Daughter of Darkness Read online

  Gerard’s hands were finely boned for such a large man, but were blistered and calloused, the nails ragged and dirty. He was building a wall, someone had reported, carrying each stone by hand and setting them, one by one, into place.

  Overcome by curiosity, yet as alert as a cat, she crept closer. One hand rested on his chest, the other dangled almost to the floor clutching an empty brandy bottle. Beside him on the table stood a full bottle.

  He groaned as the light penetrated his eyelids. Bringing his free arm across his face he muttered, ‘Pull those damned hangings across. The light hurts my eyes.’

  Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the odor of stale brandy and perspiration. Her husband still wore the clothes he worked in. His hair and beard were matted and unkempt. He seemed to have lost all respect for himself.

  Throwing open the French windows she gulped in several mouthfuls of cold fresh air.

  ‘Shut that!’ he roared. ‘It’s freezing outside.’ The hand containing the bottle came up. He examined it through narrowed eyes then threw it across the room, where it shattered against the fireplace. He groped for the full one. ‘My mouth is foul. Fetch me some coffee to add to this.’

  Without bothering to consider the consequences she snatched the bottle from his hand and snapped. ‘You’ve had enough!’ Angrily, she tossed the full bottle after the empty one. It exploded in a spectacular fashion.

  From his perch astride the charger the fourth earl seemed to bristle approval at her. She took a hasty step back when a pair of startled, pewter eyes turned her way and impaled her.

  ‘Who the hell might you be?’

  ‘Your wife.’

  ‘Wife?’ The arm went back over his eyes. ‘Get out of here and send Rodgers to me. I’m not fit for company.’

  ‘That I have noticed,’ she said dryly. ‘As for Rodgers… I’ve ordered him temporarily detained.’ Her heart began to thump when her husband dropped his arm and bestowed the blackest of scowls on her. ‘Your servant was not disposed to allow me admittance.’

  ‘On my orders.’ Gerard wished she’d go away. He was feeling nauseated and his head was aching abominably. ‘Since when have you been in charge of this household, woman?’

  ‘Since your mother died and your father became bedridden.’ Planting her hands on her hips she gazed at him, her mouth curling in disgust. ‘We cannot all behave like whipped curs.’

  Anger flared in his eyes as the remark hit its mark, but much to her relief he let it pass. His tongue came out to flick at his dry lips. ‘I have a raging thirst.’

  ‘I’ll order you some coffee,’ she said, her hand moving towards the embroidered bell-pull.

  ‘I don’t want coffee!’ He uncoiled so fast from the chair that she only felt the draught as his sword came between her and the wall to slice through the bell-pull. The lower portion dangled uselessly from her hand. Wrapping his hand round her throat he pushed her against the wall, effectively trapping her. His smile contained enough sobriety to make her aware he was in complete control of himself. Which is just as well, she thought, shaken by the swiftness of his action. Else his sword thrust would have sliced through her ear as well as the bell-pull. Instinct told her he had no intention of harming her. Nevertheless, she allowed her hand to creep towards the pocket where she kept her dagger.

  ‘Your breath is exceedingly unpleasant,’ she observed, clasping her fingers firmly round the handle of the weapon and partly withdrawing it from the scabbard.

  ‘Is it, by God?’ Shame came into his eyes. Dropping his arm he took a step back and surveyed her immaculate blue and white flowered gown. What the hell was he trying to prove? This girl was his wife, and would do as he bade. He didn’t have to use force. She looked as fresh and pretty as a bunch of cornflowers in summer. Her youth made him feel old and weary. ‘What do you want of me, wife? Make your request then leave me in peace. Is it more money? You look as though the allowance I made you is enough to keep you in luxury.’

  ‘It’s exceedingly generous, more than I need.’ Moving away from him she positioned herself within range of the door. ‘My request—if that’s what it is—is thus. That you cease drinking and take your place as the head of the household until your father recovers.’ ‘

  Lucifer’s oath!’ A startled look came into his eyes. ‘You have the effrontery to come in here and tell your husband what to do?’ The sword came up again, its deadly tip resting lightly against her throat.

  She experienced a heady rush of exhilaration at the dangerous game they were playing. ‘I demand it.’

  ‘Demand?’ Voice dangerously soft, his eyes hooded when she tilted her chin upwards to expose the white column of her throat in a sacrificial gesture. His mouth twitched into a faint smile. ‘You seem to have a death wish,’ he whispered. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you a man in his cups can be irrational and dangerous?’

  ‘I chose my time with care.’ Sure of herself now she smiled in return. ‘You are no longer in your cups, merely suffering the results of last night’s excesses. Besides… ‘ and she gave an ironic sigh. ‘I seem to know you well.’

  ‘You know me not at all,’ he murmured, the sword tip circling a blue bow on her cap. He caught the bow as it fell, handing it to her with a mocking bow. ‘I’ve never been a husband to you.’

  Despite the flush that crept across her cheeks she met mockery with mockery. ‘Are you not the bravest and most considerate of men? Or does Lady Edwina feed me falsehood?’

  An eyebrow arched in disbelief. ‘My grandmother said that?’

  The amusement in his eyes when she nodded encouraged her to continue. ‘Are you not the revered son of Ambrose, who’s summoning all his strength at this moment to lay his hand on your head in blessing?’

  Gerard’s nod was uncomfortable, as if he’d reached a conclusion that this was no longer a game. She had all his attention now.

  ‘I’ve heard much from Jeffrey of you. His hero is a little tarnished of late, but not too much to redeem himself if he tries. You’ll be pleased to know he’s acted as friend and protector during your absence.’

  ‘I have no liking for sarcasm,’ he warned, his sword now lowered. His eyes mirrored his intense pain.

  Relentlessly, she continued, determined not to spare him. ‘But you are right of course, husband. Because your absence has been prolonged, I know you not at all. What I’ve been led to expect is not what I see before me. It’s disappointing when one’s expectations turn out to be quite different, in fact. Do you not agree?’

  ‘The only thing my brain and I agree on at the moment is that it aches abominably. My patience beginning to wear thin,’ and it showed in his voice, Willow thought. ‘I suspect that’s due to the fresh air you’ve induced me to breathe and the crow you’ve forced me to eat.’ He gazed thoughtfully down at her. ‘If the nagging was designed to bring me to my senses, you’ve achieved it. I should thank you for it, but no doubt you’ve been paid in full by my discomfort.’

  ‘Your discomfort brings me no pleasure. I petition you only on the earl’s behalf. The demand for the dubious pleasure of your company is his. I’m merely his messenger.’

  Her husband was strolling towards the French windows when he turned and stared at her. ‘You have the makings of a shrew, by God.’ Giving a laugh when she frowned, he grinned, returning to her in two strides. ‘Do you not have a kiss for your husband after his long absence?’

  ‘You stink like a goat,’ she hissed, drawing the dagger fully from her pocket.

  It took but an instant to twist it from her grasp. Remembering the scar on the soldier’s face he stared at its sharply honed edge. ‘You will not threaten me with this again,’ he muttered, throwing it with some force at the picture of the fourth earl. It buried itself in the earl’s heart.

  Willow shivered. Her husband was not a man to be trifled with.

  His astute grey eyes bored coldly into hers. ‘I’m going for a ride to clear my head. Tell Rodgers to prepare my bath.’

  ‘You’re wearing only shirt a
nd breeches,’ she pointed out. Grabbing his cloak from the chair she threw it to him as he left. ‘Put that on less you catch cold.’

  ‘Thank you, wife.’ For the life of him, Gerard couldn’t remember her name. His mocking bow brought color to her cheeks and he laughed as he strode out into the morning. He’d not expected the child he’d left behind to have grown into such a beauty, nor to possess such spirit. Halfway towards the stables he stopped to gazed back at the house. Had she said his father was going to recover and was waiting to give his blessing? The day took on a new meaning.

  ‘Saddle up my father’s stallion,’ he said to the groom when he reached the stables. When the man had done his bidding he gazed soberly at him. ‘You’re the Irish groom who came with my wife and her horse, are you not?’

  ‘That I am, My Lord. My name is Brian O’Shea.’

  ‘Lady Sommersley?’ About to ask Brian his wife’s name, Gerard stopped himself. It was bound to come to him once the brandy fumes had cleared from his brain. Instead, he mumbled as he scratched his beard. ‘She is no longer a child.’

  Brian allowed himself a small smile at his master’s expense. ‘That she’s not, sir.’

  ‘How long is it since I arrived home?’

  ‘It’s been six days, sir. New year has come and gone two days since.’

  ‘Six days?’ Gerard shook his head as he mounted the frisky stallion. No wonder the woman was out of countenance with him. Despite his aching head his lips curved into a smile. The wench he’d married had a fiery temper when pushed to it.

  ‘Stop fussing.’ Gerard grimly surveyed himself in his dressing mirror. His black breeches were fashioned from finest wool, the silver knee buckles matched the braided edging of his coat. Rodgers had insisted he wear a pearl grey watered-silk waistcoat that matched the color of his hose. His black silver-buckled shoes were polished to perfection. His stock and ruffles were spotlessly white. Running a hand over his strangely naked chin he grunted in approval. ‘You certainly know your job.’

  ‘Thank you, My Lord.’ Rodgers gazed despairingly at his master’s dark mane of hair. ‘If you would just allow me powder it, sir.’

  ‘No powder.’ Gerard seated himself. ‘The damned stuff makes me sneeze.’ Despite the ride his head still ached. By the time Rodgers had fashioned his pigtail into a black silk sheath, his skull was throbbing like a drum. ‘Whoever that is, send away,’ he said as knuckles rapped at his door. ‘I see no one until I receive my father’s blessing.’

  Rodgers returned carrying a tray set with bread, ham and cheese. A jug steaming with an aroma of hot chocolate was set next to a glass containing opaque liquid. Rodgers immediately set the glass in front of him.

  ‘What’s that?’ He eyed it suspiciously as he set about his breakfast.

  ‘An infusion of feverfew to relieve your headache.’ Rodgers couldn’t quite hide his grin. ‘Lady Sommersley prepared and brought it herself.’

  Aware her ironic action would set the servant’s tongues wagging, his gaze narrowed on Rodgers. The grin slid away to nothing. ‘Tell me, Rodgers… does the mistress of the house often assume the duties of serving maid?’

  ‘Due to the epidemic the staff is considerably reduced I believe,’ Rodger’s murmured, trying not to sound unctuous. ‘I understand Lady Sommersley is held in high esteem by the servants and is respected for her compassion.’

  ‘No doubt she is if she’s performing their duties.’ Gerard sipped cautiously at the infusion his wife had prepared. Although the brew had been made tolerable with the addition of honey it had bitter undertones. He wouldn’t put it past her to poison him after the way he’d treated her earlier. Swallowing it in two gulps, he grimaced before rising to his feet. This wife of his had suddenly become a paradox. He couldn’t equate this saintly being with a woman who carried a dagger she was prepared to use.

  He shook his head, preferring not to think about it. Despite breakfast and a several cups of chocolate his head wasn’t up to it. ‘Tell Mrs. Breton to review the servant situation with Lady Sommersley, then attend me in my father’s study on the morrow. I’ll pick up some staff at the next hiring fair in Dorchester.’

  His headache began to recede as the infusion began to take effect. There were advantages in having a wife, he thought with some surprise, and wondered where she’d acquired her skill with herbal remedies. ‘I don’t suppose… ‘ He stopped himself asking just in time. There was no need to parade his ignorance in front of a servant. He would visit his grandmother after he’d received his father’s blessing. His wife’s name was bound to crop up in conversation sooner or later.

  When he reached his father’s room he hesitated in the doorway and surveyed the scene. On one side of the sickbed stood his wife. On the other, a muscular looking manservant to whom she was issuing instructions. Gerard couldn’t recall ever seeing him before.

  ‘You will assist the earl’s hand to his son’s head for the blessing, Grey. Like thus.’ She placed her hand delicately on the recumbent form and smiled down at him. ‘You will not mind if I demonstrate the procedure to this oaf, father?’

  A lump in his throat threatened to choke him when he saw his father’s eyelids flutter.

  His wife’s glance came back to Grey. ‘First you must impress on my husband the method of communication the earl has developed. Remember? One blink for yes and two for no. You will be careful the earl does not overtire himself.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’ The servant gave an indulgent smile when she bent and kissed his father’s cheek. ‘Don’t you worry, mistress. The earl won’t come to no harm with me looking after him.’

  The man was too familiar. About to step forward and intervene, he observed his wife frown. ‘I appreciate that you wish to repay the debt of your daughter’s life by serving the earl, but you must learn some respect.’

  ‘I offer my life as forfeit for yours,’ Grey said simply. ‘Be that respect enough?’

  ‘Then what use would you be to me or the earl?’ Gerard grinned at the asperity in his lady’s voice. ‘Arguing with you is like arguing with a mule, John Grey, only you are twice as stubborn.’

  ‘Yes, My Lady.’

  She turned and wagged a finger at him. ‘Make sure you treat my husband with proper deference. He is skilled with the sword. If your tongue detours from its proper place he will most surely slice it off before you can recoil it. Much as that would relieve my ears, I cannot spare the time to sew it on again. Is that settled?’

  ‘Yes, My Lady.’

  ‘Good.’ She gazed at the earl again. ‘I’m going now, Ambrose. Edward is expecting me this hour. If this travelling pugilist gives you any trouble you will tell me and I’ll cut out his liver and feed it to the hounds.’

  Gerard chuckled at the thought of this dainty creature performing such an aggressive act.

  ‘Oh.’ Her violet eyes widened and color suffused her cheeks. Sinking to the floor in a whisper of silken skirts she spread her fan across her face to hide her blush. ‘I did not expect you so soon, sir.’

  Bathed, and shorn of his beard, Gerard was younger and more handsome than Willow had expected. The stern look to his fine, hawkish features made her wish she hadn’t been quite so forward with him in the study. His eyes were quite penetrating. A knot of apprehension gathered in her midriff and she lowered her eyes, suddenly shy.

  ‘Get up, Madam.’ Assisting her to her feet Gerard brushed the fan aside and lazily evaluated her. The child was still there, apparent in the air of innocence she presented. Still petite, she’d blossomed into a beauty. The soft swell of her bosom was just hinted at through the lace of her fichu. Her skin was unblemished and unadorned, possessing a pale translucence that others strove to emulate through artifice. Her long silky lashes quivered slightly, then her eyelids slid upwards. She darted him a swift, curious glance before lowering them again. Her eyes were exquisite, like dark sapphires.

  Aware he was still holding her hand, he brushed her fingers gently with his lips. ‘We meet again, wife. I pray my
appearance no longer invites your censure, and my odor no longer offends.’

  For a moment she looked as though she was about to run, then amusement flared in her eyes. Disengaging her hand, she whispered. ‘My compliments to your servant sir. He seems to be as skilled with soap and a razor as his master is with a sword.’

  ‘Prettily said, Madam.’ He made her a small bow. ‘I’ll not return the compliment to your servant. What nature has provided you with needs no enhancement. You’re exquisite just a you are, and your manners show a distinct improvement.’

  ‘Thank you My Lord, but I have no disposition towards fishwifery unless the means are justified.’

  Her eyes were sparkling now. Gerard smiled to himself. She had enough vanity to appreciate a pretty compliment, and the wit to throw it back at him. Her next words brought his eyes narrowing in on her.

  ‘You do not mind if I call you Gerard? To do otherwise would be tediously stuffy.’

  Head to one side, her eyes appeared innocent of duplicity. Yet lurking in their depths was a tiny core of mockery that rendered him suddenly uncomfortable. He chose his next words carefully. ‘If it pleases you to use my baptismal name then do so.’

  Her smile came so suddenly it took his breath away. ‘It would please me also if you would use mine.’

  She had guessed! It wasn’t often he felt at a loss with women, but then, she was not like other women he’d known. A whipped cur, she’d called him.

  Her opinion still rankled. None of his acquaintance would have dared take him to task as she’d done earlier, and none would venture to mock him like this. Her intelligence went beyond that usually attributed to women. But he wasn’t about to play her game, and she had much to learn.

  Warily, he returned her smile. ‘If such a small favour brings you pleasure it will please me to grant it.’ He stood aside to let her pass. ‘You’ll excuse me now. My father awaits.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ she said simply. ‘You’re sorely needed here.’