Daughter of Darkness Read online

  Willow had risen early, driven from her bed by her resolve to end the conflict in the only way she could think of. Gerard slept alone in the adjoining room, as he’d done since that terrible day in May.

  The day was young, the birds who chorused in the dawn from the tree outside her window, still mute. The sounds of daybreak had made no inroads on the faint sputtering hiss of the incoming tide against the rocks.

  Good, she thought, buckling her riding boots around her calves. If she drowned, the ebbing tide would wash her out to sea, and Jeffrey would not be able to look upon her battered body and blame the earl. She choked back a sob. It wasn’t Gerard’s fault he could not bring himself to love her. Everything he’d said to her had been true, and she was couldn’t fault his reasoning.

  ‘Your parents have brought death upon my home.’ So remote had his face been he might have been talking to a stranger. ‘I cannot forget their blood runs in your veins. You leave for Coringal within the week. I do not wish to set eyes you again.’

  In vain she’d argued with him. ‘What of the Lytton name? You need heirs.’

  ‘Jeffrey and his children will be heir to Lytton after me.’

  ‘He wants to go to Virginia, you know he does. For God’s sake, Gerard, listen to reason. I’m your wife. You cannot banish me without good cause.’

  His eyes had bored into hers, implacable, and devoid of emotion. He did not raise his voice. ‘I can do exactly as I please with you. As for Jeffrey. He’s his father’s son and will do what is expected of him. You’ll go back from whence you came.’

  Lady Edwina was sympathetic, but dared not plead her case. Even Jeffrey had been unable to move his brother to reason. The ensuing argument had been terrible to hear, and had driven a gulf between the two brothers.

  Gerard’s grief was buried in a deep, dark place, and kept alive by the rage that burned within his soul. She’d been the catalyst that had turned his ordered world into chaos. He did not hate her. He just wanted her out of his sight so he could forget what had happened, and heal in his own time.

  If he’d been thinking straight, he’d have known that by blaming her he sought to abrogate himself of guilt. His mind was not ready for that. He’d reacted to the first solution coming into his head.

  Willow had no such thoughts. Her reaction was simpler. She loved him, and she loved Lytton House. She’d not leave either of them willingly. She’d rather die, as she’d explained to Gerard in her letter. If by chance she perished, he’d be free to marry again, and his heirs would take their rightful place in the line of succession. Placing a blood red rose on the letter as a symbol of her love, she crept into his room to lay it on the pillow next to his cheek. Gently, she kissed him, then giving his dear face one last, loving glance, quietly made her way downstairs and out to the stables.

  Circe snickered softly to her when she mounted. It had been a long time since she’d ridden bareback. It had lost its novelty for her now. The false dawn had a velvety texture to it, the air was moist. A pale moon rode low on the horizon and the canopy of stars were dimming.

  She shivered when she reached the cliff path and a cold breeze sent her dark hair whipping in tendrils against her face. Dismounting, she stood looking into the darkness below. The waves crashed against the rocks, warning her the path was dangerous.

  She turned to her mare. ‘Go back, my darling Circe. I’d not have you hurt.’ The mare shivered when she ran her hand along its side. Tears pricked her eyes. ‘That’s a fine looking foal you’ll be having there,’ she whispered. ‘Didn’t Brian find you a dandy for a mate.’ She slapped her hand hard against Circe’s rump. It was no use prolonging the parting.

  As the mare’s footfalls faded into the distance, she gazed towards the water. Fear touched her eyes, and she prayed she’d picked the right spot.

  Removing her fine leather boots, she folded her cloak neatly on top, took a deep breath and launched herself into the dark menacing void below.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘That damned woman and her absurd logic!’ Gerard had never felt so angry. ‘What does she think I’m going to do, rush to the cliff top and search for her body?’

  That’s exactly what he was about to do. Despite his conviction this was an attempt to catch his attention, he was deeply worried.

  What if she couldn’t swim well enough to get back to shore? Logic grappled with his fears. She’d once told him she could swim like an otter. On the other hand, she had a vivid imagination and was prone to embellishment.

  He stood still long enough to shrug into the jacket Rodgers held out for him. Why shouldn’t her wild tales be believed? He grasped at the one tale he’d discounted, her boast that she could shoot the eye from a frog. That had proved to be true, only the frog had become a raven in reality.

  His mouth twisted in wry appreciated of her skill. She was a paradox. No woman should be able to shoot a moving target like that. But if she had not, he thought, his anger lessening a little, he’d most probably be dead, and she’d not be making a fool out of him again.

  The thought restored his ire. ‘Haven’t I had enough grief of late?’ he lamented. ‘I’ll put her over my knee when I find her and teach her a lesson she’s long deserved.’ His mouth stretched into a mirthless grin at the thought of her smooth white buttocks flinching under his hands. ‘The woman has pushed me too far this time, by God, she has!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Rodgers grinned to himself. It was about time his master regained the substance of his true nature. The young countess could be trusted to find some way to prod her husband out of his depression. The staff had made wagers on it. As a result, his pocket would be fatter by nightfall. ‘Your hat, My Lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Rodgers.’ He absently pinned the rosebud to the brim. ‘Do not say a word to my grandmother about this. I’m in no mood to be nagged, and I don’t want her unnecessarily alarmed.’

  ‘Certainly not, My Lord. Will you take breakfast before you go out?’

  ‘Good God, man, what sort of rogue to you think I am?’ The earl glowered at him before striding rapidly towards the door. ‘The countess might be lying dead on the beach. Do you really expect me to stop for breakfast?’

  Gazing after him, Rodgers chuckled. ‘No, My Lord. I’d bet my very life on the fact that you would not.’

  Jeffrey was about to ride out when his brother hurried into the stable. Politely, he nodded his head, preferring to ride alone since their blazing row. He didn’t wish to be around when the coach arrived to take Willow away from Lytton.

  ‘Ride with me,’ Gerard said gruffly, his conscience jabbing painfully at him. It had just dawned on him he must have treated Willow extremely badly if she was prepared to go to such drastic lengths. ‘Willow has left me a note threatening to throw herself into the sea. I may need your assistance.’

  As if to emphasize the deed, Circe high-stepped into the stable yard and tossed her silky mane. Stretching her head towards him the mare gave a loud whinny, then shook her head from side to side.

  Jeffrey’s face drained of color when he saw the riderless horse. ‘If you’ve driven Willow to sow the seeds of her own destruction, I’ll make you suffer,’ he snarled.

  The words were spoken out of fear. Gerard knew he deserved them as he sought to allay his brother’s disquiet. ‘Willow’s inclined to melodramatic gestures when she cannot get her own way,’ he mused. ‘Her vanity will not make her risk damaging her body upon the rocks.’

  ‘How can you be so unfeeling?’ Jeffrey’s voice was incensed beyond reason now. ‘If you cared even a little, you’d know she’s in deep despair.’

  Gerard slid his brother a sharp glance. ‘Allow me to know my wife better than you, Jeffrey.’ Mounting his gelding, he tightened his hands on the reins. ‘She does not give in to despair, but rather she will fight tooth and nail for what she wants. Believe me, she’ll not intentionally kill herself. If she’s thrown herself into the sea you can be damned sure she’ll have done it to attract my attention, and jolt me out of
my miseries.’

  ‘For your own sake, I hope you’re proved right.’ Jeffrey didn’t wait for a reaction to his threat, just spurred his mount forward towards the cliff path.

  Gerard didn’t bother engaging in conversation. The least said the less damage there would be to repair. But when he heard the sound of hoof-beats behind him and saw Circe following at a safe distance, he discovered his emotions were too choked up to even try. It occurred to him then, that he might just have fallen in love with his errant wife.

  Willow struggled furiously against the bonds that held her, and stared balefully at her father. Her head ached after he’d dragged her through a maze of tunnels by her hair, and her knees were bruised when he’d sent her sprawling through a secret panel into the ballroom of Sheronwood. Not only that, her face stung where he’d slapped her, and her cheekbone was swelling. She’d look a complete fright when Gerard set eyes on her again, and he’d gaze upon her with distaste.

  Her fingers stretched towards her wrists. If she could reach the knife concealed in the cuff of her coat and cut through her wrist binding, she intended to spring upon her father when his back was turned, and cut his villainous throat! Never in her wildest nightmare had she expected to wade from the water and find her father waiting upon the sand. He’d spoiled her moment of reconciliation forever, and for that alone she’d never forgive him.

  It had taken her days to plot the moment when Gerard would discover her lying like a beached mermaid upon the shore, her hair spread artfully about her like dark, glistening seaweed. She’d imagined him cradling her gently in his arms, telling her he loved her, then stripping away her sodden clothes and making love to her whilst the sun rose in golden glory all about them.

  She’d quickly discovered that making love in the sand would not be practicable. Sand had a habit of finding its way into every crevice of the body. When combined with the itch of drying sea water it was exceedingly uncomfortable.

  ‘What sort of man does this to his own daughter?’ she cried, her voice echoing to the cherub-embellished ceiling.

  ‘You’re Satan’s spawn,’ the marquis spat out.

  ‘You admit to being the devil?’ A prudent tongue was not one of her virtues, sarcasm being a much more satisfying and pertinent alternative in her present situation.

  The cruel eyes of her father slid to her face. ‘You have a sharp tongue, child. Be careful you do not cut your own throat with it.’

  His voice was so devoid of emotion, she shivered. It was time to change tactics if she was to get anywhere with this man. Holding out her bound wrists she invested in a moment of pathos. ‘ Will you not release me, papa. The thong about my wrists is painful.’

  He did not bother to respond. Taking a brace of pistols from the bag he carried, he stripped them down, cleaned them, then proceeded to load them. She tried again. ‘Why do you hate me so?’

  ‘You remind me of your mother.’ He stopped what he was doing to flick an unfriendly glance her way. ‘She was an evil woman who practiced the black arts.’

  Pain came into her eyes at hearing her mother so maligned. ‘She didn’t appear evil to me. She was a most loving woman.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Grasping her by the wrists he jerked her to her feet. ‘Do not try to bedevil me, girl. You’ve never known your mother, she died just after you were born.’ Throwing her to the floor he turned back to his task.

  She bit back a sob of pain and grief, and her eyes narrowed. ‘My mother died by your hand, and was thrown into a shallow grave deep in the woods.’

  ‘Liar!’ he yelled, his boot thudding into her thigh. His eyes narrowed as they gazed at her doubled-up body. Fear flickered in his eyes. ‘There’s no way you could know that.’

  ‘Unless she told me.’ Despite her pain, she smiled maliciously at him. ‘My mother belonged to the devil, remember? And the devil is reputed to look after his own. Marietta Givanchy rose from the grave.’ Her father’s eyes now held a gratifying fear. ‘Recently she returned, and revealed herself to me at Lytton House. She called herself Sapphire.’ Lowering her voice, she delivered her next line with relish. ‘Mama told me your soul was past redemption. Before she returned to the afterlife, she prophesied that you’d join her in hell and experience the agony of everlasting fire until the end of time.’

  ‘Lies,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You’re trying to trick me.’

  ‘Am I, Papa?’ She held out her bound hands. ‘Do you recognize this ring? It was on her body when you buried her alive.’

  Giving a start of fear, he backed away from her. She watched him pick up his coat, then was smothered as its heavy folds envelop her. Her immediate reaction was panic. The coat stank of rotten fish and body odor, and she thought she might suffocate. About to kick it from her body, a sharp object pressed against her arm. A metal button, she guessed. Her mood became more optimistic. God was on her side after all.

  Easing herself on to her side, she carefully placed her bound wrists against its serrated edge.

  Willow’s cloak and boots were found where the spring tide had left a build up of sand. Gerard grinned to himself. She’d made sure they were in plain view. For one who was supposed to be in an irrational state of mind, the cloak was neatly folded.

  They found her small footprints further along the cove, coming up out of the water. They headed straight towards a larger set of footprints curving from the water’s edge a little way off. ‘The marquis,’ he muttered, his earlier relief giving way to fear. There was no mistaking the peculiar indentation of the man’s twisted leg in the sand. He stared at the drag marks leading to the cave opening, then at the damp, scuffed sand scattered upon the dry. She’d not gone easily.

  ‘She put up a fight,’ Jeffrey observed, with more than a little pride.

  ‘Much good it will do her.’ Cautiously, Gerard approached the cave entrance. ‘Her temper would serve her much better if she curbed it. The marquis is infamous for his treatment of women.’

  ‘If he lays one finger on her I’ll kill him,’ Jeffrey growled.

  ‘You’ll not concern yourself with what is essentially my business.’ Gerard laid a hand on his brother’s rigid arm. ‘The marquis has challenged me, and honor dictates I meet him in a duel. He may kill me. If he does, Willow will be in the gravest peril.’

  Jeffrey’s eyes filled with apprehension.

  ‘I know our relationship has not been as cordial of late as it should be,’ he continued, seeing his father’s face mirrored in Jeffrey’s. ‘The fault is mine. I kept my grief close inside me, and gave scant thought that those I love most, must also be grieving. I now ask for your forgiveness, Jeffrey, and would know I can count on your support.’

  ‘I’d die for her,’ Jeffrey said simply.

  ‘Do not think I’m ignorant of your regard.’ He raised his hand in a comforting gesture to Jeffrey’s shoulder as the youth dropped his eyes. ‘It does not give me offence. Loving a woman is nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘But she’s your wife.’

  ‘And as such must be treated with respect. Your honor will allow you to do no less.’ The smile he slipped his brother was sympathetic. ‘Willow will bear my children and provide heirs for Lytton should we survive this day. If we do not, the continuance of the title and estates will rest upon your shoulders. Until that happens, you owe your allegiance to me. You will not challenge the marquis under any circumstances. Is that clear?’

  ‘I understand, Gerard.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation to you, Jeffrey, I’ve also grown to love Willow. I would offer my life in exchange for hers.’

  Their glance joined in mutual appreciation and Jeffrey gave a reluctant, but rueful smile. ‘She needs to be loved.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand when I ask you to go with all haste to seek out James Langland. Tell him what has happened, then alert Anthony Dowling. Go now,’ he ordered when Jeffrey hesitated. ‘There’s not a moment to lose. I dressed in such haste I omitted to arm myself.’

  A quick,
brotherly hug healed the breach between them. When Jeffrey hurried to do his bidding, Gerard turned his attention to the entrance to the tunnels. He doubted if the marquis was lurking inside. The man had come to kill him and wouldn’t risk being forced to fight in a confined space.

  He kept in mind that the marquis would have had him murdered whilst he slept. The man’s sense of honor was dubious, and he could not now count on a fair fight. Knowing he’d be playing into his enemy’s hands if he gained entrance to Sheronwood via the tunnels, he turned his eyes towards the cliff top.

  Willow tried not to sob when the metal button grazed against the blood-smeared skin on her wrists. Her wrists were chaffed almost beyond endurance, the lace cuffs of her shirt soaked through with blood. Yet the leather thong binding her still held.

  Her father’s footsteps were clearly heard. She stilled her movements when he approached her, bracing herself for any cruelty he intended to inflict on her. She closed her eyes when he uncovered her head, pretending to sleep. How sweet the air was after being confined in the coat, she thought. And how thankfully brief the encounter when her father grunted and threw the coat back over her again.

  He was going! The footfalls moved out of her hearing and she waited with strained breath. She had to risk it. Throwing the coat from her body she sprang to her feet and headed for the secret panel. Then she saw a pistol lying on the table. For a moment she hesitated, then fumbled with the catch on the panel, sliding it aside when she heard him return.

  An obscene oath echoed in her ears. He raised and cocked the pistol in his hand in one smooth motion. Any illusions she may have harbored about him were well and truly shattered when she saw the loathing in his eyes. ‘Dear God, save me!’ she prayed, and threw herself through the panel. The shot nearly parted her hair as she tumbled down a flight of stairs into darkness. Winded, she turned and gazed up at the square of light.

  Her father’s outline blotted out the light. ‘You’ll not escape from there. The door to the tunnel is locked.’ His laugh sent shivers creeping up her spine. ‘Eventually, you’ll grow too weak from hunger to fight off the rats.’