Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2)

by R. C. Matthews

  Victor hopped back into the cab and settled down. He pulled the door shut and the carriage sprang forward. His foot tapped repeatedly as he clasped his hands in his lap, staring out the window. He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat several times.

  Mercy snaked her fingers through his. “Welcome home, Victor.”

  He gripped her hand tightly and glanced down at her. “Let us hope.”

  “Your welcome isn’t in question, you bloody scoundrel,” Hatchet said with a shake of his head. “Though it should be after the way you’ve ignored your mother all these years. Still, she loves you and writes frequently.”

  “As does yours,” Victor shot back.

  Hatchet grinned. “Silly women.”

  The wheels came to a halt, and a moment later, they exited the coach. A brisk wind carried the pungent scent of pine mixed with smoldering wood. What Mercy wouldn’t give to be toasting her toes near the hearth at that moment.

  She craned her neck, surveying all three stories of the mansion. Smoke curled high above the roof, wafting in great puffs out of a smokestack. Her mother had shared many stories of the Thorne sisters and what had transpired in their youth while living at the great estate. And though the castle was well over four hundred years old, it had been cared for meticulously, from the ivy climbing the walls to the wood casement windows and fine draperies.

  Candlelight flickered behind one of the windows on the main floor. Mercy could discern the outline of a set of chairs. Had Vivian and Elizabeth sat in those chairs, their heads bent close while concocting spells?

  There was so much history within the walls of the estate, so many secrets to ferret out . . . and so little time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Leaves on the nearby box hedges rustled, and Victor squinted in the general direction. Candlelight shone through the front window, providing inadequate light. Seconds later, a black tail swished over the green leaves. He chuckled while staring at the rump of a cat poking out of the bushes. With that distinctive white-tipped tail, it could only be his kitten, George. His chest tightened for a moment. The furball wouldn’t fit in his palm anymore, to be sure. How had he survived this long?

  Mercy clasped his forearm and gasped.

  “What is it, my sweet?” he asked, following the direction of her horrified stare.

  She drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “Nothing. It’s late, and I’m letting my imagination run wild. I thought I saw someone lurking near the window, but I’m sure it was nothing.”

  The corners of his lips curled up. “That’s likely our butler, Milton. Don’t mind him but accept my forewarning that his appearance can be alarming. He’s harmless enough, though creepy, I grant you.”

  “Boo!” Hatchet shouted, leaning in between them from behind.

  Mercy screamed and jumped in place, grabbing tighter hold of Victor’s arm. He was of a mind to slap Hatchet upside the head for his childish antics. Instead, he lambasted him with a glare.

  Hatchet grinned and hooted with laughter. “Every haunted castle deserves a dark and mysterious butler.”

  Victor shook his head and proceeded to guide Mercy toward the front door. His nerves were already on edge, and the last thing he wanted was to scare the wits out of her. “Do not listen to a word he says. Blackburn Castle is not haunted.”

  The front door creaked opened the moment they arrived at the entrance, seemingly of its own accord, and a candelabra levitated a few steps away as they entered the foyer. The butler’s rigid body came into view, his shoulders stiff and his gaze fixed ahead of him.

  Victor inhaled the familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves. They were his mother’s seasonal favorites and could often be found as decorative accents on her wreaths. Especially the one hanging from the Yule log while it dried in the long months before Christmas. Did his family still observe all the same traditions in his absence?

  “Lord Victor Blackburn,” Milton announced in his most formal address. “Please do come in.”

  Victor rolled his eyes, his smile of greeting fading as he walked past the butler. His gaze was drawn to the dark bags of skin under the man’s black eyes. The color was striking against his pale white skin and pallet of gray hair, but it was his sharp, hawk-like nose that stood out most as he stared down it with displeasure, belying his pleasant greeting. Victor hadn’t been scared of the servant since he was a child, and he found the sudden chill racing up his back disconcerting.

  “And the names of your guests, if I may be so bold as to inquire?” Milton asked.

  Mercy scuttled forward, directing her gaze to the Brazilian cherry–wood flooring and intricate parquet borders. Was she as disturbed by the servant’s penetrating stare as he? That would not do. Victor could not allow the staff to scare his fiancée away.

  “Milton, old boy,” Victor said, returning the butler’s stiff address with a twinge of humor. The informality of his manner would rile the man and put him on guard. “Please welcome my fiancée, Miss Mercy Seymour Limmerick, and my good friend, Mr. Charles Moore.” He winked at the butler and jabbed him in the arm, smiling at the shocked expression he elicited. “But you may call him Hatchet if you prefer.”

  Mercy swung around. “What a lovely name! Charles Moore. But of course you have a proper name. I simply never thought to ask.”

  Hatchet shrugged and shifted his stance while Milton scrutinized him for a moment. The butler sniffed and asked, “Do you bear a relationship to Mr. Isaac Moore of the Moore-Lloyd Shipping Co.?”

  Hatchet nodded, meeting Milton’s direct stare head-on. “Isaac is my father.”

  The butler’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and then he bowed in deference.

  “Excellent,” Victor said, clapping Hatchet on the back. “We’ve been here less than five minutes, and you’ve earned Milton’s respect. Well done, mate!”

  The butler clasped his hands at the base of his back, ignoring the comment. “I’m afraid the lord and lady of the house have already retired. Shall I wake them, or would you prefer to surprise them at breakfast?”

  The censure in his tone was thick. It was one thing for the servant to treat a spoiled, insolent child with disdain. But it was quite another to look down his nose at his future employer. But, no matter, Victor’s reunion would have felt incomplete without Milton acting like his ornery self.

  “Tomorrow morning will suffice, Milton,” Victor said, glancing about the foyer. “It feels good to be home. Hatchet will return in the morning with two more guests, but I shall stay over tonight, as will Miss Limmerick. Our luggage is in the carriage. Be a good chap and arrange for the footman to bring it up, won’t you?”

  The butler’s lips pursed into a thin line, hardening his features even further. “Your visit is unexpected, but rest assured Mrs. Duncan always keeps the guest rooms tidy. Allow me to escort you to your quarters, and then I shall arrange for the footman to bring up your belongings.”

  Milton offered Victor a candle before he marched stoically up two steps to the main floor and headed in the direction of an elaborate set of twin staircases.

  “Heaven forbid I should roam the halls of my own home unattended,” Victor said, winking at Mercy.

  “It is not yours yet,” Milton declared with a steely glance over his shoulder.

  Victor lifted his brow. “Indeed, it is not.” He shook his head and nodded at Hatchet. “Leave our baggage on the drive. Safe travels, and we’ll see you again around eleven o’clock tomorrow? That should give me sufficient time to reacquaint myself with my family.”

  “Until then, good night.” Hatchet bowed before Mercy and took his leave.

  But Victor couldn’t escape so easily. As the door clicked behind him, he squared his shoulders to stroll the halls of his childhood home. He had belonged here once. Played in all the rooms of the castle. Slept under the safety of its roof. But that was long ago, and he had changed. Would he forge new and happy memories now that he’d returned? Tomorrow would tell.

  • • •

  Mercy acc
epted Victor’s arm, and they followed the butler at a close distance. The light of the candelabra cast his lean shadow against the wall, tall and gloomy. With night upon them, she could see little more than the outline of portraits lining the walls and random tables housing nondescript vases and bowls. Milton paused before a door and opened it wide.

  “The Golden Room, for the lady,” the butler said, stepping aside.

  She licked her lips and peered into the dark room uncertainly.

  “Thank you, Milton,” Victor said, handing Mercy the candle and ushering her inside. “I’ll ensure Miss Limmerick is comfortable before heading to my room. May I assume my old quarters are still available?”

  The butler’s lips puckered in disapproval. “Everything is as it was on the day you left, sir. But I must insist on—”

  Victor’s hand shot up. “I’ll leave the door open, and you may listen from the hallway to preserve the lady’s good reputation. Will that satisfy your sense of propriety?”

  With a curt nod, the butler took his station outside the door. Victor snatched another candle from the candelabra and strode to the bedside table where he lit a gas lamp.

  Soft, glowing light flooded the room, revealing an elegant four-poster bed with contrasting dark and light wood patterns on the headboard. A tall gilded mirror stood in the corner next to a wide dresser with ornate gold handles, and a chaise lounge was nestled near the window. Mercy absorbed it all: the gold brocade draperies, the fine silk rug woven in an intricate floral pattern, and a beautiful landscape painting featuring a garden with all manner of yellow flowers above the hearth.

  She shoved her hands into her pelisse pockets, determined not to touch a single thing, and glanced at Victor. This was to be her bedroom during their visit? The furnishings were far too grand. His family lived in a world so foreign from her own. Her parents hadn’t been poor, but this . . .

  “Do not frown so,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “This is a comfortable room with a lovely view of the ocean. Relax while I start a fire in the hearth.”

  She attempted a grin and wrapped her arms around her body as she sidled up to the window. The draperies hung stiffly on each side, like sentinels. She leaned against the casement as her gaze drifted across the manicured lawn to the craggy cliffs where the ocean loomed, ominous and black. The moonlight occasionally caught the whitecaps of rolling waves, and she could almost hear their thunderous crash against the rocky shore.

  “It’s breathtaking,” she said, leaning her forehead against the window. “I’ll wager it’s even more so in the light of day.”

  “You don’t find the graveyard disturbing at night?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and Victor flashed her a sinister smile before kneeling in front of the fire and blowing gently on the budding flames.

  “I hadn’t noticed it.”

  “To the west.”

  She searched there, along the edge of the manicured lawn, where thick trees lined the grass, and that’s when she discovered the simple rock wall enclosing the family cemetery, the entrance marked by a rounded stone arch enclosed with black iron gates. Trees, wild flowers, and vines grew among the elaborate tombstones, allowing them to blend in with Mother Nature. However, one headstone in particular stood out, given its sheer size. As Mercy pondered who might be deserving of special recognition, a shadowy, luminescent figure appeared beside it.

  She placed the tips of her fingers over her lips to catch a scream. From this distance, it was difficult to discern, but she would lay odds it was a man. As she narrowed her gaze on him, she had the uncanny impression that he stared back at her, beckoning her with outstretched hands.

  She whirled away from the window—and crashed into Victor, who stood directly in her path. A yelp hurled out of her throat, and her heart thumped wildly in her breast.

  “Goodness, you scared me. I thought you said the castle wasn’t haunted.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up, and he rubbed her cheek. “Seeing ghosts in the graveyard, are you?”

  The way he said it assured her he was teasing. But she did not feel the least bit assured. She had seen . . . Well, perhaps it was the light of the moon reflecting upon a shiny surface. Or she was overtired from their travels. Either way, she suddenly did not wish to be alone.

  “Will you come to me tonight?” she asked, leaning into his palm. She closed her eyes and took comfort in the warmth of his hand on her skin. “Please, Victor. Though lovely, the room is large and so foreign to me.”

  “If that’s your wish,” he said in a hushed tone. “After our luggage is delivered, I shall return. Will you survive alone until then?”

  She nodded, and he kissed the tips of her fingers before he left. Ignoring the window looming behind her, she crossed the room to warm her toes by the fire. Tomorrow she would request a bedroom facing the courtyard. With that decision made, she settled in a comfortable chair by the fire and let her mind drift. She had only closed her eyes for what seemed a moment when she was startled awake by a rough knocking on her door.

  “Enter,” she said, standing and pressing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

  An older gentleman entered and set her carpetbag on the bench at the foot of her bed. He turned to exit, but then paused and offered a smile. The corners of his eyes and mouth crinkled with age lines, softening the stark effect of his square jawline.

  “Good evening, Miss Limmerick,” he said with a bow. “I’m the valet to Lord Blackburn. You may call me Blair. Might I offer you the services of my granddaughter, Mary, during your stay at Blackburn Castle? Please excuse me for being presumptuous, but Milton mentioned you arrived without a lady’s maid.”

  “Oh,” Mercy said, rubbing her neck. “That won’t be necessary, but I do appreciate the offer. I’m quite accustomed to caring for myself.”

  Blair laced his hands at the base of his back. “The castle is quite large and the way of living rather formal. Mary could help you acclimate and perhaps share valuable insight to the betrothed of the next earl? Not to mention that my granddaughter would be honored to serve in such an esteemed capacity.”

  Well, when he pointed out the merits in that way, she couldn’t deny the appeal. There may be things she wanted to know about the castle and its inhabitants that she could not ask Victor.

  “Thank you, Blair,” she said with a nod. “I believe I will accept your generous offer.”

  “Shall I send Mary to assist you this evening with unpacking?” he asked, gesturing to her luggage.

  “No, no, that isn’t necessary.” Mercy ushered him toward the door. “It’s late, and I’m tired. Send her up tomorrow morning with my breakfast. That’ll do nicely.”

  “Very well.” He tipped his head and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

  A short while later, Victor slipped inside as she was pulling a nightgown from her bag. He strode toward her with lazy steps, watching her intently as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. In a moment, he would move to the buttons at his throat, working his way down his broad chest to his narrow hips. Mercy’s mouth felt dry. His slow movements were calculated to draw her in, and the fact that she stared, unable to look away, was quite scandalous. But he was to be her husband soon, so she would not be ashamed. There was no reason why she should not learn everything it meant to be his wife.

  She licked her lips, wetting them as best she could so she might speak her mind. “Make love to me tonight, Victor.”

  He stopped mid-step, his jaw going slack. The uncertainty in his gaze ripped at her insides, and she turned, offering him her back as she pulled her hair to the side with trembling fingers. Would he reject her advances again or succumb to his desires? She did not doubt he wanted to bed her, so his continued reluctance was baffling, to say the least.

  “Come, undress me,” she whispered, catching his gaze over her shoulder.

  His fingers moved swiftly down her back, and she pushed her bottom back against his groin, seeking the evidence of his desire. He groaned soft
ly when her buttocks met with his hard shaft.

  “You will be the death of me,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “Show me a little mercy, my sweet.”

  When the last button fell open, she turned in his embrace and slipped the dress over her shoulders, pushing it to the floor. Pressing her breasts to his chest, she ventured a look into his eyes. His sultry gaze sent heat rushing to the apex of her thighs. She knew exactly what awaited her when Victor finally acquiesced to her request.

  Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head down and brushed feathery kisses over his jawline. His breath hitched in his throat, and she grinned, following the edge of his square jaw to his fleshy earlobe. “Please make love to me. I’m as much yours now as I’ll ever be. A marriage license is nothing but a piece of paper, and we both know you’re not really religious.”

  He captured her face in his hands and stared at her with torturous indecision flashing in the depths of his emerald eyes. A second later, his mouth crashed down on hers, and she was lost in the heat of his passionate kiss. He cupped her buttocks, pulling her hard against his groin. When he rolled his hips into her, she gasped, glorying in the electrifying heat spreading through her limbs like wildfire. His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring with languid strokes. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, smiling against her lips.

  “Is this how a pirate ravishes a fair maiden?” she asked, gulping in a breath of air.

  “No, fair maiden,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “That is how an enamored husband pays homage to his lovely wife. Now, you must allow me to finish undressing you.”

  Turning her to face away from him, he stripped off her camisole and corset before bending to relieve her of her stockings. She handed him her nightgown, which he held over her head and then pulled down the length of her body after she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her in the center before climbing in next to her. His fingers brushed loose strands of hair away from the edges of her face as he gazed on her with what she could only describe as adoration.