Dark Splendor (6 page)

Roman watched intently as her ebony hair
swung over her shoulders in a silken mass and as the sparse
moonlight lit her face with an angelic glow. She was a tempest who
felt like innocence in his arms. Her face held the fragile beauty
of a rosebud, and even the air around her seemed sweeter. He longed
to pluck the fragile blossom from the bush and prove to himself she
was not the lovely flower his heart desired. Even now he wanted to
soothe and comfort away the distress he saw in her face, but would
not give way to the prompting of his heart. Instead, he forced a
humorous smile to his lips.

She held her breath, hoping Roman would not
expose them. Turning her head, she saw he had not moved from the
center of the hall. She might have known he would feel no
humiliation. Feeling suddenly cold and terribly vulnerable, she
appealed to him with her eyes. To her dismay his amused smile did
not indicate compliance. Down the hall the footsteps stopped, but
at the sound of his soft laughter quickly began again and grew
louder. A moment later, Vivien’s angular form stepped from the
darkness into the grid of yellow moonlight that spread from the
window.

Her shrewd eyes hurriedly took in Silvia’s
scanty clothing and the open neckline of her gown. A trace of a
smile flickered across her narrow lips before she held out the
scarlet robe that had been folded across her arm.

She helped Silvia into the robe. “I saw that
your door was open,” she said in a voice as flat and emotionless as
still air. “I was concerned.” Vivien glanced up to see Roman
smiling contemplatively at her.

“Do you ever sleep, Vivien?” he teased,
raising one brow sharply. “Or have you been awake all your life,
like Morgan says?”

Vivien huffed. “I sleep when my work is
done.” Her black eyes flashed and Silvia thought she detected a
note of fondness in her tone of voice. “And I point out I am not
the only one awake past midnight. Someone must attend to your
mischief, Roman Toller.” She wagged a lean finger at him.

“Aye, Vivien?” He smiled slowly. “I am
hardly a boy now and I found this nymph wandering through the halls
dressed in moonlight. What would you have me do with her?” He
shrugged and chuckled lightly, running his hands through the shock
of hair falling over his forehead. “Leave her prey to the ghosts in
Serpent Tree Hall?”

Ghosts? Silvia’s lips quivered and her eyes
met his wonderingly, searching for meaning in his words.

“Better the ghosts than you,” Vivien said,
and cackled.

“Vivien, my love, you have wounded me
sorely.” He pursed his lips and shook his tawny head slowly. “The
lass can tell you she’s as sound as when I found her.”

“Hmmm,” Vivien murmured. “Then ‘tis you I
should worry for.” She nodded soberly as another voice joined the
conversation.

“What’s all this racket?” Morgan Toller,
hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep, called from the door next
to Roman’s. “Isn’t there a parlor in this house for a late soiree?”
His nightshirt struck him at knee level, showing a pair of
well-shaped calves. He leaned from the doorway, smiling
good-naturedly in spite of his brusque tone. “Let a man get some
sleep, Roman. Do your philandering quietly.”

Roman lowered his brows and glared hotly at
Morgan.

Silvia stared at both of them blankly. She
did not like the slant of the conversation at all. Surely Vivien
and Morgan did not think she had come out in search of Roman
Toller.

“I heard a child crying in the hall,” she
managed to say somewhat unsteadily, and clutched the robe tightly
at her breasts. “The sound woke me and I hurried out without
finding my dressing gown.”

“Sure enough, it’s the same tale she told
me,” Roman said jauntily. “Though there’s not been a child in this
house in many years, unless there’s news you’ve been keeping from
me, Vivien.” He cocked his head and winked.

Morgan muttered an oath under his breath and
closed his door to them. Across the hall and out of view another
door stood open slightly. From the dark portal a young woman with
flowing blond hair and an expression of disdain gripped the knob
with whitened knuckles and watched silently. Her eyes narrowed to
thin slits before she stepped back and, unseen, eased her door
shut.

“You’re a rogue, Roman Toller. A hopeless
rogue.” Vivien placed an arm around Silvia’s shoulder and began
guiding her along the corridor toward her room. “Come along, dear,
best you got back to bed. It’s the sound of the wind you heard. The
way it whistles over the tower wall, a sad sound like crying. It’s
what you heard,” Vivien insisted, her voice trailing oddly to a
whisper. She stopped at the door of Silvia’s bedroom, her face
pallid in the shadowy hall. “Get to sleep now. There’ll be
excitement enough for you tomorrow.”

Silvia shut the door behind her and pressed
her ear against the wooden panels. She heard the ringing sound of
keys jiggling in Vivien’s pocket as she walked away. It was a
muffled jingle and Silvia could swear she had heard the same sound
when she heard the child crying. Had Vivien been outside her room,
then?

She didn’t really believe the cry she heard
had been the sound of the wind on the tower wall. It had been a
child. She was sure. Vivien hadn’t been at all surprised to find
her walking about in the middle of the night. It was almost as if
she had expected it.

Silvia released a sigh and climbed in bed,
pulling the covers to her chin. A rising wind stirred through the
trees, and branches scraped like claws against the stone walls
beneath her window, but no mournful sound came from the tower wall.
There was only the soft rustle of wind-whipped leaves. Silvia
closed her eyes tightly. There was a child at Serpent Tree Hall,
and no one wanted her to know.

In a room two doors away, Vivien sat on a
bedside patting the cheek of a pouting face. Aided by the
gentleness of candlelight, her own harsh features were transformed
to a maternal softness. “There, there, darling, don’t sulk.” She
smiled lovingly and smoothed away dark hair from a pale forehead.
“Vivy worries when you slip her keys and wander about in the dark.”
She kissed his smooth round cheek and stroked his jet black
hair.

“You’re so like your mother, darling, sweet
and trusting, with never a thought of danger.” Vivien cooed and
pulled the covers up beneath his chin. “Never believing anyone
would harm you.” Easing off the bed, she seated herself in a wooden
rocker a few feet away. “But don’t you worry, my darling boy, Vivy
will take care of you and see that nothing hurts you.” She smiled
softly as dark-lashed eyelids closed and the soft, slow breathing
of sleep sounded rhythmically in the room. “Vivy loves you, always
remember,” she whispered to the sleeping form.

Vivien looked around the room where she
spent much of her time. The rag doll she had made for him rested
beside his face on the pillow. Across the room, just catching the
flickering light of the bedside candle, was a set of wooden blocks
stacked and laid out to resemble the painting of Serpent Tree Hall
above the play area. He had made little trees of twigs and even
draped them with bits of moss and set them up around the castle the
way they looked from his barred window.

Beside the toy castle stood clay figures he
had shaped like horses and a figure of each person he had seen
crossing the garden below. Vivien lifted the candle from the table
and quietly crossed the room. She knelt beside the block structure
and set the candle beside her. He was artistic, his talent
undeniable, she thought, lifting the little figure she knew was
herself. Sniffing, she wiped at a tear and set the figure back in
place. He had fashioned a smile on her face. She was about to rise
and leave the room when her hand touched a gritty substance.

Puzzled, Vivien moved the candle so she
could see where her hand rested. On the floor, one clay figure had
been smashed to bits. Wondering what would make him treat his
little treasures so roughly, she lifted it up and held it close to
the candle. At the sight of it, a frown furrowed her brow and she
gasped lightly. The figure was of his father.

Without hesitating, Vivien replaced the
broken figure where she had found it, and taking the candle, went
hurriedly through the connecting door to her own room. She had been
there only a moment when a brittle ringing shook the heavy air.

So he had been awake and had heard the
voices in the hall. And now he would be wanting to know if he had
reason to celebrate. Not this night, she thought ruefully, hurrying
along the corridor on her spindly legs. But soon, perhaps. The girl
was a brilliant find. Perfect. And already raising temperatures in
the house.

Halting, she knocked lightly at a doorway on
the back hall.

“Come in,” uttered a weak voice she
remembered once having held the strength of steel.

Vivien entered a room lit brightly by half a
dozen candles. She said not a word but went directly to where
Wilhelm Schlange sat propped against the pillows in his four-poster
bed. Her eyes moved steadily over him. He had been a handsome man
once, though there was little about him now to prove it. The old
man had been ill and weak since his return from England a few weeks
earlier, and had taken to his bed until his strength returned. Her
eyes widening a trifle, Vivien saw that his thin, ashen skin had
gained some healthy color and that his eyes were eager and
questioning.

“Yes?” he asked anxiously when she had stood
there some moments waiting silently.

“No.” Vivien lifted her brows, making her
long face seem narrower and even more drawn.

Disappointment showed in his face. But I was
right about the girl?”

“Yes, you were right. It has begun.”

His eyes sparkled with a dangerous new
energy. “Which one?”

“Tonight it was Roman.”

“Roman. Good. He has the most spirit.” A
satisfied smile softened his face. “Does the girl suspect?”

“She was full of questions, but I cautioned
the staff to keep mum.”

“What of the others?”

“They know nothing, but I daresay there will
be questions tomorrow.”

“Let them wonder,” he said smugly, pursing
his thin lips and leaning heavily into the pillows. “My illness may
prove to be a help.” He smiled and his eyes caught the yellow
reflection of the candle flame. “A few days of waiting before the
announcement may hasten things along.” A gasp sounded from his
throat and he broke suddenly into a fit of wheezing coughs. When
the coughing subsided his thin body was left trembling. “And you,
Vivien, do you still think it is madness?” he whispered weakly as
his breath returned. “Or do you see now there is no other way?”

Her black eyes met his. “I will do as you
ask.” Vivien’s narrow face was shadowed on one side and lit by the
dancing light of the candles on the other. It gave her an eerie,
unnatural appearance as she stood like a post at the foot of his
bed, not moving, not even seeming to blink an eye. “That is all
that matters,” she said coldly. “I will do it for him.”

A tremor shook Schlange and he grabbed for
his chest. “Swear it, Vivien.” His hand jerked spasmodically and
caught in the folds of the blanket like a bony claw. “Swear you
will see it carried out.” A moment later his hand relaxed and the
blanket slid from his grasp. “No,” he said. “No. I’ll not leave it
to you. I’ll not die until I’ve seen it done.”

“So you had a visitor last night?”

Morgan Toller entered the dining room a few
steps behind his brother, his walk brisk and his smile jolly.
Sauntering to a place at one side of the long oval table, he seated
himself directly across from Roman.

Morning air, fresh, vibrant, and pleasantly
cool, filled the dining room with the promise of a beautiful day.
Outside, the golden sphere of the sun had reared its head over the
castle walls and was casting playful patterns of shadow and light
through the wide windows. Morgan’s jocular face beamed an equal
share of brightness in the room.

“It seems your charm has not failed you, as
I feared.” Periwinkle eyes sparkled with mischievous merriment.
With a sweep of his hand Morgan lifted a cover from a dish of eggs
and sausages. As he did, a burst of savory steam escaped to fill
his nostrils with the appetizing aroma. Sniffing appreciatively, he
picked up a small sausage but paused thoughtfully before lifting
the delicacy to his lips. For a moment he studied Roman quietly.
“You can’t imagine the worry you caused me, thinking I might have
to single-handedly uphold the Toller reputation with the fair
sex.”

“What the devil are you prattling about,
Morgan?” Roman snarled, and furrowed his brow in a frown. “And put
that lid down.” His lips thinned in irritation. “We’re to have
breakfast with Eric and Martha. The least you could do is pretend
to have the manners of a gentleman.”

“Ahh.” Morgan seemed delightfully pleased
with himself. “Was that the manner of a gentleman I observed last
night? A gentlemanly seduction. Though for the life of me I could
not tell who was seducing whom.” Morgan popped the sausage into his
mouth and chewed slowly, his eyes twinkling with greater merriment.
“And why you should want to make a spectacle of yourself and the
lady is beyond reasoning.” Morgan sighed. “Or perhaps jealousy was
your purpose.” He flipped a napkin from a basket and lifted out a
warm crusty roll and broke it in half. Grinning magnanimously,
Morgan spread a dollop of butter over the surface and went on
talking, his eyes intent on the task before him. “Well, you
succeeded. I’m giving you notice I intend to woo Miss Bradstreet
away from you.” Glancing up negligently, he took a large bite of
the roll. “Hungry?”

“Bloody hell, Morgan.” Roman said violently,
and rose ponderously from his chair. “Nobody invited you to spy on
a private matter.” Stomping around the table, he nearly collided
with a disconcerted maid who approached bearing a steaming pot of
tea. Roman snarled, giving the hapless woman a start, but she
managed to sidestep quickly and avoid a disastrous collision. The
poor woman, shaken by his display of temper, quickly deposited the
teapot on a trivet and left the room. Roman glared at his brother,
but Morgan ignored him and continued eating the roll. “You plague
me from dawn to dark like fleas on a hound. Give a man room to
breathe, by God!”