Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (21 page)

Elizabeth gathered her courage and stepped through the open
portal. As soon as she did so, the door was shut by the housekeeper, as if to
further unsettle her.

She focused on the books lining the oak shelves to the right
of the entrance. Medical tomes in English, French and other languages she
couldn’t discern. She stepped around a pile of wooden crates near the door and
walked toward the windows. Sunlight reflected on the array of glass vials and
metal instruments crowding a massive, rough hewn table near the tall windows.
As she went deeper into the room, the pungent smell of chemicals and compounds
became more pronounced.

The silence of the chamber was unnerving. She turned to face
the master of Ravencrest.

Donovan sat behind a mahogany desk calmly puffing on a
cheroot, watching her move about his lair. Dusty brown riding boots were
propped upon the desk. Muscular thighs were encased in buff riding breeches
that appeared shabby from frequent use. A cotton shirt marked him as a
commoner, and a brown leather work vest completed his costume. He appeared the
master of the stable yards, not the master of the estate.

 “Mr. O’Rourke.” She acknowledged tersely. They were alone,
but she favored the distance of the formal address.

“Sit down, my sweet.” He gestured to the chair in front of his
desk as he remained seated.

Elizabeth looked away from the handsome wretch as she sat
down. A stuffed owl perched with wings outstretched on top of the cabinet
looked down at her with fierce eyes. A raven and various reptiles filled a
display case to his left

A sheet of canvas hung over the open shelves directly behind
him, concealing the contents from her view. She could see a few delft blue
apothecary jars at the edge of the canvas. Avoiding his steady gaze, she next
took to studying the desk between them. The surface was cluttered with open
ledgers and parchment sheets. A tray with cigar stubs smashed into it sat next
to a crystal decanter. And grinning at her on the desk between them was a stark
white skull.

“Is that---is it human?” She gestured to the hollow-eyed
skull.

“Yes.” He picked it up and stared at it with puzzlement.
“Why? Is it talking to you? I can shut it in my desk drawer if it’s being
impertinent.”

“How dare you mock me, sir.”

“Mock you? Christ woman, it was a joke!” He set the grisly
head aside with a scowl.

She turned away, allowing the tension to thicken as she
continued her inspection of the room. Her eyes wandered to the door leading to
the next room, the surgery. Did he truly cut up corpses and examine their
insides, as the housekeeper claimed?

“I believe I owe you an apology.” His words drew her gaze
back on him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you last night. I was at the alehouse
on the wharf and everyone kept shoving drinks in my face, toasting my good
fortune in finding such a rare jewel in a wife.”

Elizabeth couldn’t tell if the last was meant as compliment
or a sarcastic barb. The look in his eyes was less than generous. “You promised
you wouldn’t pressure me. You unsettled me with your odd disguise yesterday,
and then you bring me to this—” She waved a hand about her in emphasis,
“—dismal place and abandon me half an hour after we’ve arrived. While I’m
trying to gain my bearings you come in drunk and start groping me just like
those revolting smugglers.”  

“I was inebriated.” He insisted, dropping his feet to the
floor with a resounding thud. “I’ve apologized for upsetting you. It won’t
happen again.”

Elizabeth felt herself shrinking inwardly at his furious
tone. His parting taunt last night came back to her. “I’ll have nothing more to
do with you until you come to your senses!”

 “Since you insist on having your own room, you may take the
room next to mine.” He stubbed out his cheroot with a vengeance, grinding it
into the silver plate beneath his fingers. “For the present. Once we cease this
celibate arrangement you’ll sleep in my bed. My parents slept in the same bed
and they were deliriously happy, a tradition I intend to continue.”

She nodded, relieved by the concession.

“I make one condition. Do not lock the doors between us,
Madame. This is my house and it is my right to enter your room as I please.”
His voice sliced through her with the precision of a surgeon’s blade. “If you
lock them I’ll have them removed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She replied in a tight voice, but managed to keep her
chin high.

“Excellent, now as to the rules I expect you to abide by. First,
you are not to leave the house alone, not even to walk in the gardens. You’ll
have Uncle Gareth’s escort outdoors.”

It was past believing! “If you are afraid I’ll run away, why
don’t you just lock me in that room on the third floor?”

“How do you know about that?” He retorted, visibly shaken by
her words, as she intended. She’d had enough shocks from the rude inhabitants
here. It was time to start returning the favor.

“Tabby.” He said, decisively. “I’ll deal with her later. I
told you before we arrived that I had many reasons to despise the man whose
name I bear. I have no wish to imprison you here. I told you this before, I use
indentures from the prisons as my labor force. I discovered three indentures
have gone missing as of last week. Until they are found, I will not have you
set foot outdoors alone for your own safety. I will also caution the maids not
to wander the grounds alone until those men are caught. In that light, does my
demand still seem unreasonable?”

“No, sir.” She mumbled, averting her eyes and winding her
finger through a satin bow on her skirt. His concern for her might seem more
convincing if he weren’t snarling so.

“Rule number two,” He continued in that commanding tone,
“You do not leave the estate grounds without my permission.”

“How could I? The estate is surrounded by ten foot fencing
and the gates are locked.”

“My grandfather had the fencing erected to keep intruders
out after the slave uprisings on another island. The master and his family were
murdered in their beds, even the children. I’ve continued the habit. Now that I
have a family, I appreciate the virtues of such precautions.”

Elizabeth remained silent. She had heard of slave uprisings
in the Indies, as had most of England. It was one of the arguments for
abolishing slavery.

“As to the subject of locks,” He continued, “Tabby informed
me that you asked her to relinquish the household keys. There is only one set.
Since you are the rightful mistress here, I will have a second set of keys made
for you. Does that satisfy you, my lady?”

“Yes.” At last, a concession amid the rules and strictures.
She pressed for another one. “I insist you to lift this ridiculous edict that I
cannot bathe unattended by the housekeeper.”

“No.” He said coldly.

 Her eyes glazed with moisture. “I suppose that is for my
safety as well, or is it some sick need to humiliate me?”

“I’m not the monster you make me out to be. You have the
propensity to drop off into a heavy doze without warning. You just drift away
without even realizing--”

 “I do not!” Elizabeth insisted. “I’d remember it if I did.”

“Would you?” He countered, and the implication struck deep.

Elizabeth smashed her lips together. “I—I—wasn’t aware of
it.” She said, shamed by her inability to notice the weakness. This was
appalling, she was trying not to succumb to his bullying, and now she was
afraid she might start crying into the bargain.

 “If you find Tabby too grating, then have your new maid
present in the room when you bathe. Please, for your own well being.” Donovan’s
voice softened as he came around the desk. He offered her his handkerchief and
watched her dab her eyes with it.

Why wouldn’t he take her in his arms as he had when she was
upset on the ship?

“I’m not a tyrant.” He sat down on the edge of the desk and
crossed his arms about his chest. “I’m just trying to look after you. It
appears no one has done that, not for a very long time. Your grandmother
allowed you to wander about the countryside alone. You could have been set upon
by bandits or a nobleman determined to have his way with you. Mark me, you’ll
not be wandering about free as the gypsies anymore, not in my keeping.”

Elizabeth glared at him, resenting his remark.

“Whether you remember is irrelevant, it’s true.” He
persisted. “Sheila let you go traipsing off to the woods alone with me every
night. I could have taken advantage of you.”

“Who’s to say you didn’t? My memory eludes me, sir.”

The look on his face told her the arrow had met its mark.
“An honorable man does not take advantage of a girl he wishes to make his
wife.” He insisted with exasperation. “Aren’t you the stubborn mare who has
been given her head far too often. You don’t want to accept the bridle, but
you’ll have to, it’s for your own good.”

Damn that man, comparing her to one of his horses. Elizabeth
made no effort to hide her contempt at the allusion. No doubt he thought
himself quite clever for it.

They stared at one another, a battle of wills, with neither
of them looking away.

A knock sounded at the door.

“One moment.” He called out, not breaking eye contact. Those
pale blue eyes were as impenetrable as the sky above her.

Elizabeth was not going to back down. She was not going to
become a timid mouse like her mother, afraid of her shadow, apologizing for
simply taking up space in her husband’s home.

 “That’s my accountant.” Donovan informed her in a pleased
tone. He was enjoying this!

“One more rule and then you’re free to go. Make certain the
new staff understands no one comes in here, on pain of dismissal. Pearl will
tidy up when needed. Do as you wish with the rest of the house. Order
wallpaper, paint, anything that pleases you. Mix the furnishings as you will or
burn everything. I don’t care. Just leave this room alone. It is my sanctuary.”

Had she heard right—he didn’t care if she spent money on
fixing up the place? He was being generous. Or perhaps he truly didn’t care.
The house was sadly neglected, even for a reclusive bachelor who didn’t
entertain.

“Yes, you may re-feather the nest as you see fit. I’ll
inform my accountant that you are authorized to purchase whatever you need to
update the house.” He said, unsettling her with his uncanny ability to discern
her thoughts. “That’s all—you may go. Oh, yes, don’t expect me at dinner. I’ve
gathered men. We’ll be searching for the runaways until sunset.”

Elizabeth tossed the handkerchief at him as she rose from
the chair. So, she was being dismissed like naughty child summoned to Papa’s
study for a scolding. Oh, if he dared to pat her on the head as she passed him
she would kick him soundly in the shin.

“I’ll try not to be too late.” He commented, as she made her
retreat.

“Don’t rush home on my account.” She returned saucily after
gaining the safety of the door. “I’ll follow the rules, I promise, Papa.” She
said the last with relish. She gained a wicked pleasure in reminding him of
their age difference; she was but sixteen as she remembered it, and he was a
grown man nearing thirty. “But I’m too old to be spanked.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He replied, his pale eyes glacial with
resolve. “It would be a pleasure to take you over my knee and slap that
adorable bottom with my bare hand.”

Elizabeth blanched at such a lewd suggestion. Baiting the
wolf was no longer amusing. “Lay a hand on me, sir, and I’ll never forgive
you.”

“As you wish.” Donovan quipped, giving her a bemused smile.
“But do remember it was you who brought up the subject of spanking, darlin’,
not I.”

Chapter
Nineteen

The Forgotten Bride of Count Rochembeau.

It was a title worthy of one of Mrs. Radcliff’s Gothic
novels. Much as Elizabeth enjoyed reading them, she didn’t relish the thought
of becoming the heroine in one. Her husband vanished in the week that followed,
becoming a ghost in his own home.

She bumped into Mr. O’Rourke, Donovan’s servant persona,
several times during the long week. He nodded as he passed her in the hall,
behaving as if they were strangers. She happened upon him in the servant’s hall
one afternoon entertaining the footmen with some coarse story that had them
chortling with glee. One of them spotted her in the doorway and they became red
faced and sober, each one but him. Donovan smirked and started telling another
one, not even waiting until she was out of earshot.

 She stepped into the kitchen one morning to speak to Cook
and found O’Rourke sitting on a wooden barrel outside the open kitchen door.
His knees were parted and his boots were planted firmly on the ground as he
leaned forward and held tightly to a stick. He was playing tug of war with one
of his dogs. She stood silently, admiring every inch of him; that handsome
profile, his tanned, corded, forearms and long, muscular legs. Those powerful
thighs flexed when the mastiff growled and tugged at the other end of the
stick, trying to pull his master from his perch on the barrel. Donovan was
smiling, appearing care free as he played with the dog.

He looked up suddenly, sensing he had an audience in the
doorway.

“Be there somethin’ you need from me, milady?” He asked in a
feigned Irish brogue.

A hug, a kind word—some small acknowledgement that I matter
to you!

Elizabeth swallowed the ache rising in her throat. He didn’t
need to pretend. They were alone in the courtyard off the kitchen. “No, Mr.
O’Rourke.” She replied, turning quickly about and exiting the kitchen with her
eyes stinging.

She could overlook his bizarre masquerade if he’d come to
her at the end of the day, at least to check on her and acknowledge her
existence in his world. She left the doors between them unlocked as instructed
so he might visit her if he wished. He did not. The fact that he did not seek
her company, even in private, brought home to her that she was in disgrace.