Dark Angel (Lescaut Quartet)

by Tracy Grant

  The trip to Acquera was the first time Hawkins had been separated from her. He hadn't realized how much he would miss her. Not just in bed, though he could not deny he'd ached for her. The devil, but he wanted her again already, though he still felt the comforting warmth of their previous lovemaking. But he'd missed more than Elena's supple body. He'd missed her laughter and her sudden bursts of temper and the sight of her conversing decorously with Dona Isabel one moment and bawling at the butcher about the outrageous price of meat the next. He'd missed knowing she would be there every night, familiar but never dull. It was something he'd known little of in his unsettled life.

  His arm was beginning to go numb beneath the weight of her body. He moved it slightly. Elena opened her eyes and raised her head to look at him. Her eyes were brilliant in the moonlight. Hawkins threaded his fingers through her hair and took her face between his hands. But instead of pulling her down for a kiss, he said two simple words. "Marry me."

  Elena stiffened. "What?" she asked, not in joy but in disbelief.

  "I know," Hawkins said, smoothing the hair back from her face. "It's not the most poetic of proposals. But it's perfectly sincere, upon my honor."

  Elena pulled away from him and sat up, clutching the rumpled quilt about her. "You want me to marry you."

  "That's the general idea," Hawkins said, pushing himself up against the pillows.

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "Why?" Elena asked in a harsh voice. "Did Adam tell you I'm not fit to associate with Señora Rawley otherwise?"

  "Of course not." Hawkins was shocked that she could think such a thing.

  Elena leaned against one of the carved walnut bedposts, the quilt still wrapped tightly round her. "Why then?" she persisted.

  The scene was not going at all as Hawkins had expected. But then Elena was always unpredictable. It was one of the things he loved about her. "Because I'd like to buy you a gold wedding band that matches your hair," he said, grinning. "Because Dona Isabel would be in her element planning a weding." He paused for a moment, then added, "Because after spending four weeks with young Emily, I've begun to think it might not be so bad to have children around on a permanent basis."

  Elena had been watching him warily, but at his last words something flashed in her eyes, like the cold fire of a diamond catching the light. "You want me to have a baby?" she demanded.

  "Well, I rather thought I'd help. Last I heard, it still took two."

  "I might have known it," Elena said. "You're just like other men."

  She made it sound as though there was nothing more vile she could say. Hawkins realized that somewhere he had bungled very badly. It seemed wiser not to speak. Experience had taught him that when Elena was in a temper it was best to let her have her say. He tugged up the sheet, for the night air was cold on his naked skin, and settled himself to wait.

  "I suppose you expect me to be grateful." Elena's face was in shadow, but he could hear the outrage in her voice. "Why wouldn't I want to marry a man who goes off for two months and no sooner walks back in the door than he announces he's off to England—"

  "You never said you minded I was going to England," Hawkins protested.

  Elena lifted her chin. "You never asked."

  "Hell, woman, that's never stopped you from speaking your mind before."

  "And now you want me to marry you." She threw her hands up in a gesture of disgust, then clutched the quilt before it could slither down to her waist. "Why? So I'll have to spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come home? So you can leave me like my first husband did?"

  "Enrique didn't leave you, Elena. He died."

  "And you won't?"

  "I wasn't planning on it," Hawkins said cheerfully.

  "You say you want to have a baby. What would I do alone in a foreign country with a baby if something happened to you?"

  "Nothing's going to—"

  "You can't know that, Hawkins." The fire had gone out of Elena's eyes. Her voice was low and bitter. "We can't any of us know."

  The look in her eyes spoke of the horrors she had seen. "Elena—" Hawkins said, reaching out a hand to her.

  "No." Elena drew back against the bedpost. The pain was gone, replaced by defiance. "I like you, Hawkins," she said, tossing back her long hair. "But I like my freedom more. Go to England. I expect I'll still be here when you get back. If not, I'm sure you'll recover soon enough."

  Hawkins felt a stab of sheer panic at the thought of losing her. "Damn it, Elena, I have to go to England. Adam may need my help."

  "You needn't make excuses." Elena lay down on the far side of the bed, out of his reach. "It's not as if I'm your wife."

  Caroline laid down her pen and eased the cover of her journal closed. She glanced across the room to see if the sound had disturbed Emily, but Emily was lying peacefully in the vast four-poster bed. Adam's bed. Caroline was in Adam's room, at Adam's writing desk. She ran her fingers over its smooth, worn surface, bare save for a pewter ink pot. Like the rest of the room it was neat and impersonal and yielded few clues about its owner.

  When Adam had insisted on giving the room up to her and Emily, Caroline had hesitated to accept. To occupy Adam's room, even without Adam, seemed an intimacy more frightening than taking him into her body. Now, she felt a perverse frustration that she could find so little of him here. A comb and shaving things laid out on the dresser, a few books on a shelf against the wall. She recognized the collection of Shakespeare that was one of the few things Adam had inherited from his father. She and Adam had often pored over it together, acting out the various parts. For a moment Caroline was tempted to pick up one of the books and lose herself in the familiar words, but she was afraid of the memories they might evoke.

  The furniture in the room, old and solid and worn, must belong to Dona Isabel's family. The trunks and boxes which now filled the room were Caroline's own, collected that afternoon from her former landlady. Caroline pushed back her hair, still damp from the delicious luxury of being washed. It had been odd to go back to her lodgings, to see the steep narrow stairs she had so often climbed, usually with Emily in her arms. She had left Lisbon a little over four months ago, but she felt as if years had passed.

  Her glance fell on a heavy brass-bound trunk which had belonged to Jared. Their landlady, Senhora Vasquez, had asked after him this afternoon. Caroline had had to tell her about his death and to listen to condolences, all the time feeling a stab of guilt because she was not more of a grieving widow.

  Looking away from the trunk, Caroline saw a stack of her old journals, neatly tied together with rope, leaning against the wall. The handsome tooled leather volumes from her days in London and the paste-board covered books she had bought in Lisbon. She touched the journal lying on the writing desk in front of her. It was a great relief to have it back again, to be able to put a pen to the thoughts and feelings which had been bottled up inside her for so many months.

  Caroline was staring at the journals, thinking of what they contained and of the things which she had not dared write down, when she heard the sharp clear notes of a harpsichord from the sitting room.

  The sound, like the tinkling of shattered glass, sent a chill through her, breaking the shell she had kept round her memories. It was a pure, shimmering Bach pavanne that she had heard often before: on rainy afternoons curled up on the widow seat in Adam's aunt's parlor, a cup of chocolate warm in her hands, while Adam scowled at the music rack or grinned in triumph at having mastered a particularly difficult bit; and in later years, when she had sat scribbling in a notebook and had looked up to find Adam staring at her in an odd, burning way that was a prelude to everything that had followed.

  Without knowing she had moved, Caroline found herself pushing back the folding doors to the sitting room. She knew from the way Adam's shoulders tensed that he had heard her come into the room, but he went on playing, just as he would have done when they were children. The light from the candles in the wall sconce above him shone against the polished wood
of the harpsichord and the white of his shirt. Caroline pulled the doors to and stayed where she was, listening. Each note seemed to reverberate through her with a sharp, almost painful intensity.

  When the music came to an end, Adam was still for a moment. Then he lifted his hands from the keys and turned to look at her. Caroline was aware of her heartbeat, as clear and distinct as the sound of the harpsichord. "I'd forgotten," she said.

  "What Bach sounds like?" Adam's tone was light, but the look in his eyes made the breath catch in her throat.

  "How well you play."

  "I'm rusty. I don't get much practice these days. Though I must admit it was the harpsichord that made me decide to take these rooms." Adam ran his finger over the keys in a rippling glissando, then looked up and studied her face. "It was hard for you today, wasn't it?"

  Caroline was caught by surprise, the music still echoing in her head. "What was?"

  "Going back. Seeing your old home." He leaned forward and rested his arms on the harpsichord. "Are you going to miss Lisbon?"

  Caroline hesitated. It was a question she had not really considered. She had not formed the friendships in Lisbon that she had in Acquera, though she had lived here far longer. And yet..."In a way," she said, moving into the room and droping down on a cushioned stool near the harpsichord. "I learned I could take care of myself here."

  She looked up at Adam, wondering if he would know what she meant, and saw understanding in his eyes. "A valuable lesson," he said, "though I'm sorry it was so harshly learned."

  Caroline glanced away, made uncomfortable by his sympathy.

  "Caro," Adam said softly.

  She raised her head to find him regarding her steadily, a question in his eyes. "What will you do when we get to England?" he asked.

  Caroline stiffened. He had violated their unspoken rule and asked about the future. Yet it was a future she could not avoid much longer. She adjusted the worsted shawl she had thrown over her nightdress. "Emily and I can stay with Jane, at least for a month or so." While Adam would go to London to pursue his inquiries about Talbot. Caroline was aware of a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. It occurred to her that Adam might be wondering how much longer he would be burdened with the care of a woman and child. "We can take the stage from Portsmouth," she added. "You needn't escort us all the way to Sussex."

  Adam's brows drew together. Then he grinned. "Don't go self-sacrificing on me, my girl. It doesn't suit you. I'll take you into Sussex if that's what you want. But you can't stay with Jane indefinitely. What then? Did Jared leave you any money?"

  "I don't know." Caroline leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. Strangely enough it did not seem odd to be discussing such things with Adam. "There was some sort of settlement, but it wasn't a great deal, as I had virtually no dowry, and I think most of it was invested in the foundry. I didn't understand it all, but Jared got me to sign some papers. There'll be an army pension, of course. It may be enough for Emily and me to take lodgings somewhere. If not I'll have to swallow my pride and go to my brother."

  "You couldn't go to Lord Anandale? He is Emily's grandfather."

  "I won't humiliate myself in front of that man, Adam," Caroline said, sitting up very straight. "Not after what he did to Jared." Besides, she could not ask Lord Anandale for money to support a grandchild who carried no Rawley blood.

  Adam was watching her intently. "I'd like to take care of you, Caro," he said.

  The words were spoken with deceptive quiet. Caroline looked into his eyes. For a crazy moment, she wondered if he was about to ask her to marry him. And if she might accept. It was madness, of course. Whatever Adam was offering, he was offering it out of generosity. There was no way she could accept. "Thank you," she said. "But we'll be fine. I really have learned to take care of myself."

  Adam was silent for the space of a heartbeat. "I don't doubt it," he said. "But there's no harm in accepting help when it's offered. If you like, I can take you to my aunt. She and her new husband live in London. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you and Emily as guests for as long as is necessary. And while you're in London you can find out about Jared's estate."

  He was smiling, a smile of easy friendship. Was this what he had meant all along? Or had her words put an end to a more serious offer? Caroline clasped her hands and found they had grown clammy. "You're very free with your aunt's hospitality," she said. "She hasn't seen me in nine years." And at their last meeting, Caroline had seen the disapproval in Magaret Sanders's eyes. She doubted if Aunt Margaret had forgiven her for that last quarrel with Adam.

  "She likes you," Adam said. "She always has. And she'd love having Emily about. So would her husband. Besides, it will save me having to take you to Sussex. If you're determined to be noble, think of that."

  Caroline smiled. It was a tempting offer. Jane and her husband would welcome her and Emily warmly, but they had been hard pressed making ends meet four years ago and they'd had two more children since. Adam was right. In London she would be able to speak to a solicitor about Jared's estate. And, most tempting of all, she would have a few more weeks in Adam's company. "Thank you," Caroline said. "If your aunt is willing to have us, Emily and I would be most grateful."

  "Good. It's settled then."

  Silence hung between them. Caroline knew it was time for her to return to her own room. She got to her feet, but instead of going to the folding doors, she walked to the windows and looked out at the city. Houses spilled down the steep hill on which the Alfama stood, their lights shining with comforting warmth in the colorless landscape. Beyond the city spread the vast, dark waters of the Tagus. With its battle scars hidden beneath a veil of moonlight, Lisbon had a haunting beauty.

  "One of my favorite sights," Adam said, coming to stand beside her. "It's like getting a glimpse into the past. Before the war."

  Caroline felt the heat of his body through the muslin folds of her nightdress. Yielding to impulse, she stepped closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. Adam was still for a moment. Then his arm came round her. For a long while they stood without speaking, looking out over the city.

  Caroline closed her eyes and savored the moment of tranquility. Adam's fingers moved against her shoulder in a gentle caress. His breath stirred her hair. The quickened beat of his pulse was beneath her ear, and his lips were against her temple. Her body began to sing with desire. She half turned within the circle of his arm. "Adam—" she breathed, the words an unabashed plea.

  "I know." Adam's hand came up to cup her cheek. "You're so very beautiful, Caro." His fingers trembled and his voice was not quite steady. "I want to take you to bed, but your daughter is in the next room and I haven't got a bed, only a couch and a damned uncomfortable one at that."

  Caroline smiled. Then the laughter stilled within her as she remembered another sitting room and another couch. I do not pay in favors, madam, I pay only in kind. Adam's words echoed in her head. She had accepted what he had done to Jared. But she couldn't bear to remember the pain of what he had said to her. Now, so close to England, it could not be ignored.

  Adam's fingers stiffened against her skin. Caroline looked at him and saw that he too remembered. There was something dead and cold in his eyes where before there had been warmth and life. Without speaking, Caroline pulled herself out of his arms and retreated to the sanctuary of her own room. The scars of the past might be veiled, but they would never be erased.

  Even at anchor, the deck of HMS Sea Horse pitched slightly with the movement of the water. A gust of wind came up, flapping the sails and bringing with it the sharp, briny tang of the sea that lay beyond the mouth of the Tagus. Caroline tucked a loosened strand of hair beneath her bonnet. It felt odd to be wearing a bonnet again. She was constantly aware of the stiff brim about her face and the confining feel of the ribbons. She was wearing a fresh dress as well, muslin instead of merino, and a pelisse instead of her cloak. All old and well-worn, but they seemed ridiculously formal.

  Emily leaned against her
mother's legs and tugged at her hand. "Will everyone in England speak English, Mama?"

  "Nearly everyone," Caroline told her.

  Emily giggled, as if the thought of a place where everyone spoke English was extremely funny. Then she released Caroline's hand and moved toward the rail, which was several inches higher than her head. "I can't see," she said, trying to pull herself up.

  "That's easily remedied." Adam appeared beside them and swung Emily up onto his shoulders. Emily gave a shriek of delight. Caroline remained where she was, aware that Adam was looking at her. Since that night in the sitting room two days ago, they had managed to avoid being alone together. Adam had spent much of the time at the Embassy or visiting acquaintances in Lisbon. Caroline missed the companionship they had found on the journey from Acquera more than she cared to admit.

  Emily, who could not remember her previous voyage to Portugal, asked Adam questions about the ship. She was still chattering when they were joined by Hawkins. He smiled as he came to stand beside Caroline at the rail, but there was an unaccustomedly grave look on his face. Caroline had little difficulty guessing the reason. She had noted the constraint between Hawkins and Elena these past two days and their subdued parting this morning. She wished she could ask him what was the cause of the trouble, but for all they had shared, she feared she did not know him well enough for such a question. She looked at him uncertainly, wanting to offer sympathy but not sure what she could say. "Goodbyes are hard," she ventured.

  "That they are, Mrs. Rawley," Hawkins agreed, his hands on the rail, his gaze fixed on the water lapping against the side of the ship.

  Hearing the note of regret in his voice, Caroline felt an unexpected moment of kinship with him. "Considering everything we've been through this past month," she said, "don't you think you could call me Caroline?"