Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  “Aw!” Elias howled. “I know a chit or two who’d be pleased to ‘educate’ the boy. We’ll take him with us to the alehouse, next time, eh, Henry?”

  “Spades.” Henry replied, turning the top card over on the table. “Your bid, Eli.”

  Elias opened the bid. Donovan bid higher. Henry passed. And so went the evening.

  After losing to Donovan, Elias complained that he was out of quid until next quarter day. “I have a different wager in mind.” He looked behind him to assure they were alone and then leaned forward to let them on in his plan.

  “What is it, dice?” Henry bubbled forth while Donovan remained silent.

  “Not dice.” Elias smirked. “The countess. That spook she’s married to acts as if she doesn’t exist. Makes a fellow wonder if he ain’t crazy like they say, ignoring a sweet young thing like that. Spending all day locked up in his lab pulling the wings off of flies.”

  “He is a queer one.” Henry chimed in. “She deserves better, aye, O’Rourke?”

  He grunted his assent, placing a finger on his brow. “But what does Madame Beaumont have to do with this wager?”

  Elias sat up a little straighter with a smug smile on his face. “It’s like this; a young woman married to a lunatic. She’s bound to get lonely, being ignored by her man, stuck on an isolated island estate halfway around the world from her kinfolk.”

  Donovan didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He remained still, so as not to startle his prey. “Go on.” He muttered, keeping his balled fist locked on his thigh beneath the table.

  “Oh, you want to bet how long before she leaves the count?” Henry put in. “Good one, that way we don’t have to pay up ‘til it happens—if it happens.”

  “No, stupid.” Elias cuffed Henry’s shoulder. “I never had a noblewoman beneath me.” He went on, looking and speaking to O’Rourke as if only he were man enough to understand. “And that one’s mighty fine. It’s a shame to let a good pussy go to waste, don’t you think?”

  “Ah, Elias, you aren’t suggesting we hurt her, now, are you?” Henry whined.

  “I’m proposing seduction, you twit. Been watching her, I have. She’s lonely. Why, she fairly lights up every time that bastard uncle gives her the time of day. What I propose, my lads, is a wager between the three of us, with the countess as the prize. Which one of us can charm her into giving him a place in her bed? That one gets 10 quid from the other two.”

  Elias paused, letting his words settle before asking, “What do you say, lads? Are you in? You up to hunting peacock instead of pea hens?”

  Henry nodded, agreeing to the scheme. “Aye, she is a pretty little thing.”

  “O’Rourke, are you in?”

  Donovan stood, his fists clenched. “I’m in. Deeper than you care to know.”

  Without warning, he kicked the stool out from under Henry, who was seated at the end of the table between Eli and himself. As the footman fell on his ass, Donovan lurched across the wooden table and dragged Elias over it. The wily footman raised his fist, attempting a right hook in his defense. Donovan blocked the attack with his forearm and twisted the man’s hand behind his back. Elias tried to wiggle out of his grip. Donovan pounced on the man, wrestling him to the floor with ease. He knelt over the man, pinning him with his knees.

  “Mr. O’Rourke?” Pearl appeared in the doorway. “What goes on here?”

  “Debauchery, Mayhem.” Donovan answered through clenched teeth. “And it ends, here.” He turned his eyes to the man in the doorway while keeping his hand on his victim’s throat. “These two are out of the game. I want them trussed up and delivered on the docks of Basseterre before dawn. Get me some rope.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  Elizabeth was perched on a ladder in the freshly painted salon just off the stairs. She was attempting to hang the newly washed curtains herself as the maid below was afraid of heights, the other two were outside hanging the rest of the laundry, and the fourth was helping the cook prepare lunch in the kitchen.

  “You shouldn’t be up there, mum.” Sally informed her. “I’ll catch hell from his lordship if anything was to happen to you!”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” Elizabeth replied, attempting to maintain a good humor. “My lord wouldn’t notice I was missing. He’d keep working, trying valiantly to cure the diseases plaguing mankind until someone screwed up the courage to inform him that I was buried last week.”

  “Oh, mum!” Sally trilled. “That’s funny. You be a rare one, working alongside the rest of us, mopping and scrubbing and polishing all day as if you weren’t a countess, why I have never heard the like, have you Mr. O’Rourke?”

  Oh, Bollocks! Elizabeth braced herself for some lewd remark about her backside to be expressed by the man. He was nothing if not brash when in his swaggering O’Rourke persona.

  “What the hell are you doing up there?” A languid colonial drawl barked from the vicinity of her ankles. Elizabeth looked down at him and then at the maid, wondering if Sally noted the abrupt change in his speech. As Elizabeth hesitated, he placed a boot on the lower rung and clasped the ladder firmly with both hands. “Get down, before you fall and break your neck. I should paddle your bottom until you can’t sit down, just for being so damned foolish.”

  “Mr. O’Rourke, you’ve no right to be talking to the mistress like that!” Sally cautioned.

  Elizabeth smiled. The woman raised a valid point. Mr. O’Rourke was a servant. She let the heavy curtain drop to the floor and then carefully descended the ladder.

  “What’s your excuse, Alice? You’re gaping up at the ceiling, laughing while your mistress is doing work I’m paying you to do.” Donovan reached up and grabbed Elizabeth about the waist to pull her from the last few rungs when she didn’t move fast enough to satisfy him.

  “This is Sally, Mr. O’Rourke, and she’s afraid of heights.” She informed him.

  “I don’t give a damn about her.” Donovan returned, glaring daggers at Elizabeth.

  She couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t tell buxom, blonde Sally from plump Alice, the scullery maid? That was encouraging since Sally had been flirting with him shamelessly all week.

  “You are not to be climbing ladders, young lady.” Towering over her with a dangerous forefinger stabbing the air between them, Donovan seemed to forget the gruff Irish tone he used as O’Rourke. He was scolding her in the cultured colonial drawl that was his natural speech. He looked from her to Sally, then her again. “What’s this about scrubbing and mopping? You’re not strong enough to be doing menial chores and the moment my back is turned I find you risking your neck hanging heavy curtains. That’s a man’s job. Where is a footman?”

  “I don’t know. I seem to be short two this morning. Some pompous ass took it in his head to fire them without so much as a by your leave directed at me.” Elizabeth replied.

  “My lady!” Giles came rushing in from the hall, his face flushed as if he had run a great distance. “Is everything under control, Madame?”

  “No, it isn’t!” Donovan turned on the middle aged footman. “My lady was perched on that ladder, hanging curtains because you where nowhere to be found.”

  “Stop it!” Elizabeth stepped around Donovan to stand beside the footman. She wished she could make Giles the butler. It was a sticky situation as rum sodden Tabby had been installed here for some years, and raising Giles in rank would place him in charge of all the servants, Tabby included. Elizabeth couldn’t make such a sweeping change without Donovan’s approval, and finding the man, let alone finding him in a mood to grant the concession, proved impossible.

  “I was unloading the supply wagon.” Giles replied after regaining his breath. “Cook came out to warn me that some very foul language was being directed at the lady of the house. Now I suggest you return to the stables, O’Rourke, unless you care to go a round or two with me. I’ve had a few boxing triumphs in London in my younger days.” As he spoke, the stout Englishman was rolling up his shirt sleeves as if he meant to make good on
his offer.

  “Yes, O’Rourke.” Elizabeth chimed in. She was enjoying this. If Donovan insisted upon acting like a servant, she’d treat him like one! “Giles is here, and he’s a gentleman. I’m sure he’d be happy to hang the curtains for me instead snarling threats at me, as you were doing.”

  “He threatened you?” Giles’ face took on the snarl of a bulldog as he jerked his thumb toward the door. “Out, O’Rourke now. The master shall hear about this. Depend upon it.”

  Donovan moved in like a mad dog, his face full of color. “Oh, let’s go meet him, then, just you and me, old boy! Let’s go find the master.”

  “No!” Elizabeth stepped between the two men. “You’ve no right to be badgering this man, Mr. O’Rourke. If I know my husband at all I would expect him to be pleased Giles is quick to defend me when another man is behaving boorishly toward me.” She waited, hoping her words would penetrate his thick skull.

  Her husband’s eyes remained hard as he pulled his gaze from the footman to pinion hers. “You haunt my dreams and posses my thoughts every waking moment. Beautiful little witch. What sorcery is at work to make me mad with wanting you, ready to kill any man you favor?”

  “Mr. O’Rourke!” Giles gasped. “My lady’s well being is not your concern.”

  “I would that it were so.” Donovan muttered as he stalked out the door.

  *******

  Elizabeth retreated to the library. His words were like shards of glass piercing her heart. He regretted marrying her, just as she feared. How could he say such hurtful things to her; calling her a witch, accusing her of casting a spell to make him lust after her—blaming her for his ill behavior!

  A discrete scratching sounded at the library door. The footman entered. “A letter arrived for you, milady, from Basseterre.” Giles held out the missive on a silver tray.

  “I don’t know anyone in Basseterre.”

  “Shall I destroy it, Madame? Since you do not know this person?”

  “Oh, no!” She sat forward from her recline on the chaise and snatched it from the tray. “It’s from Peter! He gave me Puck.” She smiled at the footman. “Would you see that Puck has something to eat and then put him upstairs in my room?” She handed him the kitten.

  “Yes, Madame. Cook has prepared a dish of chopped liver for Master Puck.” There was a brief collapse of that stolid English reserve as Giles placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Say the word, my lady, and I shall brave the lion’s den to inform his lordship of this most unfortunate incident with that ill mannered brute from the stables.”

  Elizabeth was touched by his concern. “His lordship’s work is important.” She said in a pain thickened voice. “Don’t disturb him. I’ll tell him tonight, when he comes to bed.”

  The servant made a tactful retreat. Elizabeth was bolstered by the footman’s quiet, efficient presence. He treated her pet as if the cat were a member of the family and referred to Old Fritz as Cook, as was traditional in England. They were small things, but she was finding comfort in the familiar customs. Her unconventional American spouse would likely grind his teeth at the servant’s adherence to English tradition. Too bad. She had put up with a great deal of change in becoming Mrs. Beaumont.

  Well, Mr. Beaumont could do with some improvement, she fumed, opening the letter.

  Peter’s note warmed her considerably and afforded a rare opportunity. She composed a short reply, inviting Peter to visit her soon. She puzzled over the closing for a long time, choosing her words carefully so they couldn’t come back to haunt her if she were questioned about it later. Finally, she scribed out;

  Please be so kind as to convey my best regards to your Uncle Jack. Tell him I

  am in urgent need of his assistance in a matter of Grave Import—

  one that requires the strictest of confidences.

  There, that should suffice. If Jack ratted her out and she were pressed by her husband, she’d claim she wished for the captain’s input regarding a Christmas gift for Donovan. Hopefully, it would amuse his lordship rather than anger him. She hoped to confide in Rawlings regarding Donovan’s odd behavior, but she had to be careful.

  After giving the missive to Giles, Elizabeth inspected the breakfast room. It was the latest advance in her war against dirt and neglect. Muted tones of butter yellow warmed the walls, giving it a fresh, inviting look. She had the heavy curtains removed that shrouded the glass doors leading into the gardens. Richard O’Donovan wasn’t fond of sunshine. Gareth confided his father preferred dark hangings to shield his rum saturated eyes from the harsh morning light.

  Today, the clean, exposed panes glittered in the brilliant light and the sheer lace curtains allowed the room to capture the golden sunbeams, not block them out. Elizabeth was enjoying the task of bringing the old plantation house back to life. Donovan might choose to ignore her, but he had to notice the improvements to his home and realize she was responsible for them.

  She stood between the French doors that opened into the gardens. The fresh sea breeze wafted around her. She wanted to sit in the garden and enjoy the comforting warmth of the sun, but Uncle Gareth was out riding and she didn’t know if Donovan were home or not. Ares and Hades, the guard dogs, ambled down the path from the kitchen door, their tails wagging as they approached her with wide grins. Ares nudged at Elizabeth’s hand, urging her to stroke his tawny head while black Hades sniffed at her skirt to decide if she belonged here.

  She knelt and ruffled the black mastiff’s ear. “Did Cook give you your treats? I saved toast crusts and a piece of bacon for each of you this morning.” Hades tilted his head and gave a mournful groan, as if to say that he’d been deprived of his treat. “Oh, you big silly, I don’t believe a word of it!” She chastened, amused by his antics.

  It was a beautiful day. It was really outside of enough, this stricture that she was not to leave the house without an escort. Sturdy fencing lined the property, ten foot iron spikes with razor sharp points and the gates were always locked. Even if someone were able to get in, the dogs would keep him cornered. When the supply cart arrived every few days, Tabby or Mr. O’Reilly had to call the dogs off so the deliverymen could step down without risking a limb.

  Elizabeth glanced about her. She’d slipped outside before alone, but only when she knew of a certainty that Donovan was out on the plantation. She wasn’t sure of his whereabouts, but a few moments couldn’t hurt. She hurried down the path before anyone from the house could see her escape.

  Butterflies and insects fluttered about as her passing disturbed their resting places. The dogs kept pace on either side of Elizabeth. The stone path became carved steps. As she ascended them, she admired the gazebo concealed by a canopy of luxuriant foliage. So much stifled beauty, so much potential and yet this place had been left to fend for itself as the brutal jungle encroached upon the cultivated blooms. If the vines were cut away, if the statues were freed from their twining bonds, and the weeds were pulled so that the neglected floral beds were offered a bit of love and encouragement, this could become a wondrous, enchanted place.

  Beyond the gazebo the stone balcony continued. During her walks with Uncle Gareth, she discovered an alcove with a stone bench hidden from view of the main gardens and the house. A gnarled tree clung to the outcroppings of the steep cliff. The profusion of flowered branches provided protection from the sun. She liked this solitary place. One could enjoy the view of the small harbor village at the foot of the hill or gaze at the serene seas ahead. She approached the wall of stones that came to her waist and leaned over the edge to gaze down.

  It was a sheer drop to the jagged rocks below.

  Turning from the stone balcony, Elizabeth moved to the cornerstone where a small portion of the wall had crumbled away. A breach in the fencing, she thought, feeling like the rebellious filly her husband was wont to call her. A grassy incline was just beyond the crumbled stone, forming a small, tilted ledge before descending sharply to the ocean swells. A large tree was bent with emerald foliage, forming a canop
y over the grassy outcropping. It beckoned to her like a fairy bower, a secret retreat where she could dream away a sultry afternoon.

  Elizabeth slipped through the crumbled opening and sank down on the grass. She removed her slippers and stockings. It was delicious to feel grass tickling her bare feet and the warm caress of sunshine on her skin as she sat beneath the bright azure sky. The salt tang of the sea mingled with the pungent earth. The dogs wiggled through the wall to lie beside her.

  She sat for a time enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair, the soothing chatter of the birds and insects and the steady surf far below. The woods and meadow had been her refuge in England. Sheila understood her desire to be close to nature. It was so like Donovan to turn it into something shameful, to see only the danger and none of the beauty.

  Time passed too quickly. Elizabeth was loath to leave her secluded sanctuary, but she knew she must return to the house before she was missed. She picked up her discarded shoes and stockings, and meandered back down the path to the house with reluctance. As soon as she came around the foliage bound statue outside the sunny breakfast room, she was confronted by a black spot of gloom whose presence chilled the tropical air. Two weeks had passed since she’d been confronted by the dark side of her husband’s personality and the absence did nothing to improve the creature in her mind. She kept an arm’s length away, bolstered by the presence of Giles and two men she recognized from the voyage.

  The Count, her husband’s darker persona, stood outside the opened doors of the breakfast room with that disturbing sheath covering features she knew to be flawless. His lips were set into a grim line. “What are you doing wandering out here alone?” he asked in a French accent.

  Elizabeth lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I was inspecting the gardens and I am appalled, sir. Can we not afford a gardener?”

  “I asked you not to wander the grounds unescorted, ma cherie.”

  She resisted the urge to laugh. He was playing the polite gentleman for the benefit of the others. They both knew he didn’t ask any such thing of her, he demanded it. The dogs circled her and Ares chose that moment to nudge her hand. “I wasn’t alone.” She stroked the large tawny head with affection, “As you can see I had a very capable escort.”