“I…got lost. I wanted a book to read.”
“And you thought making use of the library a servant’s right?”
I shook my head no and lowered my gaze, feeling the sting in his question, but then couldn’t stay silent. “Don’t you think servants thirst to know things?”
“Perhaps,” he said oddly. “The library is down the opposite corridor from here.”
I nodded, starting to back away from him.
“I’ll escort you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“You know the way?” He lifted a brow, clearly questioning the validity of everything I’d just said. His gaze bore down on me, and I backed away faster even though he didn’t move.
“No. I just…don’t think I’ll be able to read after…this. I’d like to retire now.”
A ghost of a smile seemed to curve his lips, but it came and left so quickly that I thought I imagined it. I kept backing up until I felt the door behind me and found the doorknob. Opening it, I winced at the pain from my blisters. Just before I escaped, he spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “Perhaps you’ll meet me there some night.”
I immediately dismissed the words. Never would I do such an outrageous thing as meet a man alone at night. I moved so quickly with my blood roaring in my ears and my thoughts running so wildly that I didn’t see anything of what I passed on my return to my room. Once there, I pressed the door firmly closed and tried to draw an easy breath, but I couldn’t. I was too vulnerable. My body burned and shivered in places too intimate to acknowledge.
Bridget slept, softly snoring, completely oblivious to my tumultuous state. I wanted to shake her awake so I wouldn’t be alone with him, the feel of him, the exotic scent of him, the presence of him that seem to cling to every corner of my mind and body as if a magic spell had been cast over my person. But I was too ashamed to have anyone know, too shocked to speak about the surging, unknown feeling that had coiled inside of me the moment my terror had fled.
Moonlight spilled through the open window, allowing me enough light to see, and I grabbed a spindly chair from a corner, propping it beneath the doorknob. The precaution made me feel only marginally better. For in truth, I had little fear he had followed me. And the vulnerability preying on me had little to do with what might happen and everything to do with what had happened.
I’d dismally failed in my first investigative venture. The man had stolen my father’s pistol! He’d touched me, almost intimately, had held me at gunpoint no less, and I was too enamored by the man to even think about Mary and what may have happened to her.
Stripping off my dress in a disgusted huff, I slipped beneath the worn blanket of my cot and willed myself to forget everything and go to sleep, yet couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He preyed upon my every thought, and the feel of his gloved touch irritatingly lingered upon my skin as much as the chafing wool.
Eventually, I resorted to whispering nursery rhymes and counting sheep. My mind and body would have none of it, and kept clamoring that I dwell on Sean.
Sean? Not Sean Killdaren or Mister Killdaren, or even The Killdaren, but Sean? Good heavens. Had I lost my mind? I was now even thinking of the man more intimately than propriety would allow. Yet his name and his lilting Irish brogue had delved deep inside me, all the way to the hidden places where I kept my grandfather’s stories of fairies and magic.
Desperate, I lit a candle and dug out the vampire book I’d borrowed from the library. Surely a story would wipe the man from my mind.
The woman entered the dark stone church, fearful of what she would find, but too alone in life to miss speaking to the man again. Earlier, when she’d been at the altar praying for the love she’d never known, he’d arrived. He’d knelt at the altar and prayed aloud, almost jovially, asking for the blessed blood of the Lamb. His comfortable manner with God had brought her prayers to a halt. She’d studied him, noting his dress, all somber black, with an edging of white at his collar.
“Is there something that I can pray for you?” he’d asked, startling her.
She’d shaken her head. After a long moment her curiosity grew too great to ignore. “You are a minister?”
His warm smile broadened, making her examine the dark of his eyes more closely. “In a way. I live here; just beyond those doors there’s a stairwell.” He’d nodded toward carved wood panels behind her that she’d never noticed before. After he’d spoken with her for some time, he’d stood, citing an important meeting. Then just before leaving, he’d invited her to come back tonight to pray again.
And she had.
The church was empty when she arrived, but the carved wood doors stood open, inviting yet darkly forbidding. She called out several times, only to hear the echo of her own voice. Peering beyond the doors, she found a stone stairwell, lit by sconces. She hesitated a few moments, watching the candle flames dance upon the walls. Then, taking one last look over her shoulder, she descended the steps, coming unexpectedly to a richly appointed circular room. Ensconced in the center of the chamber upon a raised dais lay a lonely crypt shaped like a man. It reminded her of him in some way, and she wondered if perhaps she’d in some way seen his ghost.
Rather than being frightened, she was compelled, drawn by the loneliness in him that matched hers. Tentatively, she approached, reaching out to touch the unfamiliar words and geometric shapes engraved on the crypt. When she did, the stone beneath her fingers began to warm. Surprised, she pressed her palm to the stone, feeling heat throb in rhythm to the beat of her heart. Drawn, unable to do aught but follow the force urging her to explore, she splayed both of her hands against the stone. Vibrations started to shake the crypt, and in an explosion of light, the lid popped open. The man she met earlier, still richly dressed, in black, rose up.
“You came.” He took hold of her arms, his demeanor much darker than before. She screamed, frightened by the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulled her to him, toward the red velvet bed in which he lay. He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “Fear not. Your pleasure will be great. As will mine.” His lips sought the throbbing pulse at her throat and she moaned.
I snapped the book closed, startled by the rekindling of the heat Sean, uh The Killdaren, had seeded within me.
My word, what was happening to me? I stuffed the book into the farthest corner of the room from me and buried it beneath the potato sack that I’d packed my belongings in. Then I firmly blew out the candle and determinedly directed my mind to think only of Mary. The reason I’d come here. My thoughts still drifted toward him again, but this time, I focused on what his father, the Earl of Dartraven had said. I’d hire a runner if I was sure neither of my sons had killed the chit, but I’m not.
Having now met him, I knew without a doubt he could have, and would have killed me, had I given him cause.
Chapter Five
“Blimey. What did ya think was biting ya last night?” Bridget’s red hair, lifted by the sea breeze, fluttered about her mob cap and face. Freckles dotted her nose and her blue eyes sparkled, giving her a striking, almost earthy, beauty. The sea, sun and warm wind bathed the morning in a comforting light, making the sand dunes glisten and the maritime forest lushly green.
“A spider,” I muttered, my cheeks flaming. I’d die before telling the truth. The vampire had been dressed in black with fiery green eyes. For the first time in my life, I’d actually had a real dream. Not a dream about someone’s death or of trouble as always before, but a real, normal dream. I didn’t doubt that it was a dream, because no sense of impending doom had accompanied it. No deep dread filled my heart. And though the vampire had an uncanny resemblance to Sean, I somehow didn’t fear for Sean’s life. At no point in my dream did he disappear into darkness or die. In fact, I feared more for myself than for him. I’d been naked and he’d been touching me, and the thoughts wouldn’t go away no matter how much I willed them to do so.
And maybe deep inside myself I didn’t want them to. The man had given me something I’d never had
before—a pleasurable dream. Somehow insisting that I continue to think of him as The Killdaren or anything other than Sean was too hypocritical for even my proper driven soul, so I allowed myself the fantasy. But it would be in my mind only, no one would ever know.
The man had captured me in a web of awareness I couldn’t escape. I shivered every time I shut my eyes and relived my first sight of him, his touch, the lilt of his voice, and the lure of his scent. He was in my mind and in my thoughts. A man so dangerous that he seemed capable of anything, so why did I have this desire to think of him so intimately? Why was I so curious about him? Why did I want to see him again?
It was Sunday, my first half day off. Five days since I’d met him. Five days since I had unsuccessfully committed myself to forgetting him, at least in terms of my physical reaction to him.
My investigation had progressed very little, but I hadn’t ventured from my room to explore again. The things I’d learned about Mary since the night of Jamie’s outburst had been subtle remembrances of my cousin that I’d overheard in conversations between the servants. Mary had touched each of them in a special way. Just as she’d been teaching Bridget’s sister, Flora, to sing, she done a number of kind things for the others, too.
I had yet to meet the child Mary had come to Killdaren’s Castle to teach, and I thought this extremely odd. I’d lived a week in a house, albeit a massive home, but I’d heard nothing from a child. No laughter, no playing, no shouting, nothing. I’d asked Bridget about Rebecca as much as I dared, commenting on how quiet she was, and Bridget would only reply that the child wasn’t well. The answer left me wondering what “not well” meant.
My first perceptions of those at Killdaren’s Castle hadn’t changed, only deepened over the past days. But more importantly, after a week of bathing from a basin, I was desperate for a bath—and even more desperate for any sense of my life before coming to this place. I missed my sisters terribly.
“Now that’s a thing to ’ave nightmares o’er, I tell ya.”
Glancing up, I saw Bridget nod toward the Killdaren’s maze, her expression more fearful than ever. “Have. Remember to try and not drop your h’s. Now what do you mean about the maze?”
“Not h…ere,” she whispered, pronouncing the h as she glanced about.
I looked and found nothing amiss, yet her furtive response dimmed the brightness of the day and had me checking over my shoulder more than once.
She didn’t speak until we were out of sight of the castle, on the lonely path to the village edging the forest. “Makes me shiver just to look at the maze. Ya can’t see where yer goin’ when yer in it. Ya can’t see who’s behind ya. Not a good feelin’ at all, and whot’s worse—” Bridget’s voice dropped low as she leaned my way, her eyes big blue saucers, “—it’s whispered that she died in there, ya know, but no one speaks of it.”
I stumbled though the path lay smooth. Bridget caught my elbow, bringing us to a halt. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, slurring my words. “M-m-mary? I thought you said she drowned?”
“Ack. I forgot. Ya wouldn’t know about Lady Helen, now would ya. It h-happened a ways back. Wouldn’t know much myself except Flora’s best friend worked for the Kennedys. Sad thing it were. Her father up and killed himself after it h-happened, too. Their house has lain silent ever since. They say it’s ’aunted. The father left a note saying he was going to h-heaven to hear his angel sing. Even the Queen requested Lady Helen to sing for her on occasion. ’er beauty was ten times that of Helen o’ Troy. Had to have been, to have every eligible man for miles after h-her hand. And all of them jealous of the other, especially the Killdaren brothers. Golden hair and cornflower eyes, she h-had.” Bridget blinked at me several times, her brow creasing to a frown. “Like you, miss, ya might say. And I kept all of my h’s, I did.”
“You did well.” But my thoughts weren’t on Bridget’s progress, they were on what she’d just said. Golden hair and cornflower eyes. Like you, miss. And like Mary, I thought. Mary’s hair had been golden. Except her eyes had been different. Mary’s had been brown, but mine were blue.
I glanced about. Everything appeared normal; still I became uneasy. Finding a commonality between a woman who’d been murdered and my cousin, who I suspected had died under suspicious circumstances, wrapped an eerie feeling around me.
“Let’s hurry to the village.”
Bridget didn’t argue. In fact, I think after snatching off her falling mob cap, she moved even faster than I did until we were somehow racing as fast as we could, something no lady would ever be seen doing. With perspiration soaking our dresses and our hair awry, we were quite a sight. I paused for air, feeling a little ridiculous, but oddly exhilarated too. As if the sensation of danger just a breath away made me more alive than years of trudging though my daily routine. The notion was as unsettling as learning Helen had been murdered in the maze.
Bridget, with her cheeks flushed like bright new apples, her eyes shining, and her red hair flowing free, appeared more beautiful than ever. “Blimey, but that was fun.” We stopped on the side of the road, hearing an approaching carriage. After just a week of working on reading she’d grown more confident as well as easier to understand. Next we’d work on her g’s.
The carriage, sporting the Killdaren double dragon crest, flew past, steering purposely into a puddle near us. Mud splattered our skirts and raised my ire to a previously unknown level as I heard the occupants laugh. “That’s twenty shillings,” the driver called to the men.
“The bloody arses did that on purpose.”
“Idiot buffoons.” I brushed at my skirts. “Ladies aren’t supposed to say bloody or arse. Who was it?”
“Not the Killdaren, I’ll wager. And Lord Alexander always rides one of ’is fancy ’orses. So it ’ad to be either the earl and Sir Warwick, or someone visiting Dragon’s Cove.” Anger had made her drop her h’s again. I didn’t say anything this time.
“I thought no one ever visited the Killdarens.”
“No one proper. But the viscount ’as been known to—” Bridget’s voice died as a man on a white horse raced up. He slowed as he passed and I saw with surprise that it was Stuart Frye. He rode like a gentleman to the manner born, but when he saw us, he became so distracted for some reason he almost fell from the saddle when his horse leaped forward.
Bridget grabbed my arm as if needing support. When I glanced her way, I found her face had blanched white.
“What is it, Bridget?”
“Nothing. The man races as if the devil’s on ’is arse, don’t ’e?”
“Stuart?”
“Who else? Rides around like ’e’s the bloody Killdaren or the viscount.”
“The viscount would be Sean Killdaren’s brother, right?” Though I knew that, I wanted to hear what Bridget had to say about him.
“Aye, Lord Alexander, the Viscount of Blackmoor. ’e lives on the other side of the forest in Dragon’s Cove in a larger castle, as ’e’s, h-he’s the heir to the title. Earl of Dartraven he’ll be someday, since he was birthed first. Heard it said they came out of the womb with their ’ands, uh, h-hands around each other’s throats. Alexander feet first and Sean headfirst, killed their mama in the birthin’ of ’em.”
“Good Lord. Is there nothing but tragedy upon the Killdarens’ doorstep?” I was pleased to see Bridget remember to correct her own speech.
“It’s the curse, mind ya.”
“All their wealth, and yet they’re poorer than you or me when it comes to what really matters.”
Bridget gave me a puzzled look. “Ye have an odd way of thinkin’. Ha! The Killdarens poor.”
“Think about it, Bridget. Would you want to have all that they possess if it meant that your mother died in childbirth? If it meant you would either kill your sister or she would kill you?”
“Aye. I would.” Bridget sighed. “No, and ya knew it afor ya asked. Ack, what are you doin’ to me mind, Cassie? Me mother would cosh me had she heard, giving up all that wealth, just to have
me family.” She giggled and grabbed my arm, urging us into town.
We stopped on the street to part. “Can’t wait to see me mum and little brother. We’re havin’ meat pies and sweet cake for my birthday.”
“You didn’t tell me. When is your birthday?”
“This Friday. I’ll be eighteen. Old enough to be kissed, right?”
“Well, yes. If the gentleman had honorable intentions and asked your permission, I suppose it would be all right.” I was shocked to learn that she was no older than Gemini.
“Blimey, all of that has to happen first? Have you ever been kissed, Cassie?”
Heat plastered my cheeks. “No.” I’d been too busy writing my proper advice column to associate with gentlemen enough to reach the kissing point in a relationship. “Why?”
Bridget sighed. “Just wondering what it was like. Ye’ve a funny notion about yerself, what with always bathin’ and no snorin’ and no kissin’ unless it’s all proper. It all seems so complicated.” She pointed down the street. “Remember to meet me at the church right there on time. Mrs. Frye will have our hides if we’re late.”
As I watched Bridget leave, I found myself wondering what a kiss would be like. Sean intruded into my thoughts and I imagined him kissing me. Shock rippled up my spine. Good lord. The man was a stranger and a dangerous one at that. What was wrong with me? I dashed to Seafarer’s Inn as if the devil was on my heels.
The carriage with the Killdaren’s double dragon crest on it pulled away from the entrance of the inn as I approached. As I watched it disappear in the direction of the village, an eerie warning crept over me. Who from the Killdaren household had come to the inn? And why?
I considered going to Constable Poole to see if he’d made any more inquiries into Mary’s disappearance, but decided to keep my presence at Killdaren’s Castle a secret for now and just have Aunt Lavinia call on him later in the week.
Easing around to the servants’ entrance, I stole quietly through the downstairs of the inn. The guest parlors were empty and the dining area full. I didn’t see anyone I recognized and gave up my search for who had come to the inn. Taking care not to be seen, I went to the apartments my family had rented. Just as I was about to knock on the door, I heard several maids coming down the corridor, and I quickly let myself inside.
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