Truly, she did not know whether to be excited or afraid.
The moment his lips touched hers, a ripple of trembling ecstasy pulsated through her veins, setting every nerve alight with a sparking sensation akin to fire. Her chest heaved, and her abdomen pulled tight, as he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers.
Sinking into the moment, she looped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips as his free hand held her about the waist, pulling her closer. His mouth moved against hers in a sensual rhythm, his lips expertly catching hers in the most exquisite manner. And the way his teeth gently raked against her bottom lip, nipping lightly. Then, with the return of his tender lips, his mouth caressed hers softly…it was all she could do not to gasp with pleasure, for that was certain to disturb the horses and bring down the entire household.
When he pulled away, her heart sank, for she wanted more. Truly, she did not want the moment to end.
“You should go, before we really find ourselves in hot water,” Edward urged.
“Must I?”
He smiled. “For now, Lady Lydia.”
“You have not changed your mind about me?”
“On the contrary,” he murmured, dipping closer for one last kiss. “I am more in love with you than I was a moment ago.”
Savoring the fleeting press of his lips, she rose from the hay bale and walked towards the door of the stables. He watched as she went, though he did not follow her, lest someone see them together in the doorway. She did not drop her gaze until she could no longer see him, though she carried the memory of his smile all through the night, as she retreated to her bedchamber. She walked along in quite the daze, upon her return to the house.
So dazed, in fact, that she did not see the shadow that lurked behind the wall of the nearby rose garden, nor the eyes that narrowed as she passed.
Chapter 9
The screech of a night owl pierced the nightmare. Edward wandered alone down a darkened hallway and felt the hot glower of eyes upon him. He tried to call out, but no sound emerged from his throat.
Where am I?
A pale figure stood at the end of the corridor, prompting a grip of panic to clench at Edward’s heart. Ghostly-white in the pallor of the moonlight’s glow, the young girl stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. She could not have been older than twelve, with her willowy frame shrouded in a nightgown.
Who are you? I know you…
He recognized the face, and yet he could not put a name to her. With every failed attempt to recollect her, his heart ached more deeply. She was important to him, he knew that, but he could not remember her. He frowned and lifted his hands to his cheeks, only to find that they had become wet with tears. He was crying for this young girl, and he did not know why.
“You there! Wait a moment!” he called desperately. The sound of his voice seemed to startle the girl and prompted her to break into a frightened run.
Scared of losing her altogether, he tore after the girl, his boots thudding on the hardwood floors. All around him, pictures and tapestries hung from the walls. Once more, he found himself recognizing the faces staring back at him, but he could not name them.
“You!” Edward shouted, but the figure did not halt. At every corner, she waited for a moment or two, before hurrying away again. Each time, the girl wore that same frightened expression upon her pretty, angelic face.
Suddenly, he burst through an unknown doorway and discovered himself in the gardens of a strange manor house. A full moon shone down, illuminating everything below in a pale, eerie glow. He looked around in confusion. The house was not Greenwick Abbey, yet he knew it with a similar familiarity.
A moment ago, I was on the first floor of the house, and now I am in the gardens? He could not fathom it. Who lives here? Who am I chasing?
Suddenly, he caught sight of a flash of something silver in the trees up ahead. A feeling of hope sparked inside him, though he did not know why. With his heart pounding in his chest, he sprinted towards it. It will be her. A force greater than himself led him in the direction of the woodland, as if someone else had hold of the marionette strings.
His head whipped around as a branch snapped close by. A hulking shadow lingered in the dense darkness, looming ominously between two thick-set trunks. He wanted to back away and run back to the house, but something pushed him on towards the shrouded shape.
Feeling as if he had lost all control of his body, he watched his hand lift through the air, moving slowly in the direction of the shadow. He flinched as his fingertips touched something both soft, and damp, and coarse.
What are you?
A soft whinny answered his unspoken question, as two dark eyes blinked from the shadows. The silver flash had come from a horse. As the beast stepped into the moonlight, he saw it more clearly. A beautiful creature with a sleek, silvery coat and a mane of gray, that rested obediently before him as if it knew him. It showed no fear or skittishness, only a snuffling sense of comfort.
“Do I know you?” Edward whispered, pressing his forehead to the horse’s.
Suddenly, another sound filled the air. It drowned out the screech of the owls and the rustle of nocturnal creatures approaching from the horizon like the pound of war drums. It was a sound he recognized keenly.
A rider…
He turned to look through the trees, but the sound was coming from all around. He couldn’t gauge the direction, no matter how he tried. With no other choice, he leapt up onto the back of the silver horse and dug in his heels, urging it across the unknown field towards the distance.
He raced and he raced, desperate to get away from the thudding beat of hooves, but he could not escape it. Although he turned over his shoulder, he could see no rider, and yet the sound continued to beat louder. It made no sense, but he could not bring himself to stop. He had to ride in order to survive. That much he was certain of.
What am I running from?
Reaching a riverbank, the horse reared to a halt and almost threw Edward from the saddle. The pound of hooves had disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving him to wonder what on earth was going on.
He was about to turn the horse around and make for safer terrain, when something in the water below caught his eye. A pale figure—the same pale figure that he had seen, running through the hallways of the strange manor house. A young girl.
I know you…
She was floating face up in the water, a pale dress spreading out around her like the unfurling petals of a flower. Her deathly-white skin glowed in the moonlight, and her eyes were closed as if she were merely sleeping, though he knew she was not. On the far bank, a horse whinnied low and gentle.
Who are you? How do I know you? What is the meaning of this?
Getting down from his horse, though he still feared the invisible rider, he crept toward the slippery bank. He did not know what impulse drove him on to investigate the young girl in the water, but he could not stop his feet from moving, one in front of the other.
Carefully, he slid down the muddy bank and entered the icy cold water. It stole away his breath as he struggled to wade through the current. Unseen hands snatched at his ankles, threatening to pull him beneath the surface. Undeterred, he pressed on towards the ghostly figure.
With his body shivering violently, he reached out towards her. His hands gripped her bitterly-cold skin, sending a chill through his veins. And yet, he could not resist pulling her closer. He brought her into his arms and cradled her there, staring down at her closed eyes. She looked so peaceful, and yet so tragic.
What happened to you?
In response to his thoughts, the girl’s eyes shot open to reveal milky-white irises. Her mouth gaped as if she were trying to speak, but he saw nothing but an empty, black hole opening wide in a silent scream. He dropped her in fright, his heart racing. Her limp hand raised to point at him, her fingertip shaking as she jabbed an accusation his way. Only, he did not know what he was being accused of.
“I am sorry, Miss. I do not know who
you are.” His voice trembled as he spoke, the sound of it startling him. Around his body, the water began to rush violently, the current swiping at his legs.
“You have forgotten me?” the girl hissed.
“I have forgotten everything.”
“You would forget your own sister? The girl you could not save from this watery grave?” The girl lifted her dead eyes to gaze at him, her mouth twisted up in a horrifying grimace.
He frowned. “My sister?”
“Have you forgotten what you did? Have you forgotten how I came to be here, dead in the water? Have you forgotten how I cried for your help and you did not come to my aid?”
His heart lurched, and he became aware of tears upon his cheeks. “I am sorry. I do not know who you are.” He did not know what else he could say.
“I died because of you, Edward.”
“I do not remember.” The tears were falling in hot, trickling streams, and he had no way of stopping them, for he did not know why they were falling. He did not remember this girl entirely, nor the reason she had ended up in such a tragic place. No matter how he fought with his memories, he could not put the pieces together.
Suddenly, something thick and spiny snared his ankles, unseen hands clawing at his flesh as they pulled him under. He struggled to the surface, but it was no use. Whatever caught him had him in its grasp, and it had no desire to let go. He tried to push himself to the surface, but the dark night and the dark water enveloped him. His lungs burned, and his body flailed, but it was no good.
He was drowning.
* * *
Edward awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat and tears staining his cheeks. He dragged in sharp, painful breaths as he thrashed around, wanting to be sure that he was in his bed and not stuck beneath the surface of that river.
After a few moments, he began to calm down, though his heart still pounded savagely in his tightened chest. He looked about the small hayloft that had become his chosen bedchamber, for he had forsaken the tiny shared room in the main house. Moonlight peeked through a crack in the roof, and he found himself alone. There was no girl, no unseen assailant, no horse, and no river.
“It was all a dream,” he muttered to himself. Taking up a rag from nearby, he wiped away the sticky sweat of his nightmare and walked to the edge of the hayloft. There, he sat on the brink and let the cool air drift in through the stable door, washing away the damp heat of his terror.
He pictured the girl in the water and felt the memory keenly, yet he could not put a name to her face. Nor could he align himself with the accusation he had made. Had he truly been responsible for her death? His sister’s death? He was not even sure he had a sister, but he saw no reason for the dream specter to lie.
“Maybe I am better off not knowing,” he said softly to himself. “Maybe there are things in my past that I do not want to remember.”
In that moment, he thought of Lady Lydia. If she had been there with him, she would have known how to comfort him. Her very presence was a welcome reassurance, and he felt her absence keenly. Indeed, he would have liked nothing more than to curl up with her in his arms, so that she might bring him only the sweetest of dreams from now on.
And yet, if I am what I am, and I am nothing but a stable-hand, how can I hope for such a thing?
It felt like a hopeless situation, but one thing was becoming clearer. Although he did not wish to admit it, he needed to remember, whether he liked it or not. The assailant in his dreams still haunted him, and he was determined to know why he had been pursued. If everything in his nightmare meant something, then that part had to mean something, too.
He looked towards the stable door and felt a dread like beetles creeping up his spine. Through the impenetrable darkness, he felt fierce eyes staring back at him.
Is there someone out there? Someone who wants my blood? For the first time since arriving here, he no longer felt safe in the banal domesticity of his daily existence. Instead, he felt he was living on borrowed time. A vulnerable rabbit being watched by a fox in the undergrowth.
Chapter 10
Catching Lydia hurrying down the staircase, her mother said, “Lydia, there you are. I have been calling for you all morning.” Eager for her morning excursion she rolled her eyes as her mother’s voice brought her to a sudden halt.
“I did not hear you, Mother. My apologies.”
The Duchess frowned. “You seem rather flushed. Are you unwell?”
“Not in the slightest, Mother. I feel exceptionally well.” She thought of Edward, and the way his lips had felt against hers. Even in broad daylight, she was keen to relive the tantalizing experience. It was all she could think about.
“A letter came for me this morning,” the Duchess went on.
“Oh? That is not so unusual, is it?”
“Do not be obtuse, Lydia. The letter regarded you. Although you showed your face very little at the Baron’s ball, it would appear you still managed to entice the attention of several young and eligible gentlemen.”
Lydia froze. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I have received word from the Earl of Fincham that his eldest son has made his intentions clear and wishes to court you in an official capacity. I hear he is very handsome, and they have a lovely estate not too far from here.” The Duchess snickered. “Ordinarily, I would not settle for anything less than the son of a Duke, but the Earl of Fincham is as wealthy as one. His son will inherit everything, and I should be more than happy to see you at his side when he does.”
Lydia stared at her mother. “I have never even encountered such a gentleman. How can I be expected to court him?” She knew the answer, but she wished to keep her mother in suspense.
“Because he is well-to-do and he is of good standing, and your father and I are keen to have you married as soon as possible. Caroline is unlikely to find a suitor, though that gentleman at the ball took an interest in her, and so we must rely upon you to make a good match. Your father and I are not getting any younger, and we would see you securely wed.”
“And if I should refuse?” Lydia stood her ground.
“You know that you cannot, my darling. At least meet with him and see what he is like.”
Lydia forced down the bile that was rising up her throat. “You have already arranged such a meeting, have you not? I can see it on your face, Mother.”
“I took the liberty of arranging a preliminary meeting, yes. You are to meet with him for tea on Wednesday afternoon. I thought the orangery might be a nice spot for such an occasion, and I will have the cook prepare something delicious.”
Lydia knew there was no use fighting, though she itched to do so. “Very well then, I shall have to meet with him on Wednesday. What did you say his name was?”
“John Chalmers, eldest son to the Earl of Fincham,” the Duchess replied with a saccharine smile.
“Then I shall meet with Lord Chalmers in the orangery.” Lydia turned on her heel and strode out of the house, heading straight for the stables. She needed to see Edward immediately, though she feared telling him the news. Their fledgling romance had already seemed entirely impossible, and now it seemed even more so.
As if you would ever be permitted to fall in love with a stable boy. Foolish girl. Her mind drifted to fantasies of Gretna Green and an elopement that nobody could stop, but that was just as impossible. As much as she wished, she did not possess a rebellious streak strong enough to upset the family’s plans for her future.
Instead, she reasoned she would have to dissuade this Lord Chalmers fellow of his attraction towards her. She had to play the role skillfully to set his sights elsewhere. Her mind flitted towards Caroline, and an idea began to form. If she could make her elder sister look as fair as can be, then maybe James’ sights would fall upon her instead.
Caroline deserves happiness, and I will see her achieve it.
She may have preferred the Lord over a corporeal husband, but her display at the ball had given Lydia hope that Caroline could be persuaded away
from her religious agenda. Perhaps, there was still hope of marriage for Caroline, if Lydia could execute her scheme.
She hurried the rest of the way to the stables and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Edward standing there. He was feeding her sister’s horse, Snowfall—a white, dappled mare who was hardly ridden.
The poor creature.
Edward turned, and his face lit up. “Lady Lydia, I was wondering if I might see you today.”
She frowned. “Are you well, Edward?” He looked exceedingly ill, with dark crescents beneath his eyes and a sallow look to his skin.
“I did not rest well last night,” he replied. “It is nothing.”
“Are you certain? Should I send for the physician?”
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