Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (19 page)

“Rest Madame, your bath water will take a while to warm.”
Tabby said, and left her.

Elizabeth stepped over to the louvered doors and peered
through the slats. They gave access to a veranda winding about the second
story. And they were locked. She was suddenly seized by a rush of sheer panic.

 “Watch out!” A thin, frightened voice from beyond the grave
warned in the empty room. “He’ll lock you away for his pleasure. He’ll never
let you feel the sunlight on your face or the wind in your hair again.”

“Who are you?” Elizabeth glanced about. No one appeared or
answered her query.

This was just too much; an isolated estate, a house with
chained gates and locked doors, a cranky, resentful housekeeper and now a
spirit whispering cryptic warnings to her in the middle of the afternoon. Elizabeth
whirled about to the double doors adjacent to the veranda doors. Those, too,
were locked. She hurried to the hall door as a frightening presentiment of
being kept a prisoner in this dismal place washed over her.

To her relief, the door to the hall opened. “Tabby, bring me
the keys.” Elizabeth insisted, hoping her warbled voice carried enough
authority to garner the precious items.

“I have only this one set, Madame.” Tabby called from the
far end of the hall. “Why do you need them?”

“I wish to unlock the doors to the veranda and the next
room.”

The woman padded down the hall on bare feet. She unlocked
the balcony doors and then the doors to the adjoining suite.

“This was Maureen’s room.” Tabby informed her. “She died
young, leaving her husband to raise their daughter alone. He let the girl run
free, without discipline. ‘Tis little wonder the girl got herself with child
and ran off with her French lover at sixteen.” The housekeeper paused and
twisted the doorknob beneath her hand in an odd gesture. Apparently she liked
doors to be locked. “Alicia broke his heart.”

“Who is Alicia? And Maureen?” Good God, had Donovan had
another wife before her and a child, too? No, he couldn’t have a child of
sixteen, he wasn’t yet thirty. Still, she couldn’t comprehend what the
housekeeper’s murky tale of undisciplined young ladies running off with foreign
lovers had to do with her.

“Maureen O’Donovan was the old lord’s wife, your husband’s
grandmother. Alicia O’Donovan is his mother; a selfish, spoiled, difficult
woman. You’ll meet her soon enough. She comes from Charleston to spend
Christmas with his lordship each year. Why, I can’t imagine. He keeps the place
about as welcoming as a tomb. Fired all the servants here, he did, sent them
all packing four years past when he took over. Just Fritz and myself was kept
on, so don’t be expecting too much service, my lady.”

“I’m sure his lordship will not be averse to hiring a few
maids to help about the place.”

“Oh, there’s little hope of that, Madame.” The woman
scoffed, giving her another measuring look that clearly questioned Elizabeth’s
reasoning. “Your husband don’t like people mum. Keeps to himself, he does. I’m
giving you fair warning, because I know how men sprinkle sugar all over a girl
when they’re trying to win her favor, but once those favors are won, they show
their real colors and we’re left to deal with the mess.”

Such a bitter soul this woman had become. It was obvious
someone broke Tabby’s heart long ago and left her to fend for herself. She
deserved kindness, and that was probably why Donovan kept her on after letting
all the other servants go.

Elizabeth walked past the housekeeper and into the adjoining
suite. The smell of dust assaulted her senses. She coughed. Tabby moved from
the door to open the shutters at the nearest window. The black curtains became
royal blue velvet when the sun hit them. The housekeeper tugged up the sash to
allow in fresh air. Golden sunlight illuminated the chamber. Elizabeth stood in
the center of the room, awed by the revealed opulence as the shadows retreated.
The oak paneling had been painted white. The moldings were gilded to create
sparkling accents.

“It’s beautiful.” Elizabeth said, gazing wistfully about
her. “I’ll take this room as my own. The two of us should be able to have it
tidied by nightfall, don’t you think?”

“His lordship told me you were to rest, he was adamant about
that. He said you’ve been ill. I can’t allow you to overexert yourself. He’ll
be angry, Madame.”

“He promised I could have my own room.”

“You’ll have to take it up with him.” Tabby paced to the
door, head held high as she waited for Elizabeth to follow her back to the
master suite. Once Elizabeth returned to Donovan’s room, the housekeeper locked
the doors to the room she’d just vacated, preventing any further exploration.
“I’ll leave you to rest, Madame. The bell pull is near the bed. Don’t be
alarmed if no one answers right away. The cook is deaf as a stone and I have to
go out to the stables to fetch the lads to carry up the water up for your bath.
Just keep ringing. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

After the housekeeper left, Elizabeth wore a path on the
carpet trying to convince herself her world wasn’t falling apart around her;
that she wasn’t married to a madman; that she wouldn’t be locked in a shuttered
room in the attic if she displeased him. This place was so sinister, just like
Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic stories she used to devour years ago.

Within an hour, the lads from the stables delivered her hot
bath water. Tabby lingered to assist Elizabeth with her gown. She accepted the
help and then dismissed the older woman once she stood in her chemise.

“I’m supposed to stay, Madame.”

“I prefer my privacy.”

“He said you weren’t to bathe alone. He instructed me to
stay with you in case--” The woman smashed her lips together, and looked away.

“He said what?”

“You’ll have to take it up with him, Madame.” The
housekeeper replied.

Elizabeth removed her chemise and petticoat and stepped into
the luxuriant tub, determined to not allow anyone to spoil the long awaited
treat. She closed her eyes and leaned against the tub back, relishing the feel
of the warm wetness as it enveloped her body . . .

“Madame?” A hand settled on her shoulder, startling
Elizabeth out of a contented doze.

She sat up suddenly, disorientated and groggy. The
housekeeper helped her wash her long hair and then hefted the pail of rinse
water and let it drizzle over Elizabeth’s head and back. Oh, it was pure heaven
after six weeks without a proper bath. There was the basin of wash water
rationed out every other day, but Elizabeth never truly felt clean with that
arrangement.

A nap would be just the thing, she decided as she emerged
from the tub.

“Let’s get you into one of his shirts.” Tabby suggested,
seeing where her mind was taking her. “Your trunks are downstairs. Pearl said
your bed gowns need washing. Oh, he brought your cat, do you want it up here?’’

Pearl was here! She’d forgotten about the gentle servant.
Having him around would make all the difference. “Yes, his name is Puck, after
Shakespeare’s play, the one with the fairies. Can you have a box of dirt
brought up—or I could do it if it’s too much trouble.”

“You’ll not be doing any such thing. I’ll see to it.” The
housekeeper huffed, and then her features softened. “Puck, you say? Gareth will
be pleased, he adores Shakespeare.”

“Gareth? Who is that?” Elizabeth asked with exasperation.
She’d had her fill of surprises for one day.

“Oh.” Tabby’s eyes darkened. “My lord didn’t tell you about
Gareth?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Oh, isn’t that just like a man!” Tabby exclaimed, the
sourness returning to her features. “Master Gareth is the natural son of your
husband’s grandfather by one of his mistresses.” The older woman stopped
plaiting Elizabeth’s hair and pursed her lips. “There’s no polite way to put
this. Gareth O’Donovan is of mixed blood, his mother was a slave. He lives in
the manor, has his father’s name and an allowance, but the property belongs to
your husband as the legitimate heir. And as his lordship married so suddenly,
Gareth is concerned about how the new mistress will receive him---if she’ll
allow him to continue to live here.”

So, that was why the housekeeper was on edge; as Donovan’s
wife, her presence here was a portend change and change was not always welcomed
with open arms. Smiling at the woman’s reflection, Elizabeth said, “Please tell
to Mr. O’Donovan I look forward to meeting him and I hope that he and I shall
become very good friends.”

*******

Elizabeth awoke to candlelight and the fragrant aroma of
earth and foliage coming in from the opened balcony doors. She rose and walked
out on to the balcony. The stunning hues of the sunset took her breath away.
She leaned against the balustrade and watched the red orange sun melt into the
golden sea. Crickets chirped in the darkness. An owl hooted from a nearby tree.

“A perfect end to a new day,
oui, ma petite
?”

She whirled about to find Donovan lurking behind her outside
the door, still in that awful black costume. The glow of a cheroot was in his
hand. He lifted his cigar to his lips. The red glow revealed that his face was
unsheathed.

The stench of ale and more potent beverages wafted about her
as he stood. He tossed his cheroot over the side of the veranda and ran an
unsteady hand through his wild hair. “I was just about to join you in that
great bed.” As he advanced she noted his gait was unsteady. His arms wound
about her possessively as he bent to capture her mouth. He’d been drinking. She
could taste it on his lips. She turned her head away.

“You smell so sweet, and you taste so damned good, Lizzie.”
His mouth left wet, clumsy kisses across her cheek as it searched for her lips.

“You smell like an alehouse.” Elizabeth replied, as she
tried, unsuccessfully, to push him away. “I want separate rooms, Donovan, just
as you promised.”

“Oh, I intend to keep you much closer than that, my sweet.
I’ve come to enjoy crawling into a bed warmed by your succulent flesh.” Large
hands moved over her hips to cup her bottom and pull her against his hardened
manhood.

“So all of that rot about waiting for me, not pushing me
beyond what I was able to give was a lie?” She argued, trying to reach the kind
man inside this groping oaf as she pushed and wriggled and tried to escape his
cloying arms. “I believed you. I trusted you. And now I know you’re no
different than those disgusting men who kidnapped me!”

“I’m not like them! But I am your husband and I have a right
to touch you, damn it.”

His words chilled her. Elizabeth slapped him hard across the
face. The sound of her stinging blow echoed in the night air. “Stop groping me
like a piece of meat. Let me go!”

His hands circled her shoulders roughly, as if he intended
to shake her. “You didn’t mind my attention last night. In fact, you gave me an
open ended invitation, as I recall.”

Oh, he would have to bring that up, wouldn’t he? Damn the
man. Last night, she’d been frightened out of her wits, desperate to keep him
with her. Last night, he turned her down. He was tender and considerate,
gallant to a fault. Tonight he was drunk and demanding his rights like a vulgar
sailor expecting service from a strumpet in a back alley he’d paid to mount.

And yet, he was her husband. No matter how she justified her
refusal, she could not escape that fact.

“I’ll endure your pawing and rutting if I must, but I’ll not
give you the pleasure of my screams. And just so we’re straight, Mr. O’Rourke,
The Lord of Darkness or whoever you are, I’ll hate you forever if you force
yourself on me. I’ll hate you! You promised—you promised!” She stopped, aware
she was near hysterics as she heard the shrill edge to her voice.

His hands dropped from her shoulders. “I do not require
screams from you or endurance, for that matter. I am a gentle—“

“--Stay away from me, you arrogant coxcomb!” She threatened.
Her fist raised and coiled, ready to clout him if he persisted.

“Oh, I’ll stay well away, Madame. I’ll have nothing more to
do with you until you come to your senses.” The count stalked through the room
to the hall door. He made his exit with a defining thud, leaving her standing
on the veranda in his shirt to savor this hollow victory.

Chapter
Seventeen

When Elizabeth came downstairs the next morning she was
greeted by the housekeeper and even given the ghost of a smile. “We didn’t
expect you up and about so early, Madame. Fritz wishes to know what time and
where you wish breakfast served.”

“Where is his lordship?” She asked, feeling it be best to
consult Donovan’s wishes, since he’d undoubtedly have an opinion in the matter.

“He left hours ago to inspect the cane fields. He’s sent
word to the port city with Captain Rawlings yesterday that you will be hiring a
full staff. He wants you to be prepared to interview them after luncheon today.
And he’s decided I’m to stay on as the housekeeper.” There was no mistaking the
triumphant gleam in Tabby’s eye. “What is my lady’s wish regarding breakfast?”

 So, the old woman talked to Donovan before she could
address the issue with him. “I’ll eat in the dining room today, but send
breakfast to my room from now on, when I ring for it.” Elizabeth said,
embracing her role as mistress of her new home with vigor. “Tell the cook I
will discuss the menus with him at a later time. Today I want tea, toast and
fresh fruit.”

The housekeeper nodded and left her at the entry to the
dining room.

Elizabeth surveyed the room. The shutters were opened and
the sashes pushed up to evict the stale air. The curtains were faded and moth
eaten, they would need replacing. The dust covers had been removed from the
chairs and folded in a stack near the door. She stroked the bare wood of the
table, a rich, dark cherry that would gleam with an enthusiastic application of
polish. Cobwebs clung to the chandelier above her head. The walls needed fresh
paint. Dreary paintings graced them, masculine hunting scenes she did not care
for. She wondered if her husband would mind if she swapped them for more
appealing florals from another room.