Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  “I see.” He murmured and did not press further. “Why are you not in bed? Did you forget our discussion earlier about resting?”

  “No sir.” Oh, Bollocks, she’d angered him already, and there was still such news to be delivered. “I got up to use the chair.” She lied, gesturing to the privy chair in the corner.

  He released a strangled sigh and his look told her he knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

  It was a habit she fell into when he was irritated, she realized. She lied easily--too easily--to appease him, a trait learned early on when dealing with a drunken stepfather who searched for any excuse to strike those about him. Donovan wasn’t her stepfather. There was no need for quick lies to appease his ire. He deserved an honest wife—if he decided to keep her, that is.

  “I was frightened, my lord.” She amended in a subdued tone laced with respect. “You seemed angry when you left me. I imagined terrible things happening below the stairs.” She lifted her gaze to meet his in the mirror, truly looking at him for the first time since he’d entered his chamber. The bright red swelling of his cheek caught her attention. “Oh—you’re hurt!” She turned about to face him. “Did you fight with the captain?”

  “We had a scuffle and he left.” With austerity, he lifted her hand, turned it and kissed the center of her palm. A warmth moved up Elizabeth’s arm and settled over her heart. She stared at him, astonished by his tenderness.

  *******

  Donovan studied his wife’s reflection as he stood behind her. It was not the portrait of a joyful bride reflecting back at him. She was too pale. The shadows beneath her eyes screamed exhaustion. She appeared broken, crushed by grief, weighted down with regret.

  He cupped her slim shoulders and began massaging the rigid muscles. “You mustn’t allow Jack’s ill behavior to upset you. Had I known he would offend your tender sensibilities with his obscene ramblings, I would not have allowed the meeting.”

  “I didn’t ask him to interfere.” She spoke in a whisper, her voice stretched tight as she peeked cautiously at his reflection in the mirror before dropping her gaze again. “Honestly, I had no idea he would scheme against you, my lord.”

  “Hush, my sweet. You are not responsible for the delusions of a middle-aged man. We will speak no more of it.” He insisted, as he took up the brush and began to work through her tangled tresses in an attempt to soothe her. She remained silent beneath his ministrations, her mind engaged in some formula as she pondered a world beyond her image in the glass.

  “I’ve been thinking.” He began, “I could rent a place in Basseterre. That way, whenever you’re feeling the need for some diversion in town, you can stay in the city. Basseterre is not like London, but there are a few shops—“

  She turned about to gaze up at him directly, her awe apparent. “You would do that? You would allow me to leave the island when I wish?”

  “You’re hardly my prisoner here, my dear.” He managed in a bland tone that did not betray the agony piercing his heart. Perhaps she did wish to leave him after all.

  With a perplexed look, she turned about and took to staring at the mirror as if she beheld something disturbing beyond the silvered glass.

  Once he had the tangles under control, he set the brush aside and began plaiting the silky strands of burnished copper. As he hoped, the familiar routine seemed to calm her. He’d attended her thus on the ship when she’d been ill. It was a task he looked forward to each night as it was a form of intimacy between them. His task done, he secured the end of the braid with a ribbon. “There. Now back to bed with you, my sweet. You look like the last rose of summer. And if I’m not mistaken, I see a headache looming on the horizon.”

  “Everything hurts today.”

  “I don’t doubt it, little one.” Considering the bruises marring her tender body he was surprised she was able to get out of bed, as the act of moving must cause immense pain. He cupped her shoulders as he stood behind her and gazed at her reflection before them. “I believe a dose of Laudanum may be just the thing.”

  “Wait.” She protested, placing a hand on his arm as he bent and began lifting her with the intention of carrying her back to the bed. “I have unpleasant news to tell you, sir. And when all is finished, you may yet be relieved that the captain is willing to take me off your hands forever.”

  Donovan’s mind went still, his heart contracted in a painful knot as fear solidified.

  Had his wife decided she did not wish to remain with him after all, thanks to Jack’s unwarranted interference?

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure you can tell me lying down.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Elizabeth had it all worked out in her head, but as she looked at her husband’s face, she couldn’t make the words come forth. Donovan lifted her easily and carried her to the bed.

  He paced to the end of the bed, granting her the polite distance she needed to proceed. He stood framed between the green curtained bed-posts, hands clasped behind his back and a stoic expression on his face as if bracing to receive bad news.

  Well, it wasn’t good news she had to tell him.

  “Do you wish to leave me?” He asked when she remained silent for several moments.

  “No!” Elizabeth couldn’t understand this obsession he seemed to have about her leaving him. “I never told the captain that. He decided it was what I wanted, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Donovan closed his eyes and cleared his throat stridently, as if he had something lodged there. He leaned forward to brace his hands on the bed post. Opening his eyes, he met her startled gaze with a relieved smile. “What could possibly be wrong, my sweet?”

  “No, stay back.” She held up her hands. “What I have to confess is difficult, my lord. I need assurance you will do me no harm when all is finished.”

  His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to chide her, but seemed to think better of it. With a nod, he returned to the foot of the bed, arms crossed akimbo and waited.

  There was no easy way to tell it, yet tell it she must. She loved this man, but love could not flourish alongside deceit. She hugged a pillow to her as malicious serpents twisted and writhed inside her belly and squeezed around her heart. Focusing on the canopy above, she forced the words out. “The smugglers didn’t rape me, I’m still a maid. I know it was wicked of me not to tell you—I couldn’t--I didn’t know you back then and I-I was so . . . afraid!”

  Rallying her courage, she let her eyes dip beneath the canopy to gauge his response.

  Donovan was no longer there. He was coming towards her.

  “No—no, you promised not to hurt me.” She screeched, scuttling back against the headboard. She drew her knees against her chest and crossed her arms about her head in hope of warding off the worst of the blows.

  None came. She shuddered and listened to the deafening sound of her heart.

  “Elizabeth.” Donovan knelt on the bed. “My sweet girl.” That voice became velvet. He grasped her wrists, and uncrossed her arms. His hands slid over her wrists to take her hands in a firm grip. “Listen to me, listen carefully. What happened is not your fault.”

  Blood rushed through her temples. She willed herself to not tremble, to not give in to the panic clawing through her. It was no use, her limbs betrayed her, and surely he could hear her heart pounding out the weighty cadence of an executioner’s drum.

  Seconds marched into an uncertain eternity as they stared at one another.

  “Come, love, what’s this?” He cocked his head, appearing confounded. “After all we’ve come through together, how can you believe I would hurt you?”

  “My stepfather—“

  He dropped her hands and cradled her face in his palms. “I am not Fletcher, my love.”

  Elizabeth nodded and whimpered indistinctly.

  “When I touch you, it will only be with love.” Donovan pulled her closer. He lifted her and settled her onto his lap. His arms enveloped her, forming a firm barricade against flight. He just held he
r, remaining quiet and resolute as she sat across his knees.

  What was wrong with her? She never gave in to tears. Stupid, useless things. They were a sign of weakness. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop this abominable weeping.

  Donovan went on making soft sounds that gradually became words as the haze of fear lifted from her. “--so you see, darlin’, there’s no need to concoct fanciful tales.”

  He didn’t believe her? “I’m not lying! I’m still a maid. Nothing happened on that ship—”

  “Captain Sully told me he hurt you. He confessed everything before I killed him.”

  “He lied!” Elizabeth insisted, now well beyond panic. She struggled to be released, but he was not of mind to grant her desire. “He forbade his crew to touch me.” She gave a shrill laugh. “He shot one of them—and h-he took me down to the hold. He tried to rape me—my purge came earlier that night—he was disgusted—nothing happened, I tell you; nothing!”

  “Lizzie, don’t do this.” He insisted sternly. “It doesn’t matter what happened.”

  “It’s the truth. You’re a doctor. Examine me. I wasn’t raped— you must believe me.”

  “I said stop this.” Donovan insisted, using a sharper tone. “You’ll bring on another seizure. You must lie down and remain calm.”

  She had little choice. He was forcing her to lie on the bed even as he spoke.

  Elizabeth moaned, the pain of her injuries coming alive as she sank back on the pillows.

  Donovan cursed. He rose, disappeared behind the dressing screen but returned quickly, holding out a glass to her. The Laudanum he’d promised earlier when he believed she might be nursing a headache. She was falling apart. She knew it, and so did he.

  He was trying to help her in the only way he knew, with his strange potions and elixirs.

  “Drink this. It will calm you. Then we’ll talk. We’ll reason it all out, together.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want him to help her reason it out. She needed him to believe nothing happened to her on that ship. If she could convince him, perhaps she could believe it herself.

  She was tired, so very tired. She wanted it all to go away; the nightmares, the guilt, the horror, and the shame. Elizabeth took the glass from him. She swallowed the bitter medicine, now well acquainted with the taste of numbed forgetfulness.

  *******

  The poor girl trembled so Donovan feared she would slip into convulsions. He took the glass from her and set it on the table.

  “Why won’t you believe me?” She looked up at him with liquid anguish.

  “You must not excite yourself so. You need to calm down.”

  “I need you to be-believe nothing happened to me on that ship!”

  Her stammering belied her statement. Something was not right in this, but he couldn’t make it out. He sat on the bed. Lizzie was reclining on her back. Knowing her luscious derriere was bruised, as were her posterior limbs, he guided her to curl onto her side to lessen her discomfort. She lay facing him, looking up at him with such misery he could barely stand it.

  “I deceived you—hiccup—I-I know it was w-wicked. If you cannot f-forgive me—hiccup—I’ll understand, I’ll go away.” Her fervor was waning as the sedative did its work.

  “Let’s have no more talk of leaving.” He whispered as he moved his hand along her spine in steady manner. “I love you, regardless of what did or did not happen during your abduction.”

  He gazed out the veranda doors as he tried to puzzle it out. Why did she persist with this fractured tale? It wasn’t like her to contrive fanciful stories or behave in such an emotional manner. His Lizzie had always been a serious, sensible young lady. She cried once during the voyage that he recalled; once—after surviving unimaginable horrors that would send an octogenarian in to hysterics. If anyone deserved a good cry it was Lizzie, yet each time the tears threatened, she stubbornly refused to give in to their healing catharsis.

  Elizabeth did not cry. The fact slowly permeated his anxious mind.

  Yet, she cried easily and frequently in recent days-- that was cause for alarm.

  He expected tears and melancholy after her rescue. When the tears didn’t come, he worried over their absence but concluded her head injury must be the reason. Her cognitive abilities had been severely compromised for weeks afterward, bringing him to deduce that she might not be able to fully recall or comprehend the events of her abduction.

  As her mind healed, she could be experiencing a delayed melancholy.

  That, coupled with their estrangement and her new surroundings . . .

  “Forgive me.” Elizabeth’s opiate laden voice jerked him back to the present. He pulled his gaze from the open veranda to the girl on the bed. “Please, I can’t endure your anger . . .”

  “Honey, I am not angry with you.” The uneasiness that plagued him last night returned. Did she think he despised her for what happened? Only a cad would be so callous and unfeeling.

  Christ, this was what Gareth tried to warn him about in the garden last week. “Every time you cross paths, her heart cries out for a kind word from you, for love and acceptance—for forgiveness for what she perceives as her failing in your eyes.”

  Gareth saw what he couldn’t see. While he remained distant, Lizzie convinced herself it was because he despised her for having been abused by her captors.

  “I don’t deserve your kindness. Please, don’t hate me.” Lizzie pleaded last night.

  And Jack had sized up the situation quickly; “I’ll not look the other way when a woman I care for is being subjected to intolerable cruelty.”

  There it was, the true reason his longtime friend turned against him. The reason his uncle reproached him. They saw what he couldn’t see. His wife was staggering beneath a load of guilt and shame that should never have been her portion.

  His eyes burned. His throat closed up. Donovan turned away and held his head in his hands, unable to think or breathe as the full weight of his carelessness settled upon him.

  “Why do I feel as if I’m being punished?” He bit into his knuckles as Lizzie’s words yesterday flayed his conscience with fresh meaning. “All you ever do is snarl at me . . . You act as if you can’t stand me—as if you regret marrying me!”

  Christ, and in her state of mind, she would believe it was her own fault for it all.

  He turned back to her, determined to remove the cruel barb lodged in her heart.

  Lizzie was asleep. The Laudanum. She was out cold and would be for hours, as he’d given her a strong dose.

  ********

  Donovan paced the room aimlessly. He moved out onto the veranda as the afternoon stretched on without mercy. He stood at the balcony, his eye on turquoise seas beyond the estate.

  The soft trill of delight caught his attention. He shifted his gaze to the gardens below. A woman’s laughter was answered by a resonant baritone he knew well. He couldn’t see the couple but it was apparent Gareth was entertaining some female in the secluded gardens. He watched, hoping for a glimpse of his uncle’s mysterious companion.

  A woman darted out from behind a marble statue, giggling as her lover gave pursuit. It was Chloe Ramirez, Elizabeth’s maid. That explained her mysterious absences in the afternoon.

  Gareth caught Chloe in his arms, although she didn’t make it hard for him. Quite the opposite, she wanted to be caught. They engaged in an earthy kiss. Donovan hunched over the rail, his forearms crossed as he studied the pair below. Chloe was a servant, not just any servant, but Elizabeth’s favorite. Perhaps he’d better have a talk with Gareth. Lizzie would never forgive him if her maid were taken advantage of by his uncle and he did nothing to dissuade the man.

  Then again, a little romance could be just what his uncle needed. A woman to provide for and the promise of a family could be the making of Gareth. It might stir him a little and make him take an interest in the estate he himself garnered a living from.

  Yes, Donovan thought, Chloe could be just the tonic Gareth needed.

  How co
uld he encourage the relationship without overtly appearing to be doing so? He could raise Chloe’s status. As a paid companion instead of a maid, Chloe would be on a little more equal footing with Gareth, clearing the way for a proper courtship to blossom. Chloe’s father, the youngest son of a noble Spanish family, had been the steward here some years ago. Her mother had been the man’s slave mistress who died giving birth to Chloe. Juan Ramirez fairly doted on his child by all accounts. When the Spaniard died, Donovan’s grandfather callously sent the girl to the slave compound to live with her maternal grandmother instead of taking her in as his ward and notifying Ramirez’ relatives in Spain of the child’s existence, which would have been the honorable thing to do.

  Alas, his grandfather was remembered for his peccadilloes, not for decency and kindness.

  Turning away from the clandestine lovers, he went inside.

  The sun moved lower in the sky. Lizzie slept. Donovan brooded.

  Desperate for some task lest he go mad with waiting, he summoned the butler for a private interview. He began by informing the man of his decision regarding Chloe, and directed him to attend the necessary details. He asked Giles’ advice on a suitable replacement for a lady’s maid. Upon receiving it, he told the butler he must assume responsibility to train the new maid in the absence of a competent housekeeper. The butler struggled to hide his shock at such a bald assessment, obviously not accustomed to plain speaking from his American employer.

  Donovan paused to rein in his anger. It had been a mistake trying to pass Tabby off as a housekeeper with his wife. She’d been his grandfather’s live in mistress for twenty years. He allowed Tabby to remain after his grandfather’s death as she was old with no family or means of support. She looked after the stable lads, did laundry, kept the old cook company, and ordered supplies from Basseterre. The arrangement worked for both; an old tart and a bachelor. He assumed the woman would treat his new wife with respect. Such had not been the case.

  He shared his concerns regarding the ‘housekeeper’ with Giles, with the admonition that he expected the man to be his eyes and ears in that quarter and report any indiscretion on Tabby’s part immediately.