Darkest Dreams (7 page)

“Lass, I believe you've come to the wrong establishment. Where is it yer looking to be?”

Opening my eyes, I saw a taller, thinner version of Mrs. Murphy, a woman whose motherly appearance was as inviting as her eyes were warm and kind.

“This is the Viscount Blackmoor's residence, is it not?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously, with a hint of cool reserve to her tone.

I forced a smile. “Then I am at the right place. Would you inform him that Miss Andrews is here to see him? He is expecting me.”

Her eyes widened and she peered closer at me. “You're the sister of Master Sean's new wife.”

It had been a long time since Sean could be referred to as “master”, but then I knew this woman and her sister, Mrs. Murphy, had looked after Sean and Alexander since they were little. “Yes…Mrs.…”

“Lynds. Mrs. Lynds,” she said, stepping to the side. “Come in. I'll show you to the parlor and let his lordship know you are here.”

Moving inside, I immediately became lost in the immense collection of art filling every available nook. Greek statues, Chinese silk screens, Spanish armor, African masks all tried to out-display large portraits of men and women dressed as ornately as kings and queens. Polished to a high gleam, the rich cherry paneling on the walls served as a backdrop for the eclectic menagerie of art. It surprised me to find little evidence of the castle's sinisterly dark façade in the inner decor. This same cluttering of art was everywhere I looked.

Mrs. Lynds sniffed the air, calling my attention to the fresh scent of beeswax and cinnamon. “I smell my sister's scones. Not a soul in Cornwall can bake them as delicately as she does,” she said.

I held up the basket and she laughed. “Martha should have sent more. It'll take his lordship less than a minute to finish those off. Have a seat. I'll be but a moment.”

She left, and rather than sitting, I placed the scones on the tea table and wandered about the room to examine some of the art more closely. It was utterly fascinating to have so much within my grasp that I couldn't resist touching. I brushed a lace-covered fingertip over the smooth, vibrant red porcelain of a Chinese vase with a black dragon curling around its surface. The treasure had to be older than Britain.

I needed more. Sliding off Aphrodite's ring, I removed my gloves and placed my entire palm upon the cool vase. Nothing forced its way into my mind, no emotions of anger or joy, no images of murder or indiscretions. My mind was free to take flight and let my imagination flow.

I imagined that I stood next to Marco Polo, seeing the secrets of the Orient for the first time, and the emperor, Kubla Kahn, had just made a gift of this priceless ruby vase to me, asking me to make a record of his vast collection of treasures.

“You came alone?”

Turning, I found Alexander, frowning fiercely as he stood just inside the parlor door. He wore slim black breeches tucked into leather boots and a loose white shirt with full sleeves, a style reminiscent of a time when a man needed to wield a sword to live. Oddly, there was a black dragon embroidered over his left breast. He appeared as if he'd been exerting himself, and indeed had a long, thin-bladed sword in his hand, which he set carefully upon a nearby table. His ebony hair was a bit mussed, his darkly tanned skin had a sheen of perspiration on it, and his eyes were alight with a challenging fire along with an edge of irritation. He clearly did not welcome my intrusion.

I had to swallow in order to speak. “Yes, the matter I wish to discuss with you is private, and I thought it best.” I desperately searched about for reasons he needed me to catalogue his menagerie of artifacts.

Much to my relief, he left the door open and crossed the room. As he drew closer, his gaze slid down my lavender dress slowly, then snapped back to a point below my chin where he stared a moment before lifting a questioning brow as he met my gaze. “A private matter? Very interesting.”

I didn't know if his seductive tone was a deliberate attempt to make me uncomfortable, or if he were truly that intrigued by me despite his frowning countenance, but I wasn't about to go fleeing from his lair. Still, the room became hotter, my pulse beat faster, my skin grew damper—everywhere—and the fire burning my cheeks sucked my breath away.

Joining me next to the vase, he slid his fingertip over the smooth enamel, slowly tracing the figure of the black dragon on the porcelain. I found his hands as fascinating as the perfectly sculpted art, with one difference—his hands weren't cold, nor was he. The heat of his body penetrated into mine.

“Did you know that the Chinese think they descended from dragons?” he asked softly. “That the emperors believe they
are
dragons. Their clothes are called dragon's robes, their throne is the dragon's seat, and their beds are known as the dragon's bed.”

The dragon's bed.
Fire breathed down my spine. I glanced at the emblem on his breast, wondering just what sort of bed he slept in before I snatched my mind back from that precipice and stiffened my shoulders. If I didn't take charge of the situation, I would be lost.

I cleared my throat. “Thankfully no one has such delusions in England, do they, my lord?” Lifting my brow in return, I hoped to imbue an added challenge to my voice. I didn't doubt that he was deliberately trying to unnerve me.

A smile tugged the corners of his frown before he turned away and moved to the tea table and its neighboring settee. He invited me to sit upon its cushiony white and gold brocade while he sat opposite in a darker, sterner wing chair.

“You appear well. So, I assume you're not here to speak of yesterday's incident. If the man killed his wife as Constable Poole reports, then he met with a fitting end.”

I shuddered. “It was horrible, and I have to confess that I have deliberately refused to think about it. As you say, justice was served. The reason for my visit this morning concerns a different matter—I have come to see you about an employment opportunity.”

“You wish to hire me?” The devilish gleam in his green eyes deepened as his gaze dropped to the V of my dress.

Lace gloves made a sorry fan for my heated cheeks, and Aphrodite's ring pricked my palm as I tightened my fist around it.

“No, my lord. You need to hire me, assuming you haven't already engaged someone to catalogue your antiquities. You mentioned the need earlier this summer, and from the chaotic state of your artifacts I cannot be in more agreement.”

“Chaotic?”

“From what little I have seen in the grand entry hall, the corridor and the parlor here, there appears to be very little rhyme or reason to their placement in your home, a situation that detracts from the beauty of the art.”

“No one can accuse you of mincing words, Miss Andrews.” He leaned back in the burgundy silk wing chair and glanced about the room before adding, “Tell me, since you couldn't have been aware of the ugly and disordered state of my art before arriving, what exactly were your reasons for employment before coming?” The underlying steel in his green gaze wasn't going to bend.

I sighed, fearing that I would have to tell him more than I wanted anyone to know. Setting my gloves and ring on the table, I drew a deep breath and straightened the skirt of my dress that I realized had oddly bunched across my lap. Then I looked him directly in the eye. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

Oddly, he paled as if shocked, then clenched his fist. “I see. Well, you have my word as a gentleman then.”

“I will soon have to live alone and support myself. So, in truth, I need a job. I know antiquities well and am very adept at organization and art. To secure a living, cataloguing private collections will require sterling references. And since you did mention your need of such services before, I thought we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

He rose suddenly, as if he couldn't sit a moment more. His clipped steps to the window were angry and jerked the knots in my stomach taunt. At the window, he stared out at the bright day, his expression a dark cloud that eclipsed any hope I had of success. Tears stung my eyes. I hadn't realized how much I had been counting on him, nor how desperately I needed the hope of some acceptable future for myself.

“I deeply regret that you find yourself in such circumstances, but—”

I stood, unable to hear more and not about to beg. “Mrs. Murphy's scones are in the basket. I apologize for intruding and wish you well, my lord.” Then I turned and quit the room. Three steps down the corridor, I realized two things. I didn't have my gloves nor did I have Aphrodite's ring. Panicked, I swung back around and ran directly into an embroidered black dragon on a white shirt with the hard body of Alexander behind it. He exhaled sharply, and the heat of his breath was what I imagined a dragon's fire would feel against my skin.

Chapter Five

“Oh,” I said, taken completely by surprise. His heat registered first, then the hard feel of him, so solid beneath my bare palms that had somehow landed against his chest. Then the scent of him enveloped me, exotic and alluring, unlike any aroma I'd ever experienced.

He brought his hands up to grab my waist as if seeking—unnecessarily—to steady me. I had to draw in another breath as my body tingled in an utterly shameless manner. The sensations grew as his gaze settled directly upon my rising bosom.

More frightening than that was the fact that whatever he was thinking or imagining was obscured from my mind by what I could only describe as a dark cloud, an angry one, roiling with such emotion that I had to quickly step back.

He dropped his hands from my sides, and his gaze shifted to mine. Anger flashed in the vibrant green depths of his eyes, as well as something else, something equally potent and hot and mesmerizing.

“Are you always so rudely rash?”

Air flew from my lungs. “Me rude?” Accusation rang high in my voice, along with a healthy dose of outrage.

Amazingly, a half smile quirked the left corner of his mouth, and a dimple flashed on his cheek. “Well, just rash then,” he amended. “You didn't even give me a chance to finish my sentence before you ran as if the devil himself had set fire to your skirts.”

It wasn't the least bit of a stretch to see him as the devil, and he'd sparked more heat in me than I'd ever felt in my life before. Not just from his touch, either. I had acted “rash” as he put it.

“I only sought to save you from the embarrassment of having to supply a number of excuses, my lord. You're tone conveyed your sentiments rather well.”

“Then you are not very adept at reading tones or sentiments, lass. So I will thank you to at least let a man finish speaking for himself before you speak for him.”

Had I been able to think of a reply I wouldn't have been able to utter it; my jaw had dropped so low speech was impossible. I wasn't adept at reading people?

After a long moment he spoke. “Shall we return to the parlor?”

I nodded.

His lip quirked again and he stepped aside, motioning me ahead. The weight of his gaze slid warmly down my back as I returned to the settee and immediately donned my gloves and ring lest I forget them again.

He chose to pace across the room rather than sit. “As I was saying, I deeply regret that you are in such circumstances, but do you realize how extensive the task you're proposing is? My home here is by no means modest, and the estate near Hampton Court is larger. Both of them are—” He glanced around the room. “—what was it that you used? Chaotic?

“It would seem several generations thought only of collecting artifacts, not storing or exhibiting them. To do a proper job of cataloguing the Killdaren's collection would take some time.”

My mind boggled at the very idea even as excitement pulsed through me. So many treasures that needed noting and caring for! I cleared my throat. “While I understand your need to caution me, let me assure you, I in no way find the enormity of the task a deterrent. The challenge you present is more than enticing.”

He shifted abruptly, his regard direct and searching. My response seemed to surprise him. I met his gaze with assurance and what I hoped was a wealth of interest. The very thought of being able to touch and organize a multitude of treasures from all over the world such as the porcelain vase and the African masks set my pulse racing.

“I see that it is,” he replied strangely.

I blinked, wondering at his tone. “Quite frankly, I am extremely enamored of artifacts. It has been that way for me all of my life. I do not come to you without a great deal of experience.”

He coughed, but I continued, too enthusiastic to plead my case to heed his odd behavior.

“I believe I mentioned earlier this summer that I have catalogued and organized my father's vast archeological collections for the Museum of Worldwide Antiquities in Oxford since I was a child.”

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yes, I do remember our conversation. So, the length of this task isn't going to be a problem for you?”

I firmed my lips with determination. “No. As I said, I would prefer it to be kept as a private matter, but I find myself in the position of needing to earn a living.”

He studied me again, seemingly more intent than ever. I didn't let my gaze waver. “One last thing. Is my brother aware of your employment interest here?”

I stiffened my back. “What is the point of your question? I don't see that my future has anything to do with my brother-in-law. He carries no authority or guardianship over me.”

“The point is, I am fairly certain your continued association with me will be unacceptable and will likely cause strife.”

“If that proves to be the case, then as I said, my intent is to support myself. I will secure accommodations in Dartmoor's End if necessary.”

His brows lifted. “You surprise me, Miss Andrews. From what I recall, you are very close to your sisters. Yet, you appear determined to separate yourself from them. Why?”