Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  Lizzie rose, giving him a tormenting view of one full breast before quickly adjusting her dressing robe. She came to him and placed her hand on his chest in a soothing mien. “I know you dislike having people about. You needn’t be jealous, dearest. I’m always happy to escape with you. When you sent me that note summoning me to the stables yesterday, I was relieved.” The hand on his chest was no longer soothing. It was slapping him in her agitation. “I love Michael, I do, but he’s always talking of some incident I cannot recall, and then he niggles me to death because I cannot remember it. And then Grandfather looks down his nose at--”

  Donovan took her face in his hands. He kissed her and the thumping hand on his chest stilled. He undid the fastening of her robe. The fabric opened, displaying her luscious body.

  “You scoundrel.” She chastened, pulling back. “How long has it been, an hour?”

  “Two.” He laughed, infinitely pleased as he glanced down at those pert breasts. She was divine. Part of him noted that she could do to add a little more flesh to her bones. He’d like his wife to be a little rounder, a little more pampered. “It won’t take long.” He whispered, desperate to be inside her as his hands slipped beneath her robe to outline her shapely hips.

  “What if I want it to take a long time?” She asked saucily, placing her hands on her hips. “Are you in such a hurry, my lord?”

  “No, Ma’am.” He said in an exaggerated Charleston drawl. Donovan pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, this time from the depths of his soul. His hands skimmed over her hips beneath her robe, and then upward as he lifted her at the waist. “Put your legs around me.”

  She did so, wrapping her long legs about his hips and her arms about his neck. Donovan’s hands moved to cup her round bottom as he carried Elizabeth to the dressing table. He set her on it and stood between her open thighs. She looked uncertain. Before she could protest, he kissed her again, soft, subtle nibbles against her lips, distracting her until he could bring her to his level of desire. His fingers found that soft, moist cleft between her thighs and he plied his own magic, bringing her to arousal with knowing strokes.

  “You’re wicked.” She whispered against his lips with obvious pleasure at the assertion.

  Donovan looked down and feared he was about to become undone as he watched her arch against his fingers, her legs spread for him as she leaned back on the table and allowed him full access to her delicate lotus petals. He glanced in the mirror behind her. He looked ravenous, dangerous. No wonder she was afraid of him when he was aroused in their earlier days.

  He returned his gaze to his lovely bride, convinced all his future happiness lay within this delightful woman. He leaned in to kiss her, devouring her mouth with his tongue. She started to purr, soft, demure little moans, letting him know she was starting to ascend the planes of bliss.

  “Release me.” He directed hoarsely. Elizabeth unfastened the placket of his breeches. As he sprang free, she palmed his swollen cock without reluctance--another hurdle breached in recent days as she explored his body with innocent curiosity during their lovemaking. “Lizzie, my sweet Lizzie.”

  She tugged him, leading his rigid sword toward her soft, silken sheath. As she gazed into his eyes her look was so sensual he feared he was about to end this erotic interlude prematurely. He closed his eyes, gathered his self control, and plunged inside her.

  Lizzie gasped at the intrusion. He guided her thighs about his hips, tilted her back and plunged deeper into her hot silken core. He braced one hand on the wall as he pushed them closer and closer toward the gates of paradise. She arched up, boldly meeting each thrust, joining him as her delicate sighs transformed into desperate moans of sweet, primal pleasure. She tightened around his granite spear, pulsing and squeezing him as she achieved release, assuring that his completion followed close on the heels of her own.

  Donovan gave one final deep thrust as his world exploded into pure exhilaration and triumph. He heard a dense crack beneath them as if from a great distance and Lizzie clutched at him. The table she was perched on dipped. He gazed down. A front leg had given way, bending at an odd angle toward the wall. The table was cockeyed, and Lizzie was in danger of sliding off.

  He swore aloud, more from the bereft feeling his hand experienced upon leaving the lush, round moon of his wife’s bum rather than the destruction of furniture. Lizzie laughed against his neck. Her legs dropped from around his torso, but she hugged his thighs with her own. Her arms were still about his neck. She eased her head back from his shoulder and gazed up at him. Her eyes had that far away, dreamy look that brought pride and pleasure deep within him. He was still inside of her, sated, reluctant to pull out of her welcoming folds. They were content to remain joined, clinging to each other and steadying their breathing.

  The gasp to their left caught them off guard. Alice, Lizzie’s maid, stood inside the doorway, a gown draped over her arm and her mouth hanging nearly to her knees. “Mum--oh--sir--I--I--pressed yer gown like ye asked---I--I--” She lifted the garment draped arm as if to add proof to her claim. Her face resembled a volcano about to erupt. She hurried the nearest chair, draped her mistress’s freshly pressed gown over it and fled the room.

  Donovan chuckled and pulled out of Lizzie. Damn, he hadn’t had this much fun flummoxing servants since he was nineteen and lived with his uncle in France. It was a game among the younger nobles at the French court, getting drunk and then tupping the maid, or a pair of them in the palace. And getting caught tupping one was even more the rage among his jaded companions. As a green lad from the colonies, he’d had to work hard to keep up. He grimaced as he tucked himself inside his breeches. “Will she recover or will you need a new maid by lunch?”

  Lizzie giggled. Her sweet face twisted into a delightful smile. “I’m certain she knows we do this as she changes the sheets and draws my bath each morning. Still, I am rather fond of her.”

  He nodded, pleased by the knowledge that he could still shock a maid now and then, even as he neared thirty. “I’ll give her a raise. Is there anything I might do for you, Ma’am?”

  Lizzie’s hand moved from his neck to smooth a stray wisp of hair from his brow. She had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Yes. Tonight, I’d like you to wear the silk mask to bed.”

  Donovan grinned. She was becoming quite the accomplished seductress.

  *******

  Elizabeth waited until Donovan left for the stables before checking on Kieran. Giles, her butler, was proving to be worth his weight in gold. He’d sent the letters to her brother in Basseterre and brought Kieran’s replies to her every day for the past week without anyone knowing, including her spouse. Giles would pocket the letters from him and deliver them to Elizabeth when she was alone. Kieran wrote long letters to her, mostly answers to her questions about magic and their gifts, giving her instruction on some aspect of their heritage.

  Today, the supply wagon was scheduled to arrive with fresh produce from Basseterre. She decided it was best if Kieran arrived on the supply wagon while Donovan was distracted to prevent any unpleasantness between the two men before she was able to present Kieran to Grandfather. Donovan was easy to distract these days. She’d sent Alice to the kitchens to inform Giles that his lordship would be occupied for the next twenty to thirty minutes. During that time, Giles was to escort her brother into her private parlor, the library.

  Kieran rose when Elizabeth entered the room. She embraced him warmly.

  “Are you ready?” She asked, gazing up at him with excitement.

  “No.” He made a face. “I doubt I’ll ever be ready to meet The Earl of Greystowe.”

  “Donovan is out of the house.” She told him, rubbing his forearm in comfort. “I wanted to do this with him away for as you well know he tends to over-react where I’m concerned.”

  “He is your spouse and the owner of this island estate.” Kieran released an exasperated sigh at her description. “We’ve neither of us little in the physical realm to trump that high card.”

>   “We have Grandfather.” She informed him. “No one denies Lord Greystowe anything. Earl trumps count every time.”

  Kieran tossed his coppery head. “You’re quite the strategist. How did that come about?”

  “Growing up with a military man, and a grandmother who behaved as if we were at war with him. Donovan will accept this after it’s finished. I will not have him interfering because he thinks I’m too fragile to deal with anything more strenuous than pouring tea.” She paced before the mantle as she spoke and wiped her moistening palms on her skirts. “We should have a couple hours before his return. By the way, he never did tell me why he sent you away.”

  Kieran turned from her and studied a small shepherdess figurine on the mantel. He picked it up and turned it about in his hand, as if he’d never beheld anything so dainty before. He was nervous, too. She could sense the tension in him. He set the piece back where it belonged, but did not face her as he rested his elbows on the mantel and spoke to the mantel wall. “It was over our astral journey. He said you looked terribly frightened and he feared your eyes were going to roll back in your head any moment and you would have another seizure.”

  “Bollocks!” Elizabeth spat the word as she went to stand by his side. She moved the shepherdess so it was situated in front of the gilded music box instead of beside it. That was rich. Donovan had been making her eyes roll back a couple of times a day, for a different reason.

  “Another habit learned from our infamous stepfather?” Kieran’s amusement at her unladylike expletive only made Elizabeth feel more wretched.

  “Yes.” She breathed, angry with herself. “It seems a hard knock on the head gives one difficulties controlling one’s speech, particularly when vexed. Well, let’s get on with this, shall we? Before my beloved dragon returns from inspecting the cane fields.”

  Elizabeth summoned Grandfather and Michael to the library. She sat on the chaise, her hands clasped tightly on her lap, her belly roiling with serpents. Part of her wished she hadn’t decided to do this behind Donovan’s back, but if she waited until he deemed it the proper time she’d be in her dotage before her brothers were introduced and Kieran was restored to the family.

  Kieran was hidden behind an open bookcase. He could hear them and peer at them from between the shelves. Grandfather was sitting in the chair near the marble fireplace, facing her chaise. His autocratic nature was difficult to deal with in the best of times, and at this moment she hadn’t the patience to deal with Grandfather’s arrogance.

  Michael sat beside Elizabeth on the chaise. He was his usual cheerful self, and his presence was a boon. He was actually smirking, quite pleased with himself over something.

  Now that the moment was upon her, Elizabeth faltered. She clasped and re-clasped her hands, smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hair, and released heavy breaths as she mulled over the proper opening for such an important announcement.

  “So then,” Michael put his hand over her fidgeting ones to calm them. “Your butler said you had something to tell us, in private. Out with it, when am I going to become an uncle?”

  Elizabeth turned to gape her brother, completely aghast by his statement. Of all the things to conclude from a simple summons?

  “Michael.” Grandfather hissed. “We do not speak of delicate matters with the ladies.”

  “Tosh!” Michael responded, squeezing her hand and grinning. “This is my sister.”

  “I’m not breeding.” Elizabeth stammered, certain her face was as pink as the hibiscus flowers Donovan had given her yesterday.

  “Why else would you be summoning us to your private parlor for a family chat?” Michael countered, appearing crestfallen by her news.

  “Manners, young man.” Grandfather stomped his cane on the floor. “You do not speak over a lady in her own drawing room. Do go on, my Dear Elizabeth.”

  My Dear Elizabeth? Touched by this rare display of tenderness, Elizabeth spoke the words that had previously become tangled in her throat.

  “I called you here because I have recently met someone who was lost to this family for many years, and through my marriage to Donovan, he has been reclaimed. Kieran, our elder brother,” She took Michael’s hand. “And your eldest grandson,” She looked to Grandfather, “Is still alive. He lives here, in the port city of Basseterre. Kieran?” She glanced at her brother’s outline behind the books. “Come. Join us.”

  “I say--“ Grandfather began, and then seemed to choke on his words. He coughed, and reached up with white, gnarled fingers to loosen his cravat. “This is--this is highly irregular.”

  Kieran slowly walked round the shelving with his hands behind his back. He stood before them, silent, uncertain. He was very handsome in his best linen shirt tied at the neck with a gentleman’s cravat. Elizabeth suggested the cravat, and had lent him one of Donovan’s as he did not own one. He wore newly purchased buff colored breeches and a slate blue linen vest which complimented his tousled auburn hair and deep turquoise blue eyes.

  Elizabeth rose and quickly went to him. She snaked her arm through his elbow, and stood before their imposing elder. “Kieran and I met two weeks ago. Donovan met Kieran some time before that. I was waiting for the proper time to intro-“

  “Proper?” Grandfather spat the word as if it were phlegm. “Don’t speak to me of proper, young lady. Your husband should be presenting this news to me--not some thin slip of a girl barely out of short dresses--there are formalities to be adhered to--his identity verified--”

  Good Lord! She was presenting him with his lost grandson and he would go on about etiquette and formalities and legal nonesuch?

  “Enough.” She was determined not to let James Wentworth’s arrogance and staunch adherence to formality ruin this reunion. Her mother always quoted an endless litany of rules to her about etiquette and societal expectations. Now she knew where it all came from. Elizabeth was at once thankful for Donovan’s relaxed social expectations as an American. “Donovan has verified everything Kieran has told us, Grandfather, so do not presume for a moment to be too high in the instep to welcome a member of our family back into the fold.”

  Kieran stiffened beside her. Grandfather did likewise. The old man was furiously chewing his upper lip, as if he were trying very hard not to say that no one addressed him thus.

  There was a rustling to their left as they stood arm in arm. Michael rose and came to stand before them. Sweet Michael, he looked as if he might cry. His big, soulful blue eyes, so much like mama’s, were glazed with moisture. “Liz,” he croaked. “Please, don’t take offense. You’re a diamond as sisters go, but I’ve always longed for a brother.”

  Even now, Michael could joke, with tears brimming in his eyes.

  “You are a brat.” She teased, thankful for Michael’s innate ability to find the humor in any situation. “Of all the times I saved your bum!”

  “Yes, but Liz, you were just a girl. Someone should have been saving yours.”

  Elizabeth opened her free arm to her little brother. Michael came and wrapped his arm about her. “She’s a fright when she gets mad.” He told Kieran, grinning. “When I was ten, the neighbor boys were bullying me. I came home once with a bloodied nose, and didn’t my sister go marching out the back kitchen door to the curb, grabs the biggest bully by the collar, and says ‘leave my brother alone or I’ll kill you.’ Danny and his chums never bothered me again. They were that scared of her, sir.”

  “I doubt it was fear that kept him from bothering you, Michael.” Elizabeth mused, surprised by the forgotten memory surfacing. “After that, he professed to be in love with me.”

  Kieran was laughing and smiling. He released Elizabeth and offered his hand to Michael. “Hello Michael, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  As the brothers shook hands Elizabeth went to kneel at her grandfather’s side. His face was very grey. “Grandfather, are you well? Should I ring for a footman?”

  “No, dear child. This is most irregular, yet better than I could have ever hoped.”
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  After everyone sat down, Kieran related to them how he had been sold on the docks by his stepfather and told his mother had died the night before. Kieran and Michael were very different. Kieran was serious and thoughtful where Michael was cheerful and lighthearted. Kieran answered questions about his life in the Indies, about Mr. Barnaby purchasing his indenture and treating him as a son. He was to inherit the apothecary shop, he told them with pride.

  “And of what consequence is that to me?” Grandfather came alive with indignation. “You have no need to boast of being the sole proprietor of an apothecary shop, young man.”

  Kieran was startled by Grandfather’s outburst. He looked at Elizabeth with uncertainty. She rolled her eyes heavenward. She did warn her brother that their grandfather held a rather exalted view of his station and of the Aristocracy.

  As the trio remained silent before his haughty outburst, the earl went on to explain. “You’ll be heir to my title and to my estate in England very shortly. In fact, if his lordship has already taken pains to verify your identity, I’ll have the count’s solicitor draw up papers immediately to make it official. There will be no more working as bondsman for you. ”

  No one said a word. Elizabeth looked to Michael, her heart going out to him. He was being told with no delicacy or concern for his feelings that he was being replaced as heir.

  As usual, Michael put on a bold front. “The eldest always inherits the title. It’s the English way. Now I can go to France and study art.”

  “No, you won’t.” Kieran put in. “Most of Europe is at war with France, or will be soon.”