by Grace Walton
That was when she began to notice Dylan's reticence. She saw him standing aloof and apart from the surrounding throng. The loudly talking men vanished. He stood completely alone frowning. There was a harshness in his eyes that startled her as they bore into hers. What was wrong now? She didn’t become truly alarmed until Dylan walked over to her and abruptly broke into the conversation she was having with the matron at her side.
“Aurora,” his voice was unpleasant. “Join me in the garden.”
Her eyes widened at his rudeness. Where were his perfect manners? The matron drew herself up. The elderly relict glared at the dark man who’d failed to acknowledge her.
“Sir!” the old lady castigated him. “In Savannah, gentlemen wait to be asked to join a conversation. They don't barge in where they're not invited.”
He bowed sardonically in her direction. “I gather you're offended?”
The woman inclined her majestic head. She fully expected a contrite apology. She would not be getting one.
“A duel will rectify the situation.” There was a murderous quality to his smile. “Just direct your nearest male relative to the Reverend Washburn. He'll act as my second. Be prepared to bury whomever you send.”
With those terse words, he roughly escorted Rory away. The violent action was so unlike his controlled and civilized veneer, she cried out in surprise.
“Dylan, stop.”
His hand kept a punishing grip on her arm as he continued to drag her towards the doors leading out to the garden. As his jaw clenched spasmodically she tried to reason with him again.
“Dylan, stop. Please.” Rory heard the echo of the older woman’s horrified gasp as he forced her across the dance floor.
“Dylan, what's the matter?” she implored.
He barged her through the glass doors into the heavy night air of the garden. He didn't answer. Rory couldn't decide if he was angry or demented. She took three steps for his every long stride trying to keep up with him. His face seemed carved in stone. He pulled her through the manicured garden and down a dark walk toward the stable.
“You're hurting me,” she said as she tried again to free herself. She couldn't break the steely grip of the fingers on her arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Not yet.”
“What is wrong with you?” She was frantic with concern as he drew her into the stable's entrance.
“Don't pretend anymore, Rory. You know exactly what's wrong with me.” His words were low and brutal as he tore open the door of an empty stall. He shoved her inside.
Rory fell stunned onto a mound of straw piled on the floor. She frantically tried to arrange her gown to cover her legs. She looked up at him as he stood silhouetted in the doorway. What she saw scared the wits right out of her. He looked like a conquering pagan warrior. His fists rested on his hips. A feral light shone from his opaque black eyes.
“You truly are mad, aren't you?” she cried in disbelief. She threw her hands up to ward off the blows she was sure would rain down on her as he stalked angrily into the stall.
“No, but give it a few minutes, I will be as soon as the laudanum fully takes effect,” he snarled down at her. “And think Rory, you'll be trapped in here with my insanity. That wasn't part of your plan was it? Sander won't be here to protect you, will he? The way I'm feeling right now, I doubt he or anyone else could. Even if they were stupid enough to try.”
“Why have you taken that poisonous drug again? Is your wound painful?” Rory was trying to make sense of what was happening. But it was impossible.
Dylan tossed his head back and laughed down at her. There was a hard edge to the sound. His eyes glittered recklessly. “Oh, you're good. Cursed good. You gave it to me.”
“What! What are you saying?” She inched away as he moved closer. “Before God Dylan, why would I give you laudanum? It's not possible.” She was pleading for him to believe her. He had to believe her.
“For someone as twisted as you, anything is possible. Shall I tell you how it was accomplished? It took me a while. I can't call upon the kind of deviousness you obviously can. So it did take me a while to puzzle it out. First, you talk your brother into making that pompous toast. Then you hand me a cup full of something innocent, like punch. Something thick and sweet that would hide the taste of the laudanum. And like a fool, I took it.”
He knelt down on one knee to get nearer to her in the straw. Her eyes widened at the fierce intensity of his words.
“But then that should come as no surprise. I've been a fool all along with you. No one would suspect a woman with a face as innocent and beautiful as an angel of treachery. I should have guessed long ago. But I trusted you. For the first time since I was a boy, I trusted. Even after I found the guns in your family's warehouse, I didn't consider you as the traitor. I thought it was that half-witted brother of yours. You'll find this amusing.” He stopped and tipped her chin up to him with a hard steady hand.
His jet colored eyes searched her face. Looking for what she wondered? Guilt, innocence, betrayal? What was he talking about? Had the guns been in Gray's warehouse all along? Was he involved in the smuggling? Could her brother be involved? Rory had no idea, but she was scared, more scared than she’d been in her entire life.
The laudanum dragged him deeper into its wild abyss. And he struggled to hold onto rational thought.
“I would do anything to keep you safe. To shield you from the consequences of your brother's crime. I'd decided to kill him in a duel. No one would ever know of your part in this whole debacle. Very noble of me, don't you think?”
One finger traced her trembling lips as he mocked coldly, “I should have known he'd never have the intellect to plan such a complicated scheme. But you do. Don't you Aurora? Of course you do. Sweet Bloody Hades woman, you should have been an actress. All those pretty speeches about God's love. It sickens me to think I was almost…”
He stopped and buried one hand in her hair. He jerked her frightened face up towards him. “I didn't realize what a master you were until the laudanum already burned through my veins. It's a very distinctive pain, sweetheart, like a fiery acid. A horrible prelude to the madness. And who gave me something to drink tonight? Only you Aurora, only you.”
He shook his head and laughed caustically. “It makes perfect sense really. The beloved of the chosen father will bring them out of the counting houses,” he quoted the verse he'd found in Avansley's library.
He tore his hand away from her as if the contact might burn him. Disgusted Dylan threw himself down on the clean straw beside her. His breathing became ragged. Drawing each breath sounded like a blacksmith’s bellows. His face paled. But he marshaled the strength to keep from falling into the yawning murky abyss.
“Abraham was the chosen father of Israel. His namesake Abraham Gottlieb worships the ground you walk upon. That makes you the beloved of the chosen Father. And the guns were in your cotton warehouse.” He covered his eyes with one arm. “It was there all the time, all the time. I just didn't want to see it.”
“No, no you're wrong,” She leaned over him frantic, clutching his shoulders, trying to tell him the truth. “I'm not a traitor. I could never be a traitor. I would never hurt you. You know that, you do. I love you.” She sobbed in frustration. “Your mind is so confused with that cursed drug you don't know what you're saying.”
The arm shielding his face moved away. She shuddered at the dead eyes boring into hers. He dragged her roughly on top of his powerful body. He imprisoned her there in arms like bands of steel. “I know the truth. Even you can't change the truth Aurora. But go ahead and lie to me. Maybe I'll believe you. I wish I could believe just one more of your pretty lies.” He drew her closer. When their lips were a scant whisper apart, he closed his eyes and shuddered.
“God in Heaven, help me. It doesn't matter. You could be a traitor a hundred times over, and it wouldn't matter.”
With those tortured words, his mouth began tenderly to ravish hers. There was searing heat in his lips
. And an utter hopelessness in the passion he gave her. His searching lips teased and tasted her sweetness one last time.
“Curse you Rory,” he tore away and growled. “Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been Celeste or any one of the others? Lord knows I've acted the lover with enough rapacious females in the past. Why couldn't it have been one of them? I could watch them be hanged and not care. Any of them, all of them. But how can I watch an executioner slaughter you on a gallows and know I’m to blame? Know that I put you there. How? How can I do such a thing?” He groaned and buried his face in her wildly tousled hair. Then he began laughing. Slow wild laughter. “I finally know how he felt. After all these years, I finally know.”
“Know how who felt?” She drew away from him. This time his arms released her. Rory pushed the hair out of her face. She warily watched the man on the straw. God please help him. God please help him. She didn't know where that prayer was coming from. But it was there. Over and over it repeated in her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed silently.
“My father,” he said. For a moment, Dylan seemed almost lucid. “I'm talking about my father, of course. Mariah was my mother. You thought she was my lover. I saw it in your eyes.” He chuckled softly to himself. “No, she wasn't my lover, sweetheart. She was my mother. She died in childbed birthing my sister Jessamine. She called for him, the bleeding weakling. My father. All that unending day as she lay laboring to birth my baby sister, she called for him. The midwife told him his wife was dying. You know what the bloody coward did?” The bitter words spewed out. “He drank himself into oblivion in his library downstairs. Said he couldn't stand to watch her suffer. And she did suffer. I can vouch for that.”
Rory didn't think Dylan was even aware she was still there. His voice continued in an uninflected monotone.
“I was the one holding her hand while she begged for him. God help me, I can still hear her in my head. She was whispering his name hours later when she finally bled out. My father was convinced it was his fault. And he was right. It was.” Now there was hatred in the harsh words. “It was his own cursed fault. She'd been told not to risk having another child. Birthing Griffin almost killed her. He knew it. Curse his black soul, he knew it. But he got her pregnant anyway. He could have protected her. He should have. Curse him, he should have. But I suppose they were reckless in their passion for each other. Theirs was a love match, you see. Lord, how they loved each other.” His smile was a bleak rictus.
“As a child, I remember being surrounded in the warm overflow of their love. It was like living in perpetual sunlight. She took the sun with her when she died. And he couldn't bear the grief. So, he blew his brains out over her grave the day she was buried. A coward to the last.”
He propped himself up on one elbow to peer down at her. “I had him buried beside her. Although he didn't deserve a place in hallowed ground. I told the vicar he'd been killed in a duel. I said I didn’t recognize the man he'd fought. It was the first of many lies I've told. Too many to count or even remember.” He seemed completely detached as he finished speaking.
“I'm sorry Dylan,” she murmured. She reached for his hand to comfort him.
He raised the small hand clutching his and dropped a kiss upon it. “Ironic, isn't it? I've always thought he was a coward. Now I find I'm one myself. I'd want you no matter what you've done. No matter what crime you've committed. I can't stop wanting you.”
His lips found hers again. Instead of the brutality she'd feared, he coaxed and wooed. His lips were a whisper of pressure across her soft aching mouth. He teased her lips. She opened to him like a flower in the sun. She no longer felt his anger. There were only passion and tenderness as his mouth molded and tasted hers.
“Sweet,” he groaned against her lips. “You're sweeter than warm honey.”
“No,” she argued against his lips. She knew she could not take any more sensation. Her mind was spinning. Her disobedient body reached for something she couldn't name. Something she instinctively knew was wrong. “No.”
“Yes. You hurt from the wanting and so do I,” he growled. His lips marked a hot trail from the pulse beating heavily at the base of her throat to an aching spot below her right ear.
Lord help him, he'd never felt this way with another woman. Yes, he'd had lovers. But he'd never cared who had been there before him, or who would come after. All the women he’d used to satisfy his lust were forgotten. All of them.
He captured her face in one hand and drank in the sight of her. Rory Windsor was his woman, his wife. Her face was flushed, and her lashes lay long on her cheeks. That thick russet hair of hers flowed over her shoulders. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He made a solemn vow. No other man would see her like this, ever. She was his. She was his wife.
Rory's eyes flew open and widened in shock. Sudden hot tears trailed down her alabaster cheeks. She was mortified by how close she’d come to willfully surrendering her virtue to a man who didn’t care for her. Because she knew in her heart of hearts, even though she loved him, he did not return her regard. The depth of her feelings for him was no excuse for sinning.
“No love, don't cry. I’ll make this right. Some way, I’ll make this right,” he said.
He kissed her again before he could make himself stop. The hardest thing he’d done in his entire life was pulling away from her. But he recognized the numbness creeping through his veins. He could feel the coldness starting to overtake him.
She lay so quietly in his arms. She might have been a beautiful marble sculpture of an angel. His angel. Cold, he was so cold, even Rory’s nearness failed to warm him.
He’d held the effect of the drug off as long as he could. Iron strength of will fueled the control he’d demanded from his body. Now denied passion leached it all away. He felt himself spiral into blackness. He tried to claw his way to consciousness. He had to tell her she belonged to him. She had to know he’d claimed her. She had to know the truth about their marriage. But all he felt was the sweet tug of awareness her proximity always brought. Then he knew nothing.
Rory slowly searched his face. She saw that he was asleep. Tentative fingers reached out to trace his lips. She loved him so much. She thought she might die from the intensity of it. She began to pray out of the abundance of her breaking heart.
God, please be the Lord of this moment. And of all the ones to come. Please help me surrender my will to you. Please save Dylan. Please, if it’s your will, give us to each other. I love him Lord. If I can’t be his wife, I’ll be no man’s. Amen
Reaching up, she placed a soft kiss upon Dylan’s lips. She didn’t know what God would do. But she was at peace. Dylan hadn't responded to her avowal of love. But she had a renewed faith, that if God ordained it, he would. She smiled. God was on her side. He did all things well. If Dylan was truly meant for her, he’d come to love her. And if that was not God’s will, Rory would always cherish her secret joy in loving him. Completely satisfied with herself and the world in general, she drifted down into a dreamless sleep.
“What a pretty scene,” sneered an ugly voice from the doorway.
Dylan woke abruptly. He instinctively stood to protect the girl in the straw. His eyes were dilated. His balance unsteady.
“Love's perfect dream, or so it appears.” Richard Avansley stared at them from above the barrel of a pistol trained at Dylan's head.
“Has the laudanum not taken effect yet my dove? How tedious for you,” he asked the waking disheveled girl. He kept his wary eyes trained on the weaving man. “I thought you said he went fairly mad when he'd taken the stuff before. He doesn't seem mad to me.”
“He's lying Dylan.” There was an urgent pleading note in her voice as she spoke. She stood and took St. John’s hand in hers.
“Why keep up the ruse lover?” questioned Avansley. “We've got what we wanted. St. John, or should I say MacAllister? He's the Duke now isn't he? No matter, your poor deceived knight errant won't be able to stop us, my dove. We'll be
away while the Reverend Brother looks for him.” He laughed.
Dylan's head whipped up and his eyes narrowed.
“Yes Your Grace, of course I know about your brother. Aurora told me. She is very thorough when she plots. Wonderful planning on your part darling.” He blew an obscene kiss to the stunned woman. “Kills two birds with one stone. Or should I say two brothers?” He cackled. He motioned her away from Dylan with the point of the gun. “Come along Aurora, my ship's waiting.”
Dylan's eyes hardened as he watched her move to obey the man with the gun. Rory knew she must pretend to go with Avansley. She was afraid to show the slightest reticence. The blonde peer didn't need an excuse to kill Dylan. He wanted him dead already. She had to make sure that didn't happen. No matter what else transpired, Dylan must be kept safe. She would think of some way out of this mess once his safety was ensured. She tried to shake off the hold Dylan had on her hand.
“Don't make this worse than it already is Rory. Stop now and let Avansley hang alone.” His voice was low and intense. “I'll get you away, Rory. I swear, somehow I'll get you away. You can start your life all over again somewhere far away.”
“How touching.” Avansley said. “The poor dupe is still trying to save you.” Avansley jerked her to his side. “I do hope you didn't have to sleep with the oaf. You know how fastidious I am about such things. I fear I would never be able to truly enjoy your charms again, if you’d been polluted by St. John. Tell him you don’t want him or his charming offer of salvation.”
Rory remained quiet. Avansley pulled her into his arms and ran a slow insulting hand down her spine. Rory tried to evade his wet devouring mouth on hers, but it was impossible. The kiss was a study in lust and debasement. She dare not move. Any resistance on her part might result in Dylan being murdered. So she suffered in silence as the Englishman abused her. Avansley was like a rutting animal, intent on only one thing, satisfying his lust.
