Harlequin E Shivers Box Set Volume 4: The HeadmasterDarkness UnchainedForget Me NotQueen of Stone

by Tiffany Reisz

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Rudi has always been sickly,” I replied, turning back to add a note to my list of things to prepare for the wedding.

  “This sounds like rather more than mere ‘sickliness,’ however,” Nicca said with a frown. “I think you should send for a doctor.”

  “Folly!” I said briskly. “If we overreacted every time Rudi felt unwell, the kraal at home would be permanently swarming with doctors. He should rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

  “Will you come and see him, Annie? Please?” Finty’s eyes were troubled.

  I resisted the temptation to sigh. “I will come up to his room before I go to bed,” I promised. I was conscious of Nicca watching me. Really, what reason could there be for that reproachful look in those blue eyes?

  And I did mean to keep that promise. I sat at my dressing table, lost in thought as I brushed my hair. I was clad in my nightgown and I rose to fetch my dressing gown, intending to go to Rudi’s room. A faint sound from the doorway made me turn my head. Uther stood in the shadows, leaning his broad shoulders against the closed door, watching me. I wondered briefly how long he had been there. He had discarded his jacket and tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist. I was struck again by the devastating good looks of this man whose life was now forever entwined with my own.

  “Come here.” He held out a hand. I knew from the tone of command that it was not my own Uther who spoke. I shivered in erotic anticipation. He took my face in his hands and gazed at me. “I wish I didn’t have to go to London tomorrow, my sweet. It’s a damned nuisance.” He ran his thumb slowly across my lower lip as though testing its texture. “Do you remember our first kiss?” He laughed softly. “But of course you do. It was better than sex, or what passes for sex for most people. Not for us, of course.” He lowered his head and parted my lips with his, drawing my tongue into his mouth and suckling it gently. I clung to him, lost in the emotions he instantly aroused in me, not pausing in that instant to wonder why it was this incarnation of him who could make me feel this way. “When we make love, it will be our awakening.

  “I want the memory of your body to warm my journey tomorrow, Annie. I want to recall your perfect breasts.” His fingers tugged impatiently at the cotton of my nightdress, and obediently, I pulled it over my head. The flare of lust in his eyes drove away any momentary embarrassment I might have felt. “And the curve of your hips.” Obediently, I slid my panties down and stepped out of them. “I want a memory of your nipple growing hard beneath my tongue.” He matched the action to his words. “Sit here.” I moved to the edge of the bed, and he knelt before me, holding my knees apart. “I want to remember your scent when I am forced to breathe the smog of London.” He bent his head and pressed his face against the base of my stomach. My muscles clenched. His wicked smile flashed as he looked up at me again. “And I want the taste of you on my tongue the whole time we are apart. The whole time, Annie.” His tongue traced a downward path, pausing to lightly flick and stroke before moving lower to dart deep inside me. Coherent thought was lost to me then, and I fell back onto the bed, giving myself up to pure, maddening sensation.

  It was only much later, when he had gone and I fell into the sleep of satisfaction, that I remembered my promise to visit Rudi and check on his health. But, of course, it was much too late to go and disturb him then.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Tristan! What a delightful surprise.”

  “I hope you will still think so, Annie, my dear, when you learn the reason for my visit.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek, handing his hat, coat and cane to Winrow in the same movement.

  “I hope Eleanor is well?” I asked, after I had requested the butler to bring us some tea.

  “Yes, she is fine,” he answered almost automatically.

  “You find our numbers greatly depleted. Uther is in London. My brother is unwell and remains in his room. Nicca has gone to Wadebridge, and Finty has accompanied him to get some medicine she believes will alleviate Rudi’s symptoms.”

  “Have you spoken to Uther today?”

  I was shocked that such a precise man should interrupt the social niceties in this way. “No, I don’t expect him back for some days.” Cold fingers of fear clutched at me. “Please tell me there is nothing wrong with Uther.”

  Tristan tented his fingers beneath his chin. He seemed to be steeling himself. “Annie, did you get the letter I sent you about a week ago?”

  I strange feeling assailed me then. A footman came in with the tea tray, and I used the interruption to wonder if I might be able to make some excuse not to hear the rest of this story. It was my choice, after all. I had a busy day ahead of me. Why should I allow Tristan to derail my wedding plans with this new agenda? Just because something was important to him, did that mean it must instantly become important to me? The concern on Tristan’s kindly features answered me. It was not something I could ignore. Taking a seat and gesturing for him to do the same, I poured tea.

  “No, I have never received any letters from you, Tristan,” I replied, resigning myself.

  He sighed. “Let me start by telling you something I should have said to you on my last visit. I was struck when I first saw you, by the fact that you and Rudi look like Jagos. You have the unusual eyes and dark colouring, and you, Annie, do bear a quite uncanny resemblance to Bouche at times. When you told me you thought your father’s name was Austell and that he was English, I was not entirely honest with you. I immediately thought that you and Rudi must be the illegitimate children of Petroc Jago, Cad and Bouche’s oldest son. His middle name was Austell. As a boy, he made no secret of the fact that he hated the name Petroc. It is the name of the church in the village, where Cad and Bouche were married, and his younger brother Rory ribbed him about the fact that he was named after a medieval place of worship. His dislike of the name became a family joke. So much so that Rory relented and always called him Austell. As you know, Petroc—or Austell—died in South Africa during the Boer War. He was based in Maheking during the siege, so it is entirely possible that he was your father.” Tristan sipped his tea while he let this information sink in. “Both boys were obsessed with the army, and Petroc was only seventeen when, against Cad’s wishes, he enlisted. Cad wanted him to take the route that Rory eventually chose, which was to enrol at Sandhurst and train as an officer. But Petroc was hot-headed and rebellious.”

  I thought of all the times I had done something impetuous, and Ouma had pulled a long face and told me she didn’t know who I took after. Perhaps that mystery was now solved.

  Tristan went on. “He joined under a false name—well, we found out later that he joined as Private Petroc Austell—and was on his way to Natal before we knew anything about it. Bouche, of course, was devastated.”

  I thought of Bouche Jago who, it now seemed, might well have been my grandmother. The idea enthralled me. “It must have been a dreadful time for the family,” I said.

  “It was,” he agreed. His manner became brisk again. “What I couldn’t understand, as I told you at the time, was how your mother got to know Lady Sarah Wilson. Even if she had a fling with Petroc while they were trapped at Maheking together, it doesn’t explain how she became friendly with one of the foremost ladies of the day. So I spoke to that old martinet a few days after I got back to London. What she told me was very interesting. Lady Sarah remembered your mother very well, Annie. She was present at her wedding to Petroc Jago.”

  Chapter Eight

  I sat upright so abruptly that I spilled most of my tea into my saucer and some of it slopped onto my skirt. Tristan reached for his handkerchief and held it out to me, but I waved it aside. “No, please go on.”

  “In Maheking, Lady Sarah recognised Petroc immediately. He looked like Cad, who she knew because she and Bouche served on many of the same charitable committees. So although he was just a young artilleryman, she knew that Petroc was not only a Jago, but that he was also the heir to the Athal title. She took him under her wing. He confided to Lady Sarah
that he had fallen in love with a local girl and that he intended to marry her. She helped him to make the necessary arrangements and attended the wedding. She also befriended your mother once they were married. Petroc asked Lady Sarah not to tell his parents about the marriage, and she respected his wishes. Besides, she didn’t have any information about your mother, so she kept his secret even after his death. But she didn’t know that your mother was pregnant when the siege ended. If she had, she assured me that she would have told Bouche about it when she returned to England, so that she and Cad could have attempted to find their grandchildren.” He watched my face as I assimilated this information.

  “So Rudi and I are Jagos,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. I thought of Rudi’s childhood drawings and adult pictures and the lure of this place across thousands of miles. Some strange, unexplained force had drawn us here to the place that was part of our birth right. “We are Cad and Bouche’s grandchildren.” A thought—dreadful in its enormity—struck me. “How closely are Uther and I related?”

  “Oh, hardly at all. Uther and Nicca are distant cousins to you and Rudi, several times removed.” He allowed himself a slight smile. “The connection is so slight that it need not concern you. No, Annie, that is not the reason I have come down here to see you.”

  I raised my brows in an enquiry.

  “Don’t you see what this means?” he said. “The true line of Athal did not die out with Rory. As Petroc’s son, Rudi is the rightful Earl of Athal.” He paused to give me time to assimilate his words. And my heart plummeted with the realisation of what they meant. “Which is what I said in the letter I wrote to you.”

  I rose jerkily from my seat and went over to the window. With unseeing eyes, I gazed out at the wild, ever-changing scene beyond the cliff edge. I saw Uther seated at his desk gazing blindly at the words on a page. I saw the unhinged fury in his eyes before he locked a letter in his desk drawer. Away from me, I realised now. I saw his golden gaze fixed in brooding thought on Rudi’s face. After a long pause, Tristan rose and came to stand next to me.

  “Why did you ask if I had seen Uther today?” The words came stiffly from my lips. “If the letter was sent a week ago?”

  I detested the note of gentle sympathy in his voice. “I was surprised when you didn’t respond to my letter. Then I saw Uther at my club yesterday evening. He was laughing and joking with a group of friends, which struck me as odd because I knew, of course, that the contents of the letter must have had a devastating impact on him. I went over to him and asked if you had received it. ”

  “What was his response?”

  “He gave me none. In fact, he did not acknowledge my presence. He simply turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there in midsentence.” Tristan watched my face, assessing the impact of what he was saying. “Could my letter have gone astray, Annie?”

  I shook my head. I knew for a fact, of course, that it had not.

  “What will you do now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I turned to look at him. “What you said that day on the cliff, about the past not letting go.…It’s happening still, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so, Annie.” Tristan drew me close against his side, and I allowed myself to rest my head briefly against his shoulder. Becoming brisk once more, he said, “If Rudi can send his birth certificate and your parents’ marriage certificate to me, I will get the legal process underway.”

  “I don’t know if they still exist,” I said. “But I can find out.”

  “I must go, Annie. I don’t want to leave Eleanor alone overnight.” For a moment I thought he wanted to say more. “I’m sorry to leave you to face this, but I know that if anyone is strong enough to deal with it, you are.” Winrow entered the room and Tristan took his hat and cane from the butler. “And Annie?” He paused in the act of shrugging on his coat. “Think about getting Rudi away from Tenebris. Today. It seems to me there may be something here that is harmful to his health.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I rested my head against the cool glass of the window and saw a faint reflection of my own face. A ghostly outline of the features that, according to Finty, so closely resembled those of Bouche Jago. My grandmother. The woman who had overcome the dark secrets of her own past and made Tenebris her home. Bouche, who always put her family first. I closed my eyes in an attempt to shut out our shared image. It wasn’t fair. She had Cad, the man she loved to distraction, at her side. It was easy for her to be strong. I had no one.

  Lightly, I ran along the hallway to Uther’s study. The scent of his cologne brought me up short on the doorstep, and a little, despairing sob escaped my lips. Images of us together crowded into my mind. What if we had not waited to consummate our love? If we were already married? Would I still allow these doubts about him to plague me?

  The desk drawer was locked, just as I knew it would be. I rummaged around for the key, but I suspected that it would be sitting safe inside Uther’s breast pocket in London. The desk was made of solid oak, beautiful but serviceable. I tried to prise the drawer open with the ornate silver letter opener that sat on the desktop, but I only succeeded in scratching the polished wood. I needed that metaphorical sledgehammer with which Ouma and Rudi claimed I bludgeoned my way through life. My eyes scanned the room and rested on the fireplace with its set of polished brass tools. I was going to have some serious explaining to do later. Without hesitating, I snatched up the heavy poker and repeatedly drove it into the drawer front until the wood around the lock splintered. As I destroyed the elegant piece of furniture, part of my mind dwelt on the Jagos who must have sat at this desk in the past. Poetic Tynan, pragmatic Lucy, tortured Eddie, charismatic Cad, dazzling Bouche.…I hoped my ancestors would be able to forgive me. The drawer gave way with a sound close to a groan, and I cast my weapon aside with a shaking hand. The letter was there, on top of a pile of other papers.

  Tristan had written the one-page missive exactly as he spoke, with precision and brevity. There was nothing in the letter that he had not told me earlier that day.

  I will give you some time to digest the contents of this letter, my dear Annie. I realise it will have a profound effect on you and on those close to you. I will leave it to you to decide how you break this news to Uther and Rudi. Or you may wish me to undertake the task. I await your reply and remain,

  Yours,

  Tristan

  There was another folded slip of paper under Tristan’s letter, which I lifted from the drawer. How odd that I should still feel guilty about prying into Uther’s things after the enormity of his betrayal! I covered my mouth with a shaking hand as I read the irrefutable proof that Nicca had been right about his brother’s hand in Rory’s death.

  Dear Captain Jago,

  Or should I say ‘my lord’? The case is now desperate. Excuses won’t wash any more. I need one thousand pounds by Monday next or I will go to your brother and tell him what I saw that day in Flanders. I told you he already suspects and has given me ample opportunity to tell all. Once he knows for sure, your number’s up. Brother or not, the major’s not the man to keep your dirty little secret for you.

  Yours,

  Arthur Wilson

  How had I allowed my hellish desire for Uther to blind me to what he was? But I had known, hadn’t I? It was a little insistent voice that refused to be silenced. Even before Nicca told me that Uther had killed Rory, I knew what he was. Not only did I know that the Jago darkness had claimed him, I had allowed it to enter me, as well. It had hardened my heart to Rudi, the brother I loved. It had made me impatient with Finty, who was a harmless butterfly of a girl. It had caused me to hurt Nicca, whose only motive had been to protect me. And, even now, its sly voice was prompting me to walk away and ignore the truth.

  Mechanically, I refolded the letters and placed them back in the drawer. As I did, my hand touched a small glass bottle. My fingers closed around it and I held it up, taking in, with an almost detached air, the skull and cross bones on the label.


  To be used for the elimination of vermin only. If consumed, arsenic will cause an excess of saliva production, delirium, tightness of the throat, violent bowel pain, headaches and nausea. If imbibed, administer an emetic in the form of egg white and water at once.

  Calmly, I replaced the bottle under the letters and closed the ruined drawer. I left the room knowing I would never enter it again. Then I stepped into Rudi’s bedchamber and found that Finty had returned from her trip to Wadebridge and was seated beside the bed. I noticed, as I had not before, how pale she was. Her eyes were red from weeping. Rudi was asleep, his face almost transparent against the banked-up pillows, his breathing harsh and shallow. Finty wiped saliva from his lips.

  “The medicine I gave him has had no effect, Annie,” she whispered, and I could hear the choked-back tears in her voice. “He is so much worse. It sounds almost as if his throat is closing. I know you said this is normal for him, but…”

  I placed my hand on his forehead, and it felt clammy under my palm. Leaning over, I pressed a kiss onto Rudi’s cheek. “When he wakes, give him egg white and water. Nothing else. Prepare it yourself and only you must give it to him. Don’t let anyone else near him.”

  Before Finty could say anything in reply, I walked out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Sitting on the cliff top that was steeped in Jago history, I knew a little of how Eddie Jago had felt when he came here. I hadn’t taken up a knife. I hadn’t stabbed anyone in an insane murderous rage. Instead, I’d turned my face away and allowed my brother, whom I claimed to love, to be poisoned. I’d let the same darkness into my heart that Eddie Jago had welcomed. I had the strangest feeling that, if I took a knife now and drew it across the bluish veins that stood out against the whiteness of my inner wrists, I would draw charcoal instead of blood. Every inhalation burned my throat, every exhalation felt like ashes. Hell was too good for a wretch like me. Heaven was an impossible dream.