Duke of Darkness (8 page)

“It has been some time, Your Grace.”

Both men realized more was being discussed than a portion of the manor.

The west wing had been sealed after his mother’s tragic death. She had loved that part of the house with its early-morning sunshine and unique design. Feminine and fresh, every room –– the conservatory, drawing room, parlour, guest bedrooms and her personal library –– boasted warm, bright colours. The drawing room doors led to extensive gardens lush with rose bushes, imported tulips and rare varietals in every colour. These flowerbeds wrapped around the house and followed a walking path past a small duck pond and further still, to the main gardens behind the estate. There one discovered a fountain, birdbath and collection of small marble statues, complete with ornate sundial, to complement the array of foliage and fauna. It was almost as if the space comprised a little house within a bigger one, and not until this very moment did Devlin question why his mother would desire such a retreat. Wasn’t she content in the main living area?

Once she died, everything was closed, furniture covered and doors locked. What could have made her so desolate that she took her own life?

Devlin was a child when his mother committed suicide. His father’s behaviour remained hidden well from him as a youth, but not so much he wasn’t aware of the lack of normalcy in his parents’ relationship. He rarely enjoyed his father’s company even at a young age. His father was short tempered, argumentative and unusually strict. While his mother was apt to intercede, she was not always able to protect him from his father’s anger and certainly not from his cutting deprecation.

A sharp memory forced its way to mind and Devlin clenched his jaw, the brief remembrance hurtful on some unexplainable level he’d rather not consider closely. Decades had passed, yet the pain existed over a few trivializing moments when his father and not his mother had answered his bedtime plea. Had his father paused, listened to his heartfelt request and empathized with his childhood fear of the dark, his angered perception may never have festered. But no, on a laugh rich with mockery, his father had dismissed his request for a story and confirmed the shadows on the wall were indeed malevolent monsters meant to steal his breath if he did not go to sleep. He had then removed the only lantern and sealed the door tight so not a pinprick of light could be seen.

How ironic that the darkness provided Devlin more solace than pain now; at least when he escaped the tremors. And where had his mother been that evening? She would have soothed away his concerns and spared him anxiety. Why hadn’t she come at his call? Had his father offended her that evening as well?

In the morning, things had appeared as normal and Devlin had dared not mention the episode. Yet a child does not empathize with the emotions of their parent, tied too closely to the immediacy that comprises childhood. Instead Devlin lived each day as if separate, never pausing to string together the endless weeks, months and years of his father’s aberrant behaviour or to consider the terrible unhappiness it caused his mother.

And yet, Devlin had only known happiness in his time spent with her. His mother never allowed her despair to overflow into their outings. He remembered her lovely smile, gentle laughter and comforting hands. Most of all, he missed her innate ability to make him feel extraordinarily special.

Still he hadn’t been enough to ease her pain or to nourish her desire to continue living. Perhaps that barb cut the deepest. It haunted him over the years without answer and created a well of guilt and vulnerability no matter how hard he attempted to bury his emotions. At times he’d deluded himself into believing she did not take her life at all, that there existed another explanation, some cause still unknown, to explain why she would leave him so utterly alone. As years passed, he discarded the fanciful notion.

Now painful memories contrasted sharply with the cheerful images of his mother’s rooms. The loss of truthful information concerning her passing festered, bitter and unsettled. For years he sought any tiny fact to lead to a better understanding of his past, but discovered nothing. As a child, he’d missed the moments every child favours: a bedtime story read, a picnic shared. Yet as a man, he mourned not just a life grown without a mother, but a true understanding of what had taken the relationship from him. It cut twice as deep to have the first loss and lack of explanation to follow.

The maudlin mood could not take hold. A streak of white fur flashed, followed by King’s insistent bark. Not a blink later, the sheepdog lumbered forward and with a clumsy lurch knocked into two large towers of boxes, sending the entire foyer into disarray with nothing more than the bulk of his body. The puppy raced over the boxes in frantic escape, climbing, sinking and struggling to accomplish the foyer floor before King pursued him. Reeston, his butler austere lost, picked his way among the boxes and lids in an attempt to grasp the tiny terrier without disrupting additional piles. Devlin bit back a guffaw and took pity on his old friend.

“Reeston, get King. He is much easier to catch. I’ll go after Henry, the little rodent.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Devlin bounded up the staircase with the same agility the little pup showed only seconds before. He checked left and right when he reached the top, and after hearing a distant yip, turned towards the west wing. It made sense that Henry should seek his own bed. Only the devil could instigate such havoc as both dogs escaped their confinement in a matter of minutes. At least peace would be restored once Lexi took the offending little pup to her new home.

He paused with the abrupt conclusion and shook his head in consternation. His lips twisted in grim realization: the thought disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. Besides, the notion was so far away, it didn’t necessitate serious consideration. How foolish to miss something he’d enjoyed such a short time. “Addled-minded nonsense,” he murmured aloud.

Henry’s insistent barking pulled his attention to the long hall ahead, yet his steps slowed as he entered the west wing. Every door remained locked. How unwelcoming it must be for Alexandra as she ventured to her bedchamber each evening. Without thought, he’d banished her to this part of the house, a wing secluded and unfriendly, while his mother had intended the opposite effect.

He would ask Lexi if she wished to change rooms. At the root of the hasty decision, he wanted to keep his ward as far from his bedchambers as possible, but now the choice seemed rash and foolish. He was a grown man. Did he not trust himself to keep his wits over the mere slip of a girl? Liar. A persistent reminder of her image amended his conclusion. Lexi was a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

H reached the entryway of the guest chambers. Henry yipped in agitation near his boots, begging him to open the door and allow access to his little bed. Uncomfortable with the situation, Devlin surveyed the hallway for Tillie. Where was the cheerful chatterbox when needed anyway? Henry grabbed hold of the bottom of his trousers and pulled with the effort of a determined pup intent on gaining his attention.

“Henry! You will ruin my tailoring.” He reached down and picked up the dog, sure to keep the pup’s white fur as far from his black superfine as possible. Then he turned the door handle and entered the room.

True to his mother’s design, sunlight flooded the windows in welcome. Devlin stepped inside. He set the puppy down and watched Henry climb into his bed of blankets in the corner. He released a long breath of relief as the anticipated onslaught of emotions did not come. Advancing a few steps to the largest window, his eyes scanned the gardens below. Abundant roses bloomed in every colour. A fine London day took shape. A rarity, for certain. The sky, cloudless and clear, shimmered as blue as Lexi’s eyes. He smiled with the thought, aware of the faint fragrance of lemons in the room, a scent he knew as undeniably Alexandra.

He crossed with hesitant steps to the four-poster bed, covered with a plain counterpane done in ivory muslin. Lexi deserved something decadent. Velvet, satin, lace and silk. He imagined her there, the luxurious waves of her honey blond hair spread enticingly across the white pillow cases; her eyes closed in sleep; her lips parted as if waiting for a kiss.

A surge of passion jolted through him and he spun away. Beside the bed he noticed the small leather bag Alexandra held during the entire coach ride from The Willows. A sketch pad leaned against the furniture at an angle. He bent and picked it up, dismissing his better judgement. Turning aside the cover sheet, he exposed the pages beneath.

The first few sketches showed Henry in a variety of poses. Her hand must be very good, the images held a remarkable likeness. Entranced, he continued to leaf through the book. Drawings of the manor house followed, roses in the garden, and even Reeston, if only he knew. Had Alexandra drawn the stoic servant from memory, or slyly done so when the unwitting butler never realized he posed a subject for her artistry? Set to replace the book, he paused as his mind overruled his curiosity. The annoying quality continued to goad him: he should not be in Lexi’s bedchamber rummaging through her personal things. A visceral longing caused him to turn one more page and his brows shot high in surprise. His image stared back. There was no mistaking it was he. Lexi captured his likeness as clearly as if he looked in a mirror. Yet somehow, she’d made him appear kinder, more human. His lips quirked in a half smile. He rarely allowed emotion to reach his eyes, but Lexi, on whatever chance occasion she read his feelings, remembered it, and captured it here in her drawing with remarkable precision.

He replaced the sketches and walked to the cheval glass over the mahogany dresser. His reflection stared back at him, cold and void of feeling; a stark contrast to the image in the back of Lexi’s book.

He cast his eyes to the dresser top in a curious glance assessing the sparse articles found there. For a female, she certainly possessed few belongings. A silver brush was accompanied by the combs that refused to tame her glorious head of hair. He wondered at how she might have worn it today. Julia’s rigorous schedule precluded him from so much as a good-morning before Lexi left for her outings.

A length of blue velvet ribbon spiralled on the dresser next to her pin jar. Devlin lifted it, remembering the first time he saw her wear it. She walked in the garden, her back to him as he viewed her from the terrace. Her hair was gathered together with the wide ribbon and the sudden desire to reach forward and untie the velvet, to thread his fingers through the lengths, overcame him with such urgency, he’d whacked the golf ball with such intensity King searched for it still.

His fingertip traced the velvet, as lush as her pink lips, as soft as her skin, as enticing as the slim body she kept hidden under too many layers of clothing. His body reacted with the same condition he found impossible to avoid whenever he considered her. Since as far back as he could remember he’d always kept a close rein on his emotions, but passion, lust … he’d used those as an excuse to purge his soul. Now the two intertwined.

Foolish of him
.

Lexi was nothing he deserved and everything he desired. He took one more look at the length of ribbon across his palm, then slipped it into his pocket, and left the west wing.

Chapter Eleven

The last threads of afternoon sun waned as the ladies returned to Kenley Manor, a shopping expedition having monopolized the better part of the day. Alexandra was thankful for Julia’s sudden friendship despite times when she struggled against feeling overwhelmed, confused, and more than a little beleaguered by her friend’s eagerness.

“You certainly know your way around elegant ballrooms and decadent tea parties, including every level of aristocracy and all the annual events that comprise a successful season. I doubt there is another debutante in London who can boast your credentials in reference to societal news and guest lists.” The words were intended as a compliment and Julia smiled, a testament to the easy bond they’d developed. Still Alexandra could discern few areas where their upbringing coincided.

“Nothing proclaims accomplishment like a sought-after invitation or the perfect pair of new slippers.” Julia patted the side of her coif, ensuring each hair followed her rules and stayed in place. “Today was a huge success. I imagine I sounded like a magpie going on about my friendships and invitations, but you really must know every snippet. It’s of the utmost importance.”

Alexandra grinned. Julia was a debutante in the truest sense of the word. She expressed excitement over fashion and dancing, living in the moment, secure in her future. Earlier in the day, when Alexandra relayed the story of birthing a colt on the night of Devlin’s arrival, Julia was only saved from a swoon by the wet cloth her maid fetched with urgency.

And then there was the zeal with which she addressed the prospective husband matter. Alexandra folded her arms and smoothed her palms up and down their lengths. It was more than a little unsettling. Julia took to the task of suggesting prospective suitors with extreme attention to detail and unmatched determination.

“I suppose you could label it such.” Comfortable with their camaraderie, Alexandra did not say more.

“Well, I better be off. You must be anxious to rush upstairs and rediscover every purchase from this morning. I always enjoy looking through my packages and boxes when I’ve returned home.”

They made quick work of goodbye and once upstairs, Alexandra relished the solitude of her bedchamber, anxious for a hot bath to ease away the tension of the day. Loath to relinquish even one moment of quiet, she made quick work of dispatching Tillie and climbed into the perfumed water with a genuine smile.

Afterwards, when she discovered her new wardrobe with delightful surprise, she chose something new to wear, a pretty gown of deep blue silk with small pearls dotting the collar. She’d missed dinner due to her long soak in the bath and now the complaints of her empty stomach prodded her into action. She also wished to find Devlin and thank him for his generosity. The gowns were exquisite, from classic to extravagant, silk to velvet, and worthy of a princess’s wardrobe. She must seek him out and express her gratitude.