by Rachel Blake
He kissed the top of her head. “It is nothing, Ruby. I just needed to kiss those magical lips of yours, Ruby.” She held him tightly and they drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
Jane had difficulty not spilling the tea as she brought the cup to her lips with trembling fingers. She was still too weak to sit for long, and the pain in her side grew worse when she moved too much.
The woman who’d been introduced as Ellie stood nearby with a linen napkin. Her eyes were cloudy and it was obvious that her sight was failing, but she was most attentive and Jane appreciated the kindness. It was in sharp contrast to the greeting she’d received from Dr. Van Ostrand’s son. While they had not met formally because he had stormed out as if the devil were at his back, Ellie had discretely informed her that Master Angel was the doctor’s only child and that he’d recently returned from Spain where he’d fought in the Peninsular War. Jane could not explain why it bothered her so, but the withering glance and cold welcome he’d afforded her as she stepped into the drawing room had stayed with her. The sight of his bruised but unforgettable face was now one of the few images in her otherwise barren mind. She found herself struggling every moment to bring back some piece of her former life.
The room was sparsely appointed, but Jane’s attention was drawn to a pianoforte tucked away in a remote corner of the room. “Are you musical, Dr. Van Ostrand?”
He saw the direction she was looking. “Me? Not at all, I’m afraid. My wife played well but we’ve not heard much music in this house since her passing.” He smiled at her. “Do you play?” he asked then suddenly looked horrified that he had asked the rather simple question.
Or at least it would have been simple for anyone else. She searched for an answer but it was out of her reach. She stared down at her shaky fingers and imagined them over piano keys. A glimmer of something came back to her as if it were entirely possible that she had played at one time in her life. She looked at him. “Perhaps.” Once again she was lost in thought struggling to find something she could hang on to. It felt as if she could reach back far enough she would remember one small detail and the rest of her memory would rush in behind it.
“Doctor, I think your guest is still tired from her journey.” Ellie’s voice floated to Jane through her muddled musings.
Doctor Van Ostrand had explained that it was better not to let the servants know how she had come to the manor and so he’d concocted a story about a distant relative. Jane was glad of it. She preferred not to have anyone know of her unfortunate circumstances. She only wondered what she could have done to be so hated that she had been left for dead.
Jane lowered the cup to the tray. “Actually, Ellie is right. I think I’ll lie down for a while. I’m still quite wea— quite tired,” she said.
The doctor stood immediately and put out his arm for her to take. “Ellie has prepared a room for you.”
As they walked past a library, Jane caught a glimpse of a giant man sitting in a chair and staring out the window. He appeared to have linen wraps around both his arms.
“Who was that sitting in the chair?” she asked as they climbed the stairs to the bedchambers.
“That is Zander, a ward of mine,” Dr. Van Ostrand said almost hesitantly. “You shall meet him soon but not today. You’ve had enough introductions for one day.”
The bedchamber Ellie had prepared for her had a roaring fire and a bed piled high with downy quilts and pillows. The entire chamber smelled of dust and smoke but it was cozy and for that she was thankful. She was not certain but something deep in the back of her empty mind told her she had not been in a comforting place for a very long time.
She nearly drowned in the luxury of the bedding and her lids felt instantly heavy. There was so much to think about and yet so little to remember. One recent vision remained even as she drifted off to a deep slumber— the harsh glare of light brown eyes set in a face that could stir a girl’s heart into a frenzy.
CHAPTER 10
“Angel!” the voice cried out for him but the blinding dust choked his throat. He stumbled and fell face first on a man . . . or what was left of him. The blue sleeve had melted to the skin on his arm. He was one of theirs.
“Angel, I’m hit!” The voice came from below. “Angel!” He half-crawled half walked toward the voice. Gunfire had dissolved to mournful cries of pain as he trudged over the blood softened ground. Then he saw the figure lying deep within the trench, and he stumbled down into the hole. Edward’s eyes stared up at him and a small glimmer of hope filled them when he saw his friend. Edward’s hand grabbed his sleeve. “Is it bad, Angel? I cannot bear to look.”
His heart still pumped blood. Angel could see that clearly along with all of his other organs. He looked at Edward’s anxious face. “It’s not that bad, Edward. I’ll wait here with you until they come for us. It won’t be long.”
Edward’s hand clutched Angel’s arm tightly and his eyes bulged as he convulsed with pain. “Don’t leave me alone, Angel,” he pleaded.
“I’m here. I’m here,” he said and suddenly a hand jerked him awake.
Ruby placed a palm on his cheek. “You were having a bad one. I think you were on the battlefield.”
Angel shook the haunting images from his mind and sat up. He combed his hair back with his fingers and Ruby handed him a lit cheroot. He leaned his head back against the wall and watched her through the thin veil of smoke. She sat at her wobbly dressing table and brushed her hair.
“You are a lovely woman, Ruby,” Angel said.
“You’ve already been between my legs, Soldier. You don’t need to keep up the flattery.” She laid down her hairbrush and looked toward a small table with a wash basin. “I’ve heated some water for you, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
Ruby faced him. She could not have been more than twenty-five yet she had the worry lines of a woman ten years her senior. A hard life drained youth and beauty faster than any disease. Ruby walked over to the bed and kissed his forehead then she pressed her hand against his chest. “The war may have left you with a hole in your side, but the hole here is much greater.” She tapped her hand over his heart. “You need to fill that hole before you’re driven mad by it.” He took hold of her wrist and kissed her palm.
“Close the door when you leave.” She smiled at him over her shoulder then walked out.
Angel finished the cheroot and then willed himself to wash and dress. He placed a sovereign on Ruby’s dressing table and left.
A harsh morning sun reflected off the blindingly white landscape as Angel pushed Titus into an easy trot. Even though he’d not eaten in a day, he was in no hurry to return home. He’d tried his hardest to banish the image of Father’s newest creation from his mind, and while Ruby had managed to divert his thoughts for awhile, the girl’s face was still vivid.
The smell of ham lured him to the breakfast room. With the exception of endless days on meager battlefield rations, he had not ever remembered being this hungry. He stepped inside the dining room. It had been his mother’s favorite room. She had spent hours choosing the correct blue for the walls and the rose colored chairs for the table. The furnishing had not been touched since. And, there, standing at the sideboard like a fresh new adornment, added to an otherwise outdated room, was the girl. Even with her unearthly beauty, it was difficult to think of her as a creature like he’d always done with Zander.
She had not heard him walk in as she prepared a plate for herself. Her mass of auburn curls had been hastily piled up into a chignon exposing the long sensual curve of her neck and the creamy ivory skin of her shoulders. It was impossible to reconcile the vision before him with the frozen body they’d pulled from the ice just days ago. Father had truly outdone himself this time.
She turned her face toward him and he momentarily held his breath.
She smiled down at her plate. “I hope I’ve left you enough. I find I’m rather famished this morning.” Her tone was light but there was a slight tremble in it. She pulled out a c
hair and sat. Her movements were not clumsy and awkward like Zander’s— quite the opposite. She picked up the napkin and placed it over her lap.
Angel walked to the sideboard, prepared a plate, and sat down across from her. He took a slice of ham in his hand, slouched back in his chair, and watched her. He could not reason why he gazed at her so brazenly, perhaps he wanted to catch the similarities between the girl and father’s other experiment. Perhaps he still needed to convince himself that she was real. Or perhaps her stunning presence was too damn hard to look away from.
She made her best effort to ignore his rude stare. Her long thin arm stretched toward the coffee pot and she poured herself a cup and placed the pot back on the silver serving tray. She sipped the coffee and immediately her tiny nose crinkled in disdain. She reached for the sugar basin and tongs, plucked a large lump of sugar out, and dropped it into her cup. Rich brown coffee splashed over the sides of the cup and splattered the white table cloth. She quickly used her napkin to take several ineffective swipes at the stain. A pink blush rose in her cheeks and she eventually lowered the napkin back into her lap. “I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mess,” she said quietly. She took another sip but her lips twisted at the taste of it.
“Ellie tends to make the coffee strong enough to drug a horse,” he said.
She laughed softly into her cup then quickly covered her mouth with her napkin. Angel was shocked at how disappointed he was that she’d covered her lips, but he was even more shocked at how foreign a silky, feminine laugh sounded in the house.
“Pardon me, that was not terribly ladylike.”
“You’ll not find much attention paid to manners in this house . . . Miss Jane.”
Her lashes fluttered up as he uttered her name for the first time. And that is when he noticed that the thin gold chain no longer hung around her neck.
“Where is your necklace?” he asked.
She reached up to her bare throat. “What necklace?”
“The one you were wearing when we pulled you from . . .” He stopped when he saw her face grow pale with worry. “It’s not important.”
She picked up her fork and took a small bite of potato. Then something seemed to catch her eye. She leaned forward to get a closer look at the pot. She reached to trace the pattern of small pink flowers on the base of the porcelain but pulled her finger back from the heat.
Angel’s heart sank. He realized now that he’d hoped to find that she was not like Zander but after watching Zander trace the pattern on the drapery for hours, it seemed similarities existed.
“You find the pattern on the coffee pot interesting?” he goaded.
“Yes, I mean no.” She looked at him across the table and he was still not prepared for the impact of her violet eyes. “Not interesting, but familiar. I’ve seen this pattern elsewhere . . .” Her gaze dropped and she seemed to struggle with her thoughts as if she was trying to remember something that wasn’t there.
“Of course you’ve seen it before,” Ellie quipped as she carried in another platter of ham. “I served you coffee from it yesterday.”
The girl stared at the coffee pot again. “Perhaps that’s all it is then. I remember seeing it yesterday.” She spoke plainly but it was obvious that her own words had not convinced her. Zander had no recollections of his past. Angel had not ever seen a glimmer of recognition in Zander’s blank stare. Was it possible this newest experiment had retained some memories of her former life? He was certain his father had not prepared himself for that dreadful scenario.
Ellie scurried over to his side of the table and threw several more slices of ham on his plate. She shot him an admonishing look. “And here I thought you were out all night joining in one of those awful boxing matches, but unless your opponent was wearing perfume, I’d say you were out—”
Angel motioned with his eyes toward their guest and Ellie cut her sentence short. “Of course,” Ellie winked at him. “I’ve forgotten we have a fine young lady in the house.”
“Where is Father?” Angel asked.
“He’s looking in on Zander. I changed the wraps again twice but his arms still look bad.”
“I saw the man with the injured arms yesterday. What happened to him?” Jane asked.
Ellie’s mouth dropped open as she apparently searched for a reasonable explanation.
“Zander reached into the hearth yesterday to pull out the flaming kindling,” Angel said plainly then took a bite of the ham.
Jane’s round eyes widened further, and Ellie scowled at him for his response.
“Why in heaven’s name would he do that?” Jane asked.
Again Ellie seemed at a loss for words but Angel was not. “Fire terrifies him.” Angel looked pointedly at the lit candelabra on the sideboard. “How about you, Miss Jane, are you afraid of fire?” Ellie’s scowl intensified and he half expected her to kick him under the table.
“No, I’m not afraid of fire. Of course, I imagine death by fire would be a most horrible way to die.” Then she looked down at her side where she’d been stabbed and her face saddened. Angel wished Ellie had kicked him for twisting the conversation so cruelly. And that is when it occurred to him— there was emotion in the girl’s face, emotion so profound, so heartbreaking he had an overwhelming urge to comfort her. Aside from a flare of temper or an occasional ill-timed bout of laughter, Zander had never shown much human emotion. Perhaps he’d been a cold, emotionless bastard in his true life and so he had none to show now. But that seemed unlikely.
“The dark,” Jane spoke more to herself than to anyone in the room.
Angel watched her as she seemed to be grappling with another memory, a memory that was distant yet painful.
Her long lashes lifted and her lips parted to speak again. “I’m terrified of the dark.” Her incredible eyes glossed with true emotion.
“Now, now, do not fret about that, Miss Jane.” Ellie waved her hand in dismissal. “Everyone’s afraid of the dark at some point. But trust me as someone who is more familiar with darkness than most, you grow used to it after awhile. I need to prepare a tray for Zander.” With that, Ellie abruptly left the room leaving Angel alone with her again.
The girl lifted the napkin from her lap and placed it next to her nearly untouched plate. “I realize I’m not as hungry as I thought. Do you think Dr. Van Ostrand would mind if I peruse the books in his library?”
“He won’t mind. So you are a reader then?”
“I— I’m not sure.” She pondered the question a moment then a tear fell down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Forgive me, I only wondered . . .”
She stood and took several steps then her eyes closed and she clutched the back of the chair to steady herself. Angel was at her side in an instant. His arm reached for her waist but she waved him off.
“’Tis nothing. I’m just a little dizzy. The doctor says it will pass soon enough.”
“Hopefully that is the case,” Angel regretted his words instantly.
She looked up at him. “Forgive me, Sir,” she spoke softly, “what have I done to offend you?”
He peered down at the face in front of him and was instantly mesmerized by her eyes, her full lips, the faint fragrance of wildflowers that seemed to surround her. She was the embodiment of life itself. It was impossible for him to comprehend what she was. “You’ve done nothing to offend me, Miss.”
Her lush bottom lip jutted out, and he feared she might cry again but she brushed past him. Her frail, feminine form moved beneath the tender fabric as she left the room.
“I only wish that you had,” he said once the room was empty.
Angel sat alone at the table picking at his breakfast and reliving the few moments he’d just spent with Jane. His father’s morbid experiments had always represented everything grotesque, black hearted, and fiendish, but the girl, the exquisite shadow of a former life, the anguished enchantress who struggled so profoundly to find memories of a lost past was a cruel contradictio
n.
Father walked in and went to the sideboard to fill his plate as if all was right in the world.
“You have outdone yourself this time, Dr. Van Ostrand,” Angel said sardonically. “She is amazingly lifelike.”
Father spun around nearly losing the egg from his plate. “That is because she is alive.”
“If you say so. What will you tell your prisoner when she decides she no longer wants to be locked up in this morgue? She seems far more aware than Zander, and she is trying hard to remember her past. Something I’ve never witnessed with Zander. How will you keep her here?”
“I will worry about that if it comes up. She knows that someone tried to kill her, and I think she fears leaving the safety of the house.”
“Tried?” Angel asked.
“Well, she is alive now so they did not succeed.” Father salted his eggs. A few crystals of salt fell onto the table. He quickly pinched up the spilled salt and threw it over his left shoulder.
Angel laughed once and shook his head. “Do not bother warding off the devil, Father. He’s made a permanent residence of this house.”
“You’re right. I should have thrown the salt across the table instead of behind my shoulder.”
“On that we can both agree. And how is your first creation after his rather unfortunate accident?”
“His flesh mends slowly,” he looked up sharply, “but he is healing. We must keep a better eye on him so it doesn’t happen again. At least until—”
He stopped midsentence but Angel was more than pleased to finish for him. “At least until he can put on a good show for Baron Rowntree. And if he continues to deteriorate mentally? What will we do with the menacing giant then? When I tried to stop him from reaching into the fire, he tossed me across the room as if I was a twig from a tree.” The pallor of his father’s face lightened with each word. “How will we keep control of him?”
