Dark Splendor (34 page)

Silvia went rigid with shock, feeling as she
had the day she had been thrown and had the wind knocked out of
her. Roman’s demoralizing arrogance emerged whenever she thought
she had struck a tender vein in his heart. Did she falsely mistake
insolence and contempt for affection?

“You were so briefly a bride, I thought to
ease your loss in the way that would soothe you most.”

Silvia tried to swallow but found she
couldn’t. Scowling, she twisted away from him.

“Your sympathy takes a most peculiar form.”
Oh, how he had roused her from hopeful dreaming. How he had plied
her with kisses and maddening caresses and then cut the life out of
her heart.

Cold, damp wind whipped her hair loose and
sent it flying out in a silken mass. The icy tempest stole the lacy
shawl from her shoulders and swallowed it up in the darkness. Her
black dress lay plastered against her skin. Shivering with cold and
humiliation, Silvia wrapped her arms across her breasts and turned
her tormented face from Roman.

He seemed oblivious of the wind. His white
shirt clung damply to his chest and sleekly outlined the muscular
contours of his arms and belly. Silk breeches, not made for
withstanding the elements, revealed too much of his manly form. He
moved to stand before her.

Silvia’s eyes marked him, and half-closing
them, she grimaced as she remembered with clarity how perfectly and
lovingly his body had fitted to hers. Now she could feel the
emptiness in her arms, the great void he had filled with passion.
She recalled how brightly the flame of desire and the light of love
had burned in those mocking blue eyes. The memory left her with a
heavy, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was
unaccountably weak, and so terribly cold that her shivering would
not cease.

“Listen to me, Silvia.” His voice softened
as he took in her pale face and soft, trembling mouth. He reached
for her hand, meeting no resistance as he took it in his own. “Come
in with me. You’re not dressed for this weather. We’ll get you warm
and dry before you catch a chill.”

His gaze fell lower to her heaving breasts
outlined in sodden black silk, and he wondered if he could carry
through what he intended. He struggled with himself, for a moment
wanting to take her again in his arms and deny all that separated
them.

It had to be settled, this unrelenting
obsession with his cousin’s wife. No. That wasn’t right. She was
Willy’s widow now, and fair game once again. Whatever the title,
she had poisoned his blood with a heated longing that would give
him no rest. His mind reeled with thoughts of the vision scored in
his memory, that of her incomparable loveliness. He remembered each
detail of her flawless body, the feel of her satin skin, soft,
silken hair that sapped a man’s sanity.

This raven-haired witch had crept into his
life and cast some dark spell that gave him no peace.

And he sensed the evil all around. The evil
of which Silvia had spoken. It was afoot in the luxurious rooms and
sweeping corridors of Serpent Tree Hall. Evil lurked in the
shadows; he could feel it, but could not yet trace it back to its
hidden origins. He had suspicions, though, a careless word dropped
by chance, stealthy footsteps in the night, all hidden cunningly
behind a play of tears and feigned mourning.

It had to be exposed. It had to be stopped,
and he knew the way to end it. But first he needed to know more
about Silvia and about how Willy had died.

“Come with me, love,” he whispered,
propelling Silvia’s slight, shivering figure toward the castle.

Involuntarily Silvia glanced upward. She was
being drawn magnetically along with Roman. Why was it she was
always so willing to fall into his arms, knowing the embrace would
end in a blistering rebuke?

“No!” She wrenched her hand away from him,
tripping and stumbling back with a gasp. “No!” she half-screamed,
half-sobbed. “You’re a heartless monster, Roman Toller. Leave me
be. I want none of your comfort. None of it!” The rain fell as she
lifted her head defiantly and the cold, stinging drops swallowed up
her streaming tears. “You’re as wicked as he was,” she cried, and
ran off into the dark, wet shadows of the night.

***

It hadn’t worked as he’d planned with
Silvia. It never did. His temper and jealousy had intruded and
spoiled what he had hoped to accomplish.

Roman Toller slammed and bolted his bedroom
door and quickly shed his wet, ruined clothes. He dried himself
with a bath sheet and donned a pair of dry breeches. Storming
across his bedchamber, he kicked a ladderback chair that happened
to be in his path halfway across the room, where it crashed and
splintered against the stones of the fireplace.

Perhaps he should have followed and tried to
catch Silvia before she got inside, but by now she was probably
warm and dry in her bed and wouldn’t answer if he knocked. He
shrugged. It was best to have let her go. He could only have made
matters worse by following, and that he could not afford to do.

Damn the woman and her elusive heart! She
hadn’t proved to be as manageable as he had anticipated. Whirling
about and uttering a second violent curse, he hammered his fist on
the polished surface of a stout wooden chest. There was no avoiding
it. She had to be out of the way for his plan to succeed. It would
not do for her to continue searching the castle because she might
chance upon something that was best left lost. He glanced hastily
at the bolted door and then with a groan pushed his shoulder
solidly to the weighty chest until it moved aside.

Set in the wall behind the chest was a small
compartment from which he extracted a rolled-up bundle. Unwrapping
the layers of cloth, Roman drew out a packet of documents and a
brown leather journal. Crossing the room, he quickly took a seat
and with a jerk slid a candle closer.

The gold embossing shone brightly under the
increased light of the candle’s flame, and briefly the golden
serpent was brought to life.

There in the solitude of his room, Roman
Toller opened Wilhelm Schlange’s journal and began reading. His
face was set coldly in a derisive frown as he realized the old
devil would have set them all on each other to have his way. The
cunning old fool had used them to his advantage and then would die
and leave them all penniless. Roman’s laugh was the angry snarl of
a wild animal.

“Uncle,” he murmured to himself, “you forgot
that Schlange blood runs in my veins as well. I’ll match my wits to
yours any day...and best you.”

His eyes sped over the spidery black
handwriting, rereading the damning words. At once he flipped to the
portion devoted to Silvia’s part in the drama and at last he knew
Wilhelm’s intent for such an unlikely wedding. So in the end it had
not mattered that Roman and his cousins had given their sweat and
labor and lives to Wilhelm Schlange and the Schlange estate.
Nothing had mattered to the old man but having an heir who bore his
name. What irony that they had served him better than their own
fathers.

He slammed the book shut and poured himself
a glass of dark red wine, then drank it down rapidly. Another glass
followed, and then a third, until he had nearly emptied the bottle.
But even so it did not wash out the picture in his mind. She was
there in his head, living, breathing with her black, black hair and
her wild golden eyes. Was there no way to shut out the picture, to
banish her from his mind? To ease the aching in his loins?

He tossed his tawny head defiantly and
rocked back, balancing the chair recklessly on two legs.

“Ahh yes, lovely lady,” he said swiftly, his
eyes gaining a sudden mad brilliance. The chair rocked down and
landed with a loud thud. Roman got quickly to his feet. Cursing, he
shoved the journal and papers back into their hiding place and
hauled the chest in front of the opening.

“There is a way.” He spoke partly to himself
and partly to that lovely, vaporous vision of Silvia that wouldn’t
leave his mind. “Sorry, my sweet,” he whispered to that pensive,
pleading face. “If I have failed to entice you gently into a
manageable state, I must resort to more effective means.”

He sat down again, his feet resting on the
desktop, his arms crossed steadfastly over his chest. Hours ticked
away. The candle burned down until the hot grease spilled out on
the fine-grained top of the desk. The candle would not last much
longer. The little flame dimmed and the wick sputtered as it sank
into the pool of hot, wet wax. The light flickered once more, then
died, casting the room into sudden darkness.

Roman sat in a sort of thoughtful paralysis,
the darkness hiding the hard, emotionless look on his face. Finally
a resigned sigh broke the spell.

***

Silvia spent the good part of an hour pacing
her room, a chair jammed beneath the doorknob for protection. But
Roman had not come in search of her as she both feared and hoped he
might. So her agonizing and precautions had been a foolhardy and
unnecessary trial, for Roman had undoubtedly forgotten her the
moment she left him.

The pelting rain became a downpour, its
chilling wetness creeping through the castle walls. Far off she
could hear the crash of thunder as the storm grew stronger, mocking
the turbulence in her heart. She started as a jagged shaft of
lightning split the sky with its deadly brilliance.

What was the use of her pacing about in wet
clothes? If Roman had cared what happened to her, he would have
found her and apologized for his spiteful words. Dejectedly she
admitted to herself she had hoped he would come. A few moments
later she had stripped off the sodden dress and left it where it
fell upon the bedroom rug.

She went directly into the dressing room,
and after drying herself, slipped on a thick warm robe. She took
care to brush the tangles from her dark tresses, and by the time
the task was done, the shivering had left her. Her hands were
engaged in braiding her hair when suddenly her arms froze in place.
She didn’t actually think she had heard anything, but she had a
strange feeling that she was not alone.

“Is someone there?” she called out
fearfully. Dropping her hands and letting the braid twist free,
Silvia moved quietly to the door and peered into her bedroom. She
hadn’t taken time to light more candles, and the one that had been
left burning dipped and swayed, throwing monstrous moving shadows
across the walls. Yet other than the shadows the room was quiet and
empty.

Reaching back to the dressing room for a
candle, Silvia went slowly into the bedroom. Odd, she thought,
feeling a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, how some
primitive instinct warned a person when something was wrong. At
first glance she saw nothing that had been disturbed. The furniture
had not been rearranged. The crystal bottles on the dressing table
were all as she remembered. But a strange feeling persisted.

Cautiously Silvia moved around the room,
looking about, wondering if it were not her distressed state, after
all, that had misled her. But she knew it was not. She knew,
unerringly, that someone had been in her room. It took a few
minutes of brisk searching to discover what was amiss, but shortly
she noticed, nearly hidden among the plush folds of the silk
coverlet on the bed, an item that should not have been there.

A horrible little sound came from her throat
and the hand that held the candlestick shook so that its flame,
too, cast an unsteady, quavering light over the room. She stared in
bewilderment at the open jewel case tossed unobtrusively beside the
plump pillows. That case she herself had locked away in a drawer of
her dressing table.

A feeling of gloom settled over her. To her
knowledge, Vivien had given her the only key that would unlock that
drawer.

Making her feet obey, Silvia went to the bed
and set her candle on the bedside table. She took up the case,
running her trembling fingers over the impression crushed into the
white velvet lining of the elegant box. Frantically she ran a hand
beneath the pillows and over the coverlet, knowing she would find
nothing. The Cerastes Stone had been taken. But by whom? Was it a
warning that the necklace should never have belonged to her? Or
that she was no more safe in Serpent Tree Hall than Willy had
been?

Spasmodically Silvia jumped and drew her
breath in sharply as a loud knock rattled the door. Acting without
thinking, she shoved the jewel case under the pillows and hurried
to see who was there.

“Silvia, are you awake?”

She felt a wash of relief at hearing a calm
voice, and rushed to turn the key in the lock.

“Martha?”

“I thought you’d be needing some tea
tonight, and perhaps someone to talk to.” Martha stood in the
hallway carrying the little silver tea tray and the china tea
service from her parlor. Her head dropped briefly and then she
looked up quickly, a flush staining her cheeks. “We’ve been
unfeeling and distant when you needed us, Silvia. I’m sure you’ve
felt deserted and alone since Uncle and Willy died.” Her eyes were
imploringly on Silvia. “And we’ve been so caught up in our own
grief, we’ve offered you no consolation at all. I hope you can
understand and forgive us.”

“Dear Martha,” Silvia said courteously.
“Come in, please.”

Martha’s eyes were luminous and pleading and
Silvia was moved by the note of apology in her voice.

“Silvia, please let me say that we do not
blame you for Willy’s death. It was plainly an accident and there
will be no charges made against you. Vivien spoke from grief when
she accused you. It was the shock, you understand. She tended Willy
since he was an infant and it must have been like seeing her own
child dead when Odin brought him in. We all know his death was
accidental.” She paused to breathe deeply. “None of us knew what
Willy was really like or dreamed how difficult it must have been
for you to be his wife. We have wronged you, but please,” she
whispered, “we mustn’t let this tragedy divide us now that we all
need each other even more.”