Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  “Thank you.” She told the butler. “Grandfather, would you like to rest for a while?” She placed her hand on his arm, anxious to establish physical contact with him and discern the situation a little more. She sensed an undercurrent of anxiety in the old man. She couldn’t discern anything beyond that. “I was just on my way upstairs for an afternoon nap. I can’t seem to make it through the day without one. Shall we both go?”

  “Yes. I’d fancy a bed that doesn’t rock and sway. I’ve yet to get my land legs again. You there, young buck.” Grandfather held out a bony hand to Donovan. “Help me up the stairs. We need to have a private word. I fear that we may need to make some drastic changes to our legal agreement.” It was a command, not a request.

  This was the grandfather Elizabeth remembered; the intimidating, autocratic earl.

  “Giles will help you upstairs, Lord Greystowe. We’ll have to postpone any talk of legal arrangements.” Donovan informed him in an equally commanding tone. “I have urgent business on my estate.” Her husband gestured to the butler to assist her grandfather and made his exit.

  “I’ll be right up to check on you.” Elizabeth told her grandfather as Giles took the old man’s arm and gestured smartly to the footmen standing near the front door to step quick and take the other arm. Elizabeth slipped into the parlor with Michael in tow. “What’s going on?”

  “All I know is that Grandfather and Donovan are both my legal guardians, Liz. Grandfather is the primary, but Donovan’s to step in and take over in the event Grandfather dies before I reach my majority.” He gazed about the room with a sour face. “He was mad as a hornet with Donovan for taking you away without allowing him a reunion. We spent two weeks in London trying to find a ship that would book us passage during hurricane season, he was that determined speak to Donovan. I think he means to leave me off here with you.”

  “No.” Elizabeth soothed, rubbing his arm with affection.

  “I’m a disappointment to him. He’s always snapping at me. Claims he’s seen stable boys with better manners. I’m not cut out to be a lord. I’m going to be an artist. Grandfather says it’s beneath the family dignity to be painting whores all day and mingling with the wrong sort.”

  “Well, Michael, Grandfather does have a point. As his heir, you have obligations to fulfill. But, things may take an unexpected turn.” She didn’t wish to point out that their dour grandparent might be dead within a year, and with Kieran alive, Michael’s expectations may have changed considerably. That was a conversation for another time.

  So much for bliss, Elizabeth thought, having cherished what might be termed a rather late honeymoon over the past week. She hoped there was no fight in the offing between her grandfather and her husband. Donovan would emerge the victor in any battle of wills, but she didn’t wish for the men to be at sixes and nines and spoil the holidays.

  She turned to her brother, unable to keep herself from giving him yet another hug. “I’ve missed you. Is it really so bad living with Grandfather?”

  Michael shrugged, and glanced about the room. “He’s tolerable. Stiff in his starches, but we always knew that. He’s not too bad of a fellow, once you get used to his brusque manner. Donovan’s been good to you? He seems a different bloke than the one we met in England.”

  “He’s tolerable.” Elizabeth mimicked his speech. “Once you get used to his solemn, grave demeanor.” Michael looked stricken. Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, he’s not Mr. O’Rourke, Michael, if that’s what you are expecting.” She grinned at her brother. “He’s American. Quite the opposite of Grandfather, completely unconventional but he’s absolutely wonderful.”

  “He hardly said hello to me.” Michael complained.

  “He has urgent business to attend to. There may have been a murder on the island. He was just going to drop me home and gather some men to investigate when we were told you arrived.” She stifled a yawn. “I really am all in. Will you forgive me if I follow grandfather’s example and take a nap before dinner?”

  Michael nodded. “Perhaps I’ll take a walk out to the stables.”

  “If you need anything ask Giles for it, he’s our butler. He’ll make sure you are comfortable. Oh, Michael. I’ve missed you so much, and I have the most wonderful news to share with both you and grandfather.”

  *******

  Dinner that evening was a somber affair. Elizabeth looked about the dining room, pleased to see the table nearly full with the addition of Michael, the earl, and Michael’s tutor, Mr. Marceau. Chloe and Uncle Gareth took their usual places at the table, completing the family circle. Donovan had not returned from his excursion into the jungle.

  Grandfather kept looking at Uncle Gareth with disdain. Elizabeth endeavored to ignore his ill manners, and strove to make everyone comfortable. “So, Master Michael, do you approve of our stables?” She asked, teasing her brother a bit with her formal address.

  “Oh, yes.” He said between chews. “A fine stock. Johnny really seems to know his horseflesh. I talked with him for quite a while out there. We’re to go riding tomorrow.”

  “Riding, with the groom?” Grandfather interjected, incredulous at the idea of his heir rubbing elbows with a servant. He made a face, and grunted his displeasure.

  Elizabeth was pleased that Michael was making friends here already, and Johnny O’Reilly was a very nice young man. “Well, I’m certain you two will have much to talk about, as you were a stable boy, too, until a few months ago.” She commented, smiling at her brother.

  “Donovan’s stallion is magnificent, an Arabian!” Michael enthused. “I’d give my eye teeth to have such a fine horse. It’s a lord’s mount, that one.”

  “Zeus. Yes. He’s very spirited.” Gareth put in. “Donovan has set him to stud with several mares. There will be five foals born in the spring. You might ask him if you could have one.”

  Lord Greystowe cleared his throat. “Such language, and with a lady present.” He glowered imperviously at Gareth. “Breeding horses is not a proper subject for the dinner table.”

  “Yes, sir.” Michael was quick to respond.

  Gareth shrugged off the old man’s rebuke with a smile and a toss of his serpent’s mane as was his way. Elizabeth was fuming. Gareth was just being kind to her brother. The old man didn’t need to make it sound as if his speech was a moral affront. Donovan talked about breeding all the time, at the dinner table and anywhere else he pleased. She hoped Donovan would not be the recipient of such open disdain.

  “The gardener is supposed to arrive tomorrow.” Chloe chimed in, changing the subject. “I have that list of herbs you wanted me to make of plants to cultivate for our recipes, my lady.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her companion. While confined to bed, she and Chloe made a list of herbs they needed based on their grandmother’s potions. “I do hope he can rescue what remains of the gardens from the jungle.”

  “Who is this young woman?” Grandfather fixed his condescending gaze upon Chloe.

  “Miss Ramirez is my companion. Chloe, I present my grandfather, James Wentworth, the ninth Earl of Greystowe.” Elizabeth responded in what she hoped was a patient voice.

  “Indeed.” The earl huffed, dabbing his lips with his napkin. “Rather odd when a married lady needs a companion?” His icy gaze moved dismissively from Chloe to rest upon Elizabeth, expecting an explanation.

  “It is isolated here,” Gareth informed the man. “The count is often busy with estate affairs, so it is a very agreeable arrangement, my lord.”

  “Mr. Marceau,” Elizabeth smiled down the table at their quiet guest, remembering that he had yet to join the conversation. “Is your room to your satisfaction?”

  “Oui, my lady.” The man appeared relieved that she had deigned to notice him.

  “How was your journey here?” She persisted, trying to bring Michael’s tutor out. If he spent six weeks confined in close quarters on ship with her irritable grandfather, she pitied him.

  Mr. Marceau swallowed his mouthful of herbed pork and then reg
aled them with the horrors of the storm that had swept them nearly a hundred miles off course; the tail end of a hurricane. So their six week passage had turned out to be closer to eight.

  Grandfather behaved himself for the rest of the meal, remaining silent and morose.

  With Elizabeth’s encouragement, the others talked and began to relax. Just as they were about to retreat to the salon, Donovan arrived. He was still wearing the clothes from his excursion, Elizabeth noted, casting a quick look in her grandfather’s direction. This wasn’t London. They did not stand on ceremony here. She waited for some rebuff to slip from the earl’s lips, but only his eyes marked his host’s rumpled attire as Donovan stood before them.

  Donovan took his place at the head of the table next to Elizabeth, having insisted from the first she be seated to his right instead of at the opposite end of the table so that they could converse easily. Elizabeth found his relaxed manners adorable. He took her hand, lifted it his lips, kissed it, and then boldly held it captive on the table for all to see.

  “My apologies for being late.” Donovan told their guests. “I see you’ve finished dessert. Miss Ramirez, would you stand in as hostess for a short time? I’m sure you and my uncle can manage to entertain our guests in the salon. I’d like to have a private word with Elizabeth.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Chloe rose, as did the men, except Grandfather. He appeared outraged by the idea he should follow a paid servant into the drawing room.

  “I’ll be along shortly.” Donovan said to the old man, noting his reluctance. “When I’m finished, you and I can retreat for that private chat you mentioned earlier, sir.”

  The old man stood up, doddering just a bit so that Michael was forced to support him at the elbow as he followed the others out of the room. With a nod from Elizabeth, the footman was quick to serve the master. Donovan inhaled several gulps of meat and potatoes as if he were starving, drank his wine in one tug, and then gave her a somber look.

  “Was I correct? Or have I made a fool of you, my lord?”

  He nodded, wiped his mouth with the napkin and set it aside. “We found their remains, with leg shackles still on them. I hung Winslow tonight.” He paused, and she sensed the regret in him as he grasped the stem of his refilled goblet in his fist. She held her breath, hoping it did not break in his hand. He lifted it to his lips, took another generous sip, and continued.

  “I hired that ape last year when my overseer dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of the cane pressing. I was desperate. I knew Winslow had a cruel streak, but I had no choice, I needed him back then. Alas, I’m in need of a new overseer, with the cane harvest less than a fortnight away. Come here.” Donovan tugged at her hand until she had to stand beside him. He pulled her onto his lap. “How are you getting on with your grandfather?”

  “He’s rude to Gareth, Chloe, Mr. Marceau, and anyone who isn’t a titled lord or married to one. It’s—oh--you’ve no idea how much I despise that kind of condescension and cruelty. People should not be treated badly for the mere circumstances of their birth. It’s hardly something one can control.”

  Donovan was amused. “You have the beginnings of an enlightened mind, my dear.”

  *******

  Donovan sipped his brandy and listened to the old man natter on about inconsequential things for an eternity. The Earl was not being direct, Donovan thought with annoyance, noting the movement of the clock. He should be upstairs by now, making love to his wife.

  When he ignored the earl’s comments about this strange new practice of allowing the help to dine with their betters, Donovan assumed he meant Chloe and Michael’s tutor, the old man changed direction. He brought up his concerns for Michael’s future. Fletcher had been observed following the boy on several occasions in London. He feared the man was scheming to extract money from the lad, and decreed Michael must not go out alone. He must always be accompanied by a footman and Mr. Marceau. As a result, the boy voiced a deep resentment of his strictures and did his best to elude his escorts.

  Wentworth then complained of Michael being a handful, and an embarrassment socially due to his lack of refinement and his father’s influence.

  Donovan reminded him that his grandchildren had been given an uncommon freedom in their adolescent years in exile, so it was natural for Michael to resent the implementation of rules when up until this time there had been few due to Fletcher’s neglect. He experienced similar difficulties with Elizabeth, but he did not share them with the earl.

  “My valet has reported, via servant’s gossip, that Elizabeth was ill recently. Is this true?”

  “It is. I must insist that you and Michael are not too demanding during your stay.”

  “Is she breeding already?”

  “No.” Donovan shifted his chair, debating the wisdom of telling the man what had happened to Elizabeth. Confiding in the earl might be best. It would save Elizabeth the humiliation of explaining if she had a confused episode or a seizure while the earl was here. If the old man knew of her frailty, he’d not be asking her impertinent questions and he’d be mindful not to weary her. Donovan poured them another drink and gave the man a brief, sanitized account of Elizabeth’s abduction by Fletcher’s cronies, and her resulting head injury.

  The earl did not speak. His face had become grey as his hand pressed over his chest.

  “Are you well, sir?” Donovan asked, setting down his glass and rising to go to the man.

  “I believe so.” The earl said, holding up a hand to dissuade him. “Why didn’t you bring her to my home to recover instead of making the treacherous journey across the sea?”

  “She was a month in bed. She slept almost continuously the first two weeks. It hardly mattered where the bed was, sir.” Donovan countered easily. “As a physician I must point out that a long coach ride to your estate, a full day’s journey in the best of conditions, with her injuries, would not have been wise. My vessel was already equipped for luxury accommodations for our voyage. It was no hardship for her, I assure you.”

  “Fletcher has had his eyes on my fortune from the first.” The earl confided. “I’m convinced it is the reason behind my elder grandson’s disappearance, but nothing could ever be proved.”

  Donovan pinched his brow. He’d forgotten about O’Flaherty. Judging by the earl’s grey cast, it would have to wait until the old man was rested from the long voyage he’d endured under less than sterling conditions.

  “He was Angela’s first born.” The earl went on to explain the circumstances of Kieran’s disappearance when Donovan remained silent. “I tried to get my daughter to leave Fletcher many times over the years. I threatened to take the children away, although I never had the heart to do it. I told her I’d never see her again and did not see her for an entire year, the last year of her life.” Again, the man’s hand flew to his chest. “Something I’ll regret for the rest of my days.”

  This time, Donovan did go to his side. He took the earl’s wrist. His pulse was racing. “Take deep breaths, relax.” He pulled the footstool over and lifted the man’s legs to rest upon it. “Have you had a doctor examine you?”

  “Yes, several. They all say the same thing, I’m old.” He waved Donovan’s hand away. “Surely, you’ll not deny an old man the chance to be acquainted with his granddaughter before he cocks up his toes?”

  “You are welcome in my home provided you keep in mind that your granddaughter’s health is fragile and she must not be distressed by demanding guests.”

  The earl nodded. His eyes glazed with moisture. “You are a godsend, young man. You saved my family from ruination. If not for you, my grandchildren would be starving and I would die without finding them and reclaiming them. You may call me James, son.”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Lizzie sat before her dressing mirror. Her maid was brushing out her long, luscious hair.

  Donovan was watching. It was a habit he’d fallen into, watching his wife each morning.

  He no longer felt the need to rush
away early in the morning to escape the swollen desire he always awoke with. He no longer needed to run from his lust or his bride. Now, his main goal was trying to entice her away from her family in order to enjoy a few precious moments alone.

  He couldn’t get enough of his wife. Two weeks had passed since their first coupling, and they’d managed a running tally of two to three times a day. He smiled. Lizzie was very accommodating when it came to soothing his desire. More than accommodating, she seemed to have acquired a taste for his flesh as well. Lizzie met him in the stables just yesterday when he sent her a note. She came to him quickly, and then came for him, twice, in the tack room. Once against the wall, and once bent over a saddle with him taking her from behind.

  “What are you grinning so deviously about this morning?” Lizzie asked.

  Her maid had left the room. “I was remembering yesterday, in the tack room.”

  Lizzie blushed and looked away. It made him feel wicked. And horny. His cock surged to life in response to her maidenly blushes and her scanty attire. She was wearing only silk stockings, garters, and a silk dressing robe.

  She busied herself by arranging the glass bottles of feminine potions in front of the mirror. “We shouldn’t have done it there. What if one the stable boys came in to the tack room?” She looked up at his reflection in the mirror. “Little Gavin, even my brother, Michael? We should not be doing it outside our chambers, don’t you think?”

  Oh, fuck and damn. He was sick of her family. The same day he booted the older brother off the island, and had hopes of having her to himself for a much deserved honeymoon, the younger brother showed up with the cantankerous old earl in tow. He wanted Lizzie to himself. He wanted to make love to her in the garden or the billiard room, right on the billiard table if the mood took him. And he wanted her at this moment.

  “As a newly married couple,” Donovan began, careful to temper his words to hide his resentment. “We should not be inundated by family and forced to restrain our affections in our own home. If it upsets someone when they enter a room without knocking first, shame on them, not me. There’s a reason people don’t visit newlyweds for months after their nuptials, not until the couple extends a proper invite that they are receiving visitors. At least, that is how it is done in proper Charleston society.” He couldn’t help adding the last, having heard more than he cared to about proper society with the earl in residence. Damn. He was ranting. And she was frowning.