my sweet.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk as he remained seated.

  Elizabeth looked away from the handsome wretch as she sat down. A stuffed owl perched with wings outstretched on top of the cabinet looked down at her with fierce eyes. A raven and various reptiles filled a display case to his left

  A sheet of canvas hung over the open shelves directly behind him, concealing the contents from her view. She could see a few delft blue apothecary jars at the edge of the canvas. Avoiding his steady gaze, she next took to studying the desk between them. The surface was cluttered with open ledgers and parchment sheets. A tray with cigar stubs smashed into it sat next to a crystal decanter. And grinning at her on the desk between them was a stark white skull.

  “Is that---is it human?” She gestured to the hollow-eyed skull.

  “Yes.” He picked it up and stared at it with puzzlement. “Why? Is it talking to you? I can shut it in my desk drawer if it’s being impertinent.”

  “How dare you mock me, sir.”

  “Mock you? Christ woman, it was a joke!” He set the grisly head aside with a scowl.

  She turned away, allowing the tension to thicken as she continued her inspection of the room. Her eyes wandered to the door leading to the next room, the surgery. Did he truly cut up corpses and examine their insides, as the housekeeper claimed?

  “I believe I owe you an apology.” His words drew her gaze back on him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you last night. I was at the alehouse on the wharf and everyone kept shoving drinks in my face, toasting my good fortune in finding such a rare jewel in a wife.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t tell if the last was meant as compliment or a sarcastic barb. The look in his eyes was less than generous. “You promised you wouldn’t pressure me. You unsettled me with your odd disguise yesterday, and then you bring me to this—” She waved a hand about her in emphasis, “—dismal place and abandon me half an hour after we’ve arrived. While I’m trying to gain my bearings you come in drunk and start groping me just like those revolting smugglers.”

  “I was inebriated.” He insisted, dropping his feet to the floor with a resounding thud. “I’ve apologized for upsetting you. It won’t happen again.”

  Elizabeth felt herself shrinking inwardly at his furious tone. His parting taunt last night came back to her. “I’ll have nothing more to do with you until you come to your senses!”

  “Since you insist on having your own room, you may take the room next to mine.” He stubbed out his cheroot with a vengeance, grinding it into the silver plate beneath his fingers. “For the present. Once we cease this celibate arrangement you’ll sleep in my bed. My parents slept in the same bed and they were deliriously happy, a tradition I intend to continue.”

  She nodded, relieved by the concession.

  “I make one condition. Do not lock the doors between us, Madame. This is my house and it is my right to enter your room as I please.” His voice sliced through her with the precision of a surgeon’s blade. “If you lock them I’ll have them removed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She replied in a tight voice, but managed to keep her chin high.

  “Excellent, now as to the rules I expect you to abide by. First, you are not to leave the house alone, not even to walk in the gardens. You’ll have Uncle Gareth’s escort outdoors.”

  It was past believing! “If you are afraid I’ll run away, why don’t you just lock me in that room on the third floor?”

  “How do you know about that?” He retorted, visibly shaken by her words, as she intended. She’d had enough shocks from the rude inhabitants here. It was time to start returning the favor.

  “Tabby.” He said, decisively. “I’ll deal with her later. I told you before we arrived that I had many reasons to despise the man whose name I bear. I have no wish to imprison you here. I told you this before, I use indentures from the prisons as my labor force. I discovered three indentures have gone missing as of last week. Until they are found, I will not have you set foot outdoors alone for your own safety. I will also caution the maids not to wander the grounds alone until those men are caught. In that light, does my demand still seem unreasonable?”

  “No, sir.” She mumbled, averting her eyes and winding her finger through a satin bow on her skirt. His concern for her might seem more convincing if he weren’t snarling so.

  “Rule number two,” He continued in that commanding tone, “You do not leave the estate grounds without my permission.”

  “How could I? The estate is surrounded by ten foot fencing and the gates are locked.”

  “My grandfather had the fencing erected to keep intruders out after the slave uprisings on another island. The master and his family were murdered in their beds, even the children. I’ve continued the habit. Now that I have a family, I appreciate the virtues of such precautions.”

  Elizabeth remained silent. She had heard of slave uprisings in the Indies, as had most of England. It was one of the arguments for abolishing slavery.

  “As to the subject of locks,” He continued, “Tabby informed me that you asked her to relinquish the household keys. There is only one set. Since you are the rightful mistress here, I will have a second set of keys made for you. Does that satisfy you, my lady?”

  “Yes.” At last, a concession amid the rules and strictures. She pressed for another one. “I insist you to lift this ridiculous edict that I cannot bathe unattended by the housekeeper.”

  “No.” He said coldly.

  Her eyes glazed with moisture. “I suppose that is for my safety as well, or is it some sick need to humiliate me?”

  “I’m not the monster you make me out to be. You have the propensity to drop off into a heavy doze wit
hout warning. You just drift away without even realizing--”

  “I do not!” Elizabeth insisted. “I’d remember it if I did.”

  “Would you?” He countered, and the implication struck deep.

  Elizabeth smashed her lips together. “I—I—wasn’t aware of it.” She said, shamed by her inability to notice the weakness. This was appalling, she was trying not to succumb to his bullying, and now she was afraid she might start crying into the bargain.

  “If you find Tabby too grating, then have your new maid present in the room when you bathe. Please, for your own well being.” Donovan’s voice softened as he came around the desk. He offered her his handkerchief and watched her dab her eyes with it.

  Why wouldn’t he take her in his arms as he had when she was upset on the ship?

  “I’m not a tyrant.” He sat down on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms about his chest. “I’m just trying to look after you. It appears no one has done that, not for a very long time. Your grandmother allowed you to wander about the countryside alone. You could have been set upon by bandits or a nobleman determined to have his way with you. Mark me, you’ll not be wandering about free as the gypsies anymore, not in my keeping.”

  Elizabeth glared at him, resenting his remark.

  “Whether you remember is irrelevant, it’s true.” He persisted. “Sheila let you go traipsing off to the woods alone with me every night. I could have taken advantage of you.”

  “Who’s to say you didn’t? My memory eludes me, sir.”

  The look on his face told her the arrow had met its mark. “An honorable man does not take advantage of a girl he wishes to make his wife.” He insisted with exasperation. “Aren’t you the stubborn mare who has been given her head far too often. You don’t want to accept the bridle, but you’ll have to, it’s for your own good.”

  Damn that man, comparing her to one of his horses. Elizabeth made no effort to hide her contempt at the allusion. No doubt he thought himself quite clever for it.

  They stared at one another, a battle of wills, with neither of them looking away.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “One moment.” He called out, not breaking eye contact. Those pale blue eyes were as impenetrable as the sky above her.

  Elizabeth was not going to back down. She was not going to become a timid mouse like her mother, afraid of her shadow, apologizing for simply taking up space in her husband’s home.

  “That’s my accountant.” Donovan informed her in a pleased tone. He was enjoying this!

  “One more rule and then you’re free to go. Make certain the new staff understands no one comes in here, on pain of dismissal. Pearl will tidy up when needed. Do as you wish with the rest of the house. Order wallpaper, paint, anything that pleases you. Mix the furnishings as you will or burn everything. I don’t care. Just leave this room alone. It is my sanctuary.”

  Had she heard right—he didn’t care if she spent money on fixing up the place? He was being generous. Or perhaps he truly didn’t care. The house was sadly neglected, even for a reclusive bachelor who didn’t entertain.

  “Yes, you may re-feather the nest as you see fit. I’ll inform my accountant that you are authorized to purchase whatever you need to update the house.” He said, unsettling her with his uncanny ability to discern her thoughts. “That’s all—you may go. Oh, yes, don’t expect me at dinner. I’ve gathered men. We’ll be searching for the runaways until sunset.”

  Elizabeth tossed the handkerchief at him as she rose from the chair. So, she was being dismissed like naughty child summoned to Papa’s study for a scolding. Oh, if he dared to pat her on the head as she passed him she would kick him soundly in the shin.

  “I’ll try not to be too late.” He commented, as she made her retreat.

  “Don’t rush home on my account.” She returned saucily after gaining the safety of the door. “I’ll follow the rules, I promise, Papa.” She said the last with relish. She gained a wicked pleasure in reminding him of their age difference; she was but sixteen as she remembered it, and he was a grown man nearing thirty. “But I’m too old to be spanked.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He replied, his pale eyes glacial with resolve. “It would be a pleasure to take you over my knee and slap that adorable bottom with my bare hand.”

  Elizabeth blanched at such a lewd suggestion. Baiting the wolf was no longer amusing. “Lay a hand on me, sir, and I’ll never forgive you.”

  “As you wish.” Donovan quipped, giving her a bemused smile. “But do remember it was you who brought up the subject of spanking, darlin’, not I.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Forgotten Bride of Count Rochembeau.

  It was a title worthy of one of Mrs. Radcliff’s Gothic novels. Much as Elizabeth enjoyed reading them, she didn’t relish the thought of becoming the heroine in one. Her husband vanished in the week that followed, becoming a ghost in his own home.

  She bumped into Mr. O’Rourke, Donovan’s servant persona, several times during the long week. He nodded as he passed her in the hall, behaving as if they were strangers. She happened upon him in the servant’s hall one afternoon entertaining the footmen with some coarse story that had them chortling with glee. One of them spotted her in the doorway and they became red faced and sober, each one but him. Donovan smirked and started telling another one, not even waiting until she was out of earshot.

  She stepped into the kitchen one morning to speak to Cook and found O’Rourke sitting on a wooden barrel outside the open kitchen door. His knees were parted and his boots were planted firmly on the ground as he leaned forward and held tightly to a stick. He was playing tug of war with one of his dogs. She stood silently, admiring every inch of him; that handsome profile, his tanned, corded, forearms and long, muscular legs. Those powerful thighs flexed when the mastiff growled and tugged at the other end of the stick, trying to pull his master from his perch on the barrel. Donovan was smiling, appearing care free as he played with the dog.

  He looked up suddenly, sensing he had an audience in the doorway.

  “Be there somethin’ you need from me, milady?” He asked in a feigned Irish brogue.

  A hug, a kind word—some small acknowledgement that I matter to you!

  Elizabeth swallowed the ache rising in her throat. He didn’t need to pretend. They were alone in the courtyard off the kitchen. “No, Mr. O’Rourke.” She replied, turning quickly about and exiting the kitchen with her eyes stinging.

  She could overlook his bizarre masquerade if he’d come to her at the end of the day, at least to check on her and acknowledge her existence in his world. She left the doors between them unlocked as instructed so he might visit her if he wished. He did not. The fact that he did not seek her company, even in private, brought home to her that she was in disgrace.

  In response to his rejection, Elizabeth attacked the house with a vengeance. She was determined to open all the first floor rooms by Christmas, when his mother was scheduled to arrive. She worked herself to exhaustion every day alongside the maids, polishing and scrubbing everything she could find. She welcomed distraction from the agonizing crack that was slowly rending in her heart.

  Gareth O’Donovan was the one bright spot in her bleak existence. Donovan’s uncle had an easy smile and a singsong Caribbean accent that intrigued her. He strove to maintain conversation with her instead of subjecting her to long, pensive silences as her husband had been wont to do. His favorite author was Shakespeare, and he tended to sprinkle his conversations with quotes from the bard like a preacher reciting verses from the Bible.

  She dined with Gareth in the formal dining room each evening and discussed literature and music with him in the refurbished salon afterward. Each night, she secretly hoped Donovan would appear at dinner or join them in the salon. He did not. Elizabeth played the small harpsichord at Gareth’s insistence while he turned the music pages for her. He humbly admitted to playing the cello, being self-taught as he’d never left the island and asked if she
might teach him to read musical notations. She was grateful for Gareth’s easy companionship; without him she’d be truly alone as Donovan seemed to have abandoned her.

  As the dinner hour approached one evening, Elizabeth brought her kitten to the dining room and set him on the chair beside her. Dinner was enlivened by Puck’s antics. The little imp climbed up on the table and sat very somberly next to her plate, watching her eat every spoonful without trying to intrude. Gareth teased him by making shadows on the tablecloth with his hand. The chubby little tom was confused and then fascinated by the shadows, attacking them and tipping over a water goblet in his attempts to capture the moving shadow. The floral arrangement captured Puck’s attentions next. He took to nibbling the flowers. He pulled one from the vase without tipping it over by some miracle, and then rolled on his back on the table to shred the bloom while they laughed at his antics.

  They left the ruin of the table to take an evening stroll in the gardens. Elizabeth caught sight of Donovan in the stable courtyard. Dressed as O’Rourke, he mounted a chestnut bay. The groom handed him his musket, which he balanced across his lap before spurring his mount to gallop. The dogs barked a noisy farewell as the groom locked the gate behind him.

  Elizabeth clutched her shawl about her and watched her husband leave. Gareth put an arm about her consolingly. “‘Our count is neither sad nor sick, nor merry nor well; but a civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.’ So says Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, and upon her sage advice we shall take no notice of his foul mood nor allow it to poison our evening.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “He despises me.”

  “No, dear one. Tis not you who makes him ride hard away, but Duty, a demanding mistress, and a cruel one.” Uncle Gareth took her hand, settled it upon his arm, and guided her down the garden path to watch the golden sunset melt into the molten sea.