Dark Angel (9 page)

It must have been a gust of wind, but I felt no breeze from an open window. In fact, at the moment, it was as though I was enclosed in a large mausoleum from which no noise entered or escaped. Gerard must have had the room soundproofed. He slept most of the day, so perhaps he did not wish to be disturbed by the servants going about their duties.

Surely, it was not so strange to wish to have a room cut off from all sound and light. Why, I was certain many a young gentleman of the
Ton
must do the same when they had spent their days sleeping the hours away after the dissipation of a long night. There were probably rooms like this all over London.

My reassurances did nothing to smooth the goose bumps forming on my arms. “Gerard, would you please light a candle? I wish to speak with you about what just happened.”

“No.” His voice was close; startled, I swung around to face him. A tremor shot through me, exhilaration and anticipation colliding together.

“I like it this way,” he said, circling me and forcing me to turn to keep track of his voice in the dark, “and since you have come to
my
room, I get to choose.”

“I came because you did not stop when I called you,” I told him, trying to slow my accelerating heartbeat. “I want to know what happened. I want to know how you helped Lucas. I have a right—”

“You have
no
rights here.” His words cracked over me. “
I
am master of this place. Never forget it.”

My eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and I could just make out his shadowy shape as he stalked me. I felt the thrill of the hunt from the prey’s perspective, and instinct told me to keep him in front of me as I continued to circle with him in a bizarre waltz. “I am hardly likely to forget you are master here, Gerard, when everyone constantly reminds me of it.”

“Then you would do well to show me greater deference, madam.” He stopped circling. “Perhaps I should require you to call me
Master
as well.”

I should be insulted by his attempt to dominate me, but somewhere deep inside, a part of me responded to his mastery.

I squinted up at him in the dark. “Gerard? Are we not friends?”

“Are we?” he said, his tone remote.

I hung my head. “I thought we were. I had hoped so, at least.”

He did not speak for a long moment. “Then why did you pull away from me?”

I heard the hurt buried in his question and understood it at once. The thought that I may have ruined our friendship with my thoughtless actions made me feel small and mean.

“Oh, Gerard, forgive me. I was caught off guard. I did not know what to think.”

“You feared me,” he accused. “You thought me some kind of monster.”

“No!” I shook my head, even though he could not see me. But then again, perhaps his eyes had adjusted, for he had found me unerringly in the dark. “Oh, damn it all, I did not mean to hurt you.”

“Swearing, Catherine?” he murmured, a trace of humor in his voice. “You must be beside yourself.”

Perhaps the worst had passed. Perhaps I was to be forgiven after all. “Will you light a candle, Gerard?”

“No.” He spoke the word in my ear at the same moment his hand slid around my waist from behind, pulling me against him. “I told you, I like it better this way.”

He had moved so silently, I had not heard him. One hand spanned my midriff, and his other clasped my shoulder. I held my breath, motionless. I could feel his heat and hard muscles all along my back, tension coiling in him like a spring. My legs trembled, the imprint of his iron-hard body against mine sending swift, flashing signals to every nerve beneath my skin.

“Catherine.”

Just my name, spoken in a whisper, his breath against my ear. I heard the desire in that word, and I closed my eyes, even though it was dark, my breath shuddering out with each heavy beat of my heart. I longed to respond to him, to lift my hands to his head and pull it down to mine, but I was afraid. I simply was not ready for the consequences such an action might invite.

“I can smell you,” he whispered. “Like crushed lavender warming in the sun.”

I did not speak. I flushed with embarrassment, not knowing what to say. My response to him was not normal. I could not understand it. It was almost as though it rose from outside of me, as though something else was triggering my response. But how could that be?

I attuned myself to his breathing, to his presence. Something warned me that I needed to calm him before things went too far, but I did not know how.

His mouth trailed down to where the pulse pounded madly in my neck, and he pressed his lips to it, raising a spark of electricity that raced over my skin. His fingers followed the spark, encouraging it, tracing any exposed territory he found above the lace tucked into my bodice. I squirmed against him, desperate to escape.

“I have learned something about you, Catherine. You yearn for freedom, for pleasure, for
sensation
, and yet you run from it. Tell me why.”

I stilled, panting softly, terrified of answering him. How could he know me so well? He could not. He was bluffing.

His fingers smoothed across my throat. The darkness pressed close, cocooning us from actions and consequences alike.

“Why?” he demanded again.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” My dry mouth made it hard to speak the words.

He fingered the chain around my neck. “Hmm. Don’t you?”

The cameo glided up, slipping from between my breasts as he pulled it into the open. I caught at it, fearful I might have to explain its history to him, but then realized he would not be able to make out the images in the dark.

He traced over the surface, his knuckles brushing across my skin, but he finally dropped the cameo back into my bodice, saying nothing. The warmth of his palm briefly touched the high slope of my breast. His hand trembled, and then it was gone.

His arms wound around my waist, and he held me, just held me. I struggled with myself, intense yearning battling with caution, then decided to allow his embrace. Long enough so he would know I was not afraid, at least not in the way he thought. I laid my head back against his broad chest and covered his hands with mine, willing him to calm.

His scent, his strength, his very essence surrounded me, exuding darkness and turmoil, power and vulnerability, yet it was as though he was not the man I knew—instead he was someone tormented and strange to me.

“Be at peace,” I whispered, over and over. Hoping the words would penetrate, I waited for Gerard to resurface, believing deep inside he must if I would only be patient with him, if he knew I would not fight him or flee to safety. He was in a perilous place and danger emanated from him in subtle, seductive waves.

He shuddered once, his hands on me tightening. Finally, I felt the tension in him ebb, the muscles locked against me slowly relax until he was himself again: the man who smiled at me over dinner. He rested his chin on the top of my head and swayed with me slightly, as though he listened to music only he could hear.

His lips brushed my temple and he sighed.

“Will you still give me the time you promised me, Catherine? Or have I run out?”

I turned in his arms, seeing the faintest outline of his jaw and the strong column of his neck. “Tell me what happened. Explain it to me, and I will try to understand. I promise.”

He tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. “So single-minded. So focused.” He stepped away. “So be it.”

The air stirred before me as if he made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

“And the master said,
‘Let there be light.’
”

A candelabrum flared to life on the fireplace mantle across from where we stood. I jerked, blinking against the brightness.

“And it was good,” he murmured, the sardonic tone back.

The flame flickered and glowed. I stared at it. He had not lit a match, nor any other kindling device. In fact, he had not moved from my side.

“Another of your inventions, Gerard?” My voice trembled, and I cleared my throat to steady it. A tiny flicker of fear licked at my insides. “Self-lighting candles? Very clever.”

“Not science, my dear…
magic
. Behold!” He gestured with a flourish, and several more candles set about the room flared to life, as well as the fire in the fireplace, revealing a large suite dominated by dark wood and burgundy velvet even more opulent than mine.

Shocked, I stood still as a mouse before a cat, then swallowed hard. “How…dramatic.”

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fire is one of my specialties. I fancied showing off a bit. Were you impressed?”

“Decidedly.” I could not let him see how disturbed I was at this display. “How is it done?”

He smiled then, but it did not reach his eyes. The glow of the flames reflected there instead, turning the gray to molten gold. “I
told
you, Catherine…it is magic.”

“You mean the way you healed Lucas’s wound was magic?” I persisted. What I had seen was not possible through any science or medicine known to man to effect what he had done. “Repaired an open fracture which should have killed him?”

He rocked on his heels. “He would not have died. There is only one way to kill a person on this island, and that is not it. But the pain would have been unendurable. I did what was needed.”

I crossed my arms before me, mainly to hide my tremulous hands from him. My blood pumped with a heavy pulse at the base of my throat. Yet I believe I managed to appear calm, as I had countless times in front of wounded soldiers when the battle lines had swung too close to our hospital. A thrill of the same adrenaline rushed through my limbs now.

“And how did you come by this ability?”

He gave me a sly look. “If I told you everything, Catherine, it would take away the mystery. I would hate to become a bore. Let us just say I was born with it.”

“Can everyone here do what you can do?”

“I am…different,” he said darkly.

I had known that, of course. Only now did I begin to suspect just how different he was. “What exactly can you do? Heal wounds, make fire—is that all?”

“More or less.”

He would not meet my gaze, and I knew he was hiding something. “Move objects without touching them?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to me how it works.”

He returned to the fireplace and stared into its flames. The exhaustion in his posture, the fist resting upon the mantelpiece gave evidence at his resentment of my questions.

“I can accelerate organic objects through their natural cycles. Command inorganic objects with my will. It allows me to speed the healing process of an injury, to convert fuel into energy, that sort of thing.”

My mind boggled. “Handy.”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Quite. The activity is not without consequences, however. Every blessing has its curse. Every gift its price.” He rolled his head upon his neck. “Too much of such activity tires me. Lowers my guard and makes me susceptible to…”

He stopped.

“To what?”

His hot gaze slid over me, leaving me shaken to the core.

“Poor decision making,” he muttered and kicked at a log on the edge of the fire. It showered sparks and fell farther into the flames.

I uncrossed my arms, looking around the suite as though I had no interest in this conversation. Something told me if I reacted too strongly, I would lose him again, the way I had in the carriage house. I did not wish to hurt him again. Even in such a short time as our acquaintance had been, he had become intriguing to me in a way I was not yet ready to examine.

I stroked a small icon of an Egyptian cat on his chest of drawers, marveling at its marble beauty. “And have you always had this ability?”

“More or less.”

I ground my teeth at the vague reply, but did not otherwise react. “So, whenever anyone is injured or ill—”

“The people here do not become ill.”

I paused. “Oh?”

He ran a hand through his black hair, mussing it. “There is no disease on
Ynys Nos
.”

“And that is why there is no need for doctors.” And no need for nurses, either
.

I forced myself to resume my perusal of the bedchamber’s contents. I examined a beautiful watercolor of a woman with sad eyes, then glanced at him. “The vicar’s cousin, Mrs. Howard, said something very interesting. She said the island had been suspended in time for one hundred years after some sort of tragedy struck.”

He tensed. “Mrs. Howard has a habit of letting her tongue run away with her. What else did she say?”

“This and that.” Two could play at being vague. “I did not believe her at the time, of course, but is it true?” I decided not to reveal to him the entire contents of our conversation. I gathered Mrs. Howard had spoken out of turn, and I did not know what form his wrath might take. In addition, she might warrant further questioning, and I did not want him rebuking her for speaking to me just yet.

“True as far as it goes. We age, but it is a slow process, so slow as to be nearly imperceptible. We are, in effect, immortal.”

Immortal
. My breath left me at the word. “Wi-will I be affected as well? Will I be slow to age and unable to get sick as long as I am here? A-an immortal?”

“I do not know,” he said flatly. “We have never had an outsider to test the theory. Only time will tell.”

“Time I do not have. The children—”

He turned to me. “Catherine, there is something you should know. It will be hard for you to hear, I am afraid.”

I nearly snorted. “Harder than what I have already heard? It must be extraordinary.”