“America?” Where had that notion come from? “Have you been reading about that wild place again? Feeling sympathy for the fledgling nation of rebels?”
She folded her hands over her stomach. “There is something about that place that draws me to it.”
“Perhaps the newness. After living here over the centuries, our bloodline has become tainted with the dark and dreary, I fear.”
“No. Why should you say such a thing? We are an honorable family. Anyone would be happy to share our name.”
Yes, he supposed his sister was right. His family had unseated kings—killed Vikings, slew druids in order to preserve the Pope’s hold on Christendom in the ages gone by. To some, it read as romantically as a Gothic novel. But that history clung to him like a disease he could never cure. Why had he been born the heir to the earldom? If only he were a second son who could live for self-indulgence.
He stood and tugged her into an embrace. “Tonight is not the night to miss me so. Any other day of the year and I would welcome your company, sweet sister. You understand, don’t you?”
“I want to understand why you hold onto the past as if it will ever resolve itself, but alas, I cannot make sense of it.”
He gazed down at her, grateful for her honesty. “Pray you never know.”
She shivered under his touch, and he knew his words had struck her somewhere deep inside. “Every day is like a dark December night to me.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I feel your pain, James. I pray for you, and I even weep for you upon occasion. But most of all, I silently curse the day you met Lady Raven—for she has stolen you from me and Edward. That, no matter her fate, I can never forgive.”
Her wide, blue eyes held his gaze. How could he fault her for loving him, for wanting to protect the man that had acted as her father for so long? Yet, whenever she spoke ill of his ladylove, fury gripped his heart. But he’d never tell her that. Never!
“You must put me out of your mind and find something constructive to do. Plan a trip to London. Or write to your friends, even our aunt who wishes to see you very much.”
“Edward has gone to visit Miss Lucy Jenkins and her parents.”
“Very well. Why don’t you ask that maid—Beatrice—to play faro with you in your bedchamber. As I recall, you’re very fond of that girl.”
“I am, and she is an accomplished card player.”
James gave her a rare smile. “Go then,” he encouraged her. “Leave me to stew in my misery for the night.”
She sighed in resignation and walked to the door. Before she disappeared, he called out to her. “Val?”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“I must ask you not to return until the morning.” Though he spoke gently, it was a firm warning, and she knew it.
“As you wish, James.”
Chapter Three
Once again standing on the balcony, James stared off into the distance, straining to hear the rumble of the waves hitting the shore. During the day, one could see the ocean from the upper story of the manor. It sat gray and boundless on the horizon, a constant reminder of his past and present. Make no mistake, he loved the water. It had sustained his family for centuries, but that unbreakable bond also held him prisoner in the moors. No lord of Darkmoor could shake those chains and go to London for very long.
The enjoyments of that city, all the flesh and drink one could ever ask for, was not enticement enough to keep him away from what he truly loved. Had no choice but to love. He drank greedily from his glass, now filled with whiskey. How he welcomed the oblivion, the unknown place his drunkenness would carry him once he passed out.
The cool air carried him now to a wonderful place full of light and music. A ball room at a country estate in Hertfordshire, where all the ton had gathered to celebrate the engagement of the duke’s daughter. That mattered not to James, for his greatest prize, his heart’s desire was to be there, in his arms and dancing with him, their gazes locked in a passionate stare.
He could smell her, a spicy scent tempered by roses. Her soft curves pressed against his body as he waltzed with her, holding her tight, caring little for what anyone thought. Raven belonged to him. Though he had not bedded her yet, he had claimed her in every other way. With every look and word he spoke, with every touch of his fingers, every smile, every breath—few did not know of their commitment. And if they didn’t, he would be sure to enlighten them quickly, for the Earl of Darkmoor was a jealous man, one who would go to any extreme to protect those he loved.
The music had stopped, and couples were leaving the dance floor, but he lingered with Raven, and she dared to touch his face with her gloved fingers. “What thought just flashed through your mind, James?” she asked quietly.
“Why?” He looked down at her, her dark eyes the color of agate.
“Your brow furrowed, and I know whenever that happens, something weighs upon your conscious. Let me share that burden.”
He led her to the perimeter of the room, wanting to usher her outside and into the duke’s gardens where they might be alone. He had grown tired of stealing kisses in the shadows. He wanted to taste her, to see her delicate flesh under the moonlight. He surveyed the people around them. He was well thought of among his peers, and so was his lady. But her reputation must still be protected.
“Come,” he said. “I will take you back to your mother.”
“Wait,” she pleaded, resisting his pull forward. “What troubles you?”
“Do you really wish to know, madam?”
“Yes.”
He leaned closer and whispered near her ear. “My need to have you will not be sated until our wedding night.”
She flushed becomingly, fully aware of what her nearness did to him. And though he had begged to consummate their relationship, not caring about whether she came to their marriage bed a maiden or not, she wanted to wait until the parson’s noose was firmly about his neck. James did not blame her; what else did a woman have to bargain with but her innocence and beauty?
He smiled and lifted her delicate hand so they could both see it. “What is upon your finger, Raven?”
She stared at the band of gold embellished with six diamonds and a sapphire. It dazzled under the light of the crystal chandeliers. “Your ring.”
“My solemn oath of love and fidelity. But I am still a man, in need of something…”
“Raven!”
The sound of her mother’s voice ended their intimate conversation instantly…
Jolted back to the present, James cursed the memory and stormed back inside, refilling his glass. Whenever he thought about her, he came so close to reliving their happiest moments—but it always fell short of one thing. “Damn this life!”
The mantle clock struck eleven then, and he sighed exaggeratedly, unsure why he hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep yet. The amount of spirits he had consumed, well, it could fell a horse, much less a man of his stature. He shrugged and refilled his glass, then walked to a chair situated by the French doors. He adjusted the wingback so he could stare outside. The distant sound of thunder broke the silence and a wind chilled him to the bone.
“If only I could call upon the storms to rage!” He stared endlessly outside, still shivering, still wondering where his Raven had gotten to. A watery grave or into the arms of another man mattered not, for he perceived both as betrayal.
Then, unable to take more of the cruel wind, he stood and closed the doors. A storm seemed to be coming in after all. Suddenly exhausted, he fell into the chair, finished the whiskey in his glass, set it on the floor, and wilted back against the thick leather padding, happy to surrender to sleep.
Some time later, a rapping on the glass of the French doors shook him. At first, the noise seemed far away, perhaps not real, and he grumbled, ignoring it.
But the rapping noise intensified—forcing his eyes open. He tried to clear his foggy mind, to remember where he was exactly. There were no trees tall enough on his property to scrape against the glass. No
thing, in fact, to cause that irritating noise.
“Be gone!” he demanded, unwilling to stay awake. Once again, his eyes closed in protest.
The persistent tapping would drive him mad!
“What do you want?” He shot up from his seat, fury and confusion carrying him to stand before the closed doors.
What he saw, or what he thought he saw, caused him to shake violently, to shrink back like a coward. Jesus Christ! The pale face of a woman with dark eyes stared at him through the frosted glass. When had it snowed? He rubbed his dry, stinging eyes, hoping he was dreaming, that the specter’s face was illusion, not reality.
But the face had not disappeared. In fact, her form became clearer, and her fingers rapped desperately on the glass. “Let me in, James,” she called in a familiar voice—the feminine tone more potent than anything he had ever heard.
Could it be…impossible.
“Please,” she entreated, “open the door to me, before I freeze to death.”
It was then he was sure he had gone to Hades, finally having drunk himself to death, finally reunited with her. Without hesitation, he threw the doors open and beheld the beautiful face he had never forgotten.
Chapter Four
“Raven…” The name spilled from his lips as a husky whisper, and she slipped past him and rushed to the warmth of the hearth. His hard gaze followed her, an array of emotions colliding inside him—love and hatred, joy and sorrow, and plain anger. How could she show up at his estate in the middle of the night and act as if she had just seen him yesterday or last week? As if she had never disappeared without a word. No warning. No reason given. In his deepest and darkest thoughts, he had suspected she was dead. And whenever he tried to write to her father, the man refused to answer. James had been cruelly and entirely cut off.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, still frozen in place by the open doors.
She slowly pulled off her fur-trimmed cloak and gloves, followed by the matching hat. She sucked in a deep breath, then looked at him, emotions flashing across her flawless features. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He willed his legs to move, to step closer to the imaginary beauty waiting in front of him. Nothing in existence, not even God himself, could convince him she was flesh and blood. Her sad smile did nothing to help ease his pain. Five long years had crawled by, leaving him half the man he had been. Leaving him bitter and despondent, a near worthless brother, and a rigid lord of the moors.
“Tell me.”
She shivered, and James wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, to comfort himself by holding her close and never letting go. As he scrutinized her, wondering what could have kept her away so long, what had made her never write to him or find a way to get word to him… Nothing made sense. There was no excuse good enough. But words of forgiveness were already lodged in his throat. She need only ask, just once, and he’d…
“The morning after our engagement party…”
“Yes?”
“Father. He never supported us, never wanted us to marry, James.”
“I know it all too well,” he admitted. Though the insufferable man had never given good reason for his objections to their betrothal. “What did he do, Raven?”
She met his gaze. “Forced me onto a ship bound for Italy, then Greece. He kept me there against my will, James. I swear it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
He contemplated her explanation. Greece was a long way off, and as an underage girl, Raven was completely dependent upon and at her father’s mercy. “And why have you returned to me now?”
“Need you ask?” She seemed to float toward him, ethereal and unreal—as ghost-like as the spirits that haunted the moors in winter.
He wanted her to touch him, but when she reached for him, he avoided her fingertips by stepping away. Pride prevented him from accepting her affection just yet. His heart yearned for that intimacy, to crush the loneliness that had settled in his bones. Just one kiss would quell any doubts.
“Have I changed so much that you would deny my touch?”
He could not suppress his laughter. “Changed?” He shook his head. The girl he had wanted all those years ago had blossomed into a fully-fledged woman. Her hair had grown darker, her skin smooth and pale, her eyes as mysterious as a night sky, and her body as lush as a sculpted, Greek goddess. If he could, if he weren’t the nobleman his parents had raised him to be, instead of providing a verbal answer, he’d strip her down and lead her to his bed and show her how he felt.
“James.” This time her fingers slid up his arm, leaving a burning trail in their wake. “I am only returned because my father is deathly ill. As soon as I landed at the harbor, I hired a coach to bring me here. I care not about my father’s condition, he has been nothing but controlling and cruel to me, depriving me of any happiness all this time. Please, believe me.”
What hell had he slipped into? He looked around, skeptical about the reality of what he was experiencing. He had mixed wine with whiskey, a bad choice for any man. Hallucination was not an uncommon effect of drunkenness. And she, his dark-winged bird, had haunted his life for so long. That she should appear to him now, well, it did not surprise him. How many lonely nights had he prayed and begged for the power to conjure her? To behold her a last time before her memory forever slipped from his mind.
“You are not real,” he said. “You are but a figment of my imagination, a symptom of my underlying sadness. Nothing more.”
“James,” she pleaded. “You are but weak and weary—sit with me and rest. Once you have recovered from the initial shock, you will see I am as real as this house or that burning fire. I am the woman you love.”
She was as beguiling as ever—perhaps more so because he recognized her for what she was, a phantom, a nightmare come to life, a fantasy—or if he worded it more honestly, a lie.
“Be gone!” he said.
But she did not move from her place beside him, only caressed his cheek. Her fingers were warm, filled with light and life. Perhaps he was the dead one, the embers of passion that had burned within him finally gone out.
“The face of an angel,” he muttered. “But the heart of the devil.”
She covered her mouth in shock, her delicate gasp music to his ears. “Is this how you think of me?”
“Shall I give you a real taste of what I think, Raven?”
“I fought for my freedom,” she insisted. “For the right to return home. And twice I made it to Athens, only to be stopped by the authorities, humiliated, and forcibly returned to the house my father had rented to keep me prisoner in.”
He swallowed hard, nodding with understanding. “I, too, have been held prisoner.”
With a sigh, she moved to one of the wingback chairs and sat down. “I am exhausted, James.” She folded her hands on her lap, still watching him. “There was a fierce storm as we crossed the Mediterranean Sea. I thought…”
“That you would meet a watery end?” he finished for her.
“Yes.”
“Twould have been a better fate than landing at my gloomy doorstep.”
“James!” She sat forward. “Have you really changed so much? Given up on life? On me? Did I not promise to always love you? To marry you?”
“A promise made in the heat of the moment. What girl your age had any right to promise herself to a man such as I? You were an innocent, beautiful and wild. And me… I wanted to possess you at any cost.”
“I willingly pledged myself to you. You needn’t have paid anything for me, James. Your smile stole my heart, and your hands… Do you remember our first dance, our first kiss?”
Damn her for forcing him to relive those moments in front of her. Twas humiliating enough to do it alone in the dark of night. “I remember.” He would not surrender to her pretty face and mesmerizing voice so easily.
“We performed the waltz—despite the disapproval of every chaperone and matron at the ball.”
“Yes.”
“And you hel
d me much too close, James.”
“I did.”
“And you steered us away from the dance floor and out the balcony doors.”
Into the perfect moonlit night. Yes, he remembered it even if he fought not to. Everything had been perfect that night. The gardens were the best place to take her for privacy, to explore her mind and body. It had taken but one look and smile to convince him she was the woman he wanted. “You were as determined as I,” he reminded her.
“Yes, I will not deny it.”
“So enchanting in your white gown embellished with embroidered pink roses and tiny crystals.”
“And my pearls.” She touched her delicate throat, as if she still wore the necklace. “My mother’s pearls broke when you kissed me. We tried to recover all of them.”
He gritted his teeth, the memory hot in his mind. Both of them crawling about on their hands and knees searching for those precious pearls. The heirloom had been restored a week later after he’d paid a jeweler to see it done. James was drawn to her light laughter and heat. There was something about her, deeper than her charm and natural beauty, that commanded the attention of a ballroom or that of every person sitting down to dine. Even now, alone with her, that attraction, that undeniable invisible hand pulled him closer to her.
“Do you still have the necklace?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve always kept it close, for it was the one thing I had to remind me of you.”
“What about your engagement ring?”
She lowered her chin. “Father tried to take it from me.”
James had presented her with an heirloom from his side of the family, a sapphire and diamond ring his mother had loved.
Raven reached beneath the neckline of her gown and pulled out the end of a ribbon tied about her throat. The ring was secured on the ribbon. “I had to keep it hidden.”
James closed his eyes, guilt stabbing at his heart. What if she was telling the truth? He gazed at her again in earnest, wondering how much she had suffered for loving him against her father’s wishes. “What did they do to you?”
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 72
