Heart of Darkness Read online

  He walked her up the stairs, of which there appeared to be at least a dozen sets and when she looked upwards, a staircase seemed to reach the very top of the highest turret. She had to hold back the childish desire to call out and hear her words echoed, but Isabeau could honestly say, that regardless of her own parents' huge properties and wealth, never in her life had she seen such an enormous edifice. It was large enough to rival even the Royal holdings! At least, she thought so. She had only ever seen pictures of the Royal castles in books, but she could not imagine anything that could possibly be larger than this!

  She longed to ask why the Griffin took central stage and yet was smaller, longed to learn the significance of such a move, but instead kept quiet. They traversed three sets of stairs, which took them halfway up the tower and then Wolfe came to a standstill. At the head of this staircase, was yet another stained glass window of a Griffin. It merely deepened the urge to ask him why the mythological creature was so important to his family.

  She was part-dragged, part-walked along the length of the landing and this floor was awash with candle light as well. At the very bottom was a rather grand set of doors, which were almost double her own diminutive length and something told her that behind that particular opening, was Wolfe's chamber. He came to a stop outside the room that was next to the one she believed to be his.

  He unlocked the door, then opened it for her and waited for her to walk in to the darkened gloom. There was absolutely no light in there. It was as black as the sky outside. Although she hesitated, spying the frown as he waited longer and longer for her to comply with his unspoken order, Isabeau entered the room and felt unbearably nervous as the darkness seemed to envelop her.

  Suddenly the door closed with a bang and she cried out. “Wolfe! Are you there?”

  “I'm here,” he replied mildly.

  There was a sudden whoosh of air and instantly, the room was filled with light.

  Blinking away the black dots in her vision, she spun around and sought Wolfe's position. She was far too angry to even think about the splendor of this room.

  “What is this?” she asked, somewhat nonsensically and literally fizzed with fury as he merely commented on her question.

  “What is what?”

  “The room next to this...it is your sleeping chamber, is it not?”

  “What if it is?”

  “What do you mean, what if it is? It is a gross outrage that's what it is!”

  “Would you prefer the dungeon?” he retorted silkily and she stomped her foot in outrage at his reply.

  “Perhaps I would! Anything but be treated as though I'm your damned concubine!”

  “It can be arranged. Easily, so do not push me, Isabeau. You will stay here and appreciate the beauty of what was once my mother's suite,” he told her grimly.

  “I refuse to allow this to continue. Take me somewhere else. Your servants...they will gossip! My reputation is already a non-entity, but that does not mean it is something I do not guard highly. Why do you think I'm still a maiden? I will not have the world believing me to be your mistress!”

  “If you want your ring, then you shall just have to be quiet and live through the shame,” he mocked.

  She watched with hate in her eyes as he slipped his hand inside his overcoat and pulled out her ring. Crying out as she saw it, Isabeau felt every nerve ending in her body react to the sizzle of power that launched through her as the long, thin slivers of magic crept out of the stone and sought the matching power inside her.

  “Give it to me,” she ordered huskily. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she grimaced as a pain suddenly overtook her.

  “No. For the moment, I find that it is in my best interests to keep it in my possession, after all, it seems to be the only way I can actually control you, is it not?”

  She licked her lips, but could not lie. Even if it would prompt him to return the ring to her keeping.

  “Nothing to say, sweet Venus? I find that I have plenty...There once was a legend about a ring of onyx. Have you heard of it, Isabeau?”

  Gulping, she shook her head and quietly mouthed, “No.”

  “It's rather interesting. The power it contains within its band of minerals is astonishing. Darkness against light,” he murmured as he twisted the ring between two fingers. She knew he would be looking at the contrasting black and white bands of color that was almost a cross-section of dark and light. “Everything must be balanced, Isabeau. For light to exist at all, there must be a contrast. Something to maintain the status quo of the world. As Newton said, for every action there is a reaction. One life saved, another destroyed. One child born, an adult dies.”

  She licked her lips. “It is not a destructive power. It is for good. Not bad!”

  “No, that is where you are wrong, Isabeau. It depends on who contains the source of the magic and if he or she is intrinsically good or evil.”

  “I'm the last of my family. The last Hart. I am good. Not evil,” she stated confidently, although her voice shook.

  “Magic is destructive. In whatever guise it is couched.”

  “No! It is not! And it's not magic!”

  His head slowly lifted and he seared her with his gaze. “The onyx ring of legends past is said to bind men's minds to the wearer. Is this the same ring, do you think, last Hart? Does it give you the power of an asrai over men's hearts? Your beauty is such that it is possible, no? Can you bewitch them like the mythical creatures of old?”

  She nibbled her lip anxiously. “I do not know. I have only ever used it for healing purposes,” she replied earnestly. “And to hide myself from danger. But I am not an asrai, of all things!”

  “The legend says it heals as it ensorcels. I wonder...” he murmured, ignoring the rest of her words.

  Despite herself, she had to ask, “What do you wonder?”

  “If the ring that has channeled your magic...”

  She sucked in a breath. “It isn't magic,” Isabeau repeated.

  He ignored her. “...for such a long period of time, would turn against you? Magic is never loyal.” Wolfe paused. “If you do not believe in magic and have been yielding it for five years, then you are deluded, my dear.”

  “It isn't magic,” she said, shaking her head.

  “No? Then what is it?”

  “I-I don't know. A gift! A talent I possess.”

  “You need not fear that I will send you to the ducking pond, Isabeau. You can admit your powers here and will be perfectly safe.”

  “Safe?” she scorned, with a return of her usual spirit. “After you have just threatened to turn the ring against me!”

  “Why are you scared about something you purport not to understand?”

  He stepped towards her and the stalking menace in that action had nerves shuttling through her system until a horde of butterflies began to flicker and quake inside her.

  She had never believed that the ring could turn against her, as it was hers and her mother had said that it would always protect her...Perhaps her mama had been incorrect. Or perhaps it would always protect her, but only when it was upon her fingers.

  The predatory nature of his movement had her steadily taking steps away from him. His swift advance made her move all the faster and suddenly, she felt the press of what could only be the bed at the back of her knees. It was too late to brake; her momentum pushed her backwards until she fell on the lushly covered bed.

  * * * *

  Quickly, shoving herself upwards, she watched and shuddered as she noticed he was even closer and all the time, he was moving, his fingers rubbed the onyx stone.

  She was certain that unless he had the same power as she possessed, he would not be able to hurt her with the onyx ring, but there was a distinct possibility that she was wrong. That he could.

  She already believed there was something in his nature that ensured he could only move around at night time and she had to believe that it was some power he had...When that belief was combined with those windows of animals that a
lso felt at peace during the hours of darkness, her opinion solidified even further.

  She was unsure of what his next action would be, but there was a slumberous look in his eyes that warned her it involved some kind of intimacy. If she remembered rightly, although the door had slammed shut, Isabeau could not remember hearing the click of the lock. If she could play him at his own charade, if she could manipulate him into believing that she was lost in his caresses, then perhaps there would be a chance of escape. Either that, or the opportunity to snatch the ring back.

  At this moment in time, she would have preferred to have the ring rather than her freedom. For all the years she had been running away, that ring had been there, perched upon her finger and guiding and guarding her. Protecting her from the perils of the life she had been dropped into and without an ounce of knowledge of how to survive.

  From the cosseted, only daughter of a wealthy Earl to a renegade woman without a penny to her name.

  That ring had kept her from death countless times. If she were to ever escape this place, she would be as helpless as before without that ring.

  She was uncertain if her plan had any merit, or if it was even worthy of enacting, but if there was a possibility of retrieving her ring, then Isabeau had to do it. She was completely inexperienced in all kinds of intimacy. Whilst she had once befriended a prostitute during her journey around the country, who had taken great pleasure in shocking her with some of the clients' requests, and while she knew the details of what occurred in the marriage bed, Isabeau had no practical idea of what actually happened or how.

  For her, marriage always had and always would be the place in which to explore any desires she had. She did not appreciate having to retreat from her principles in an effort to regain possession of her ring, but she had taken part in far worse to survive.

  She sat silently as he continued to stalk ever closer to her and when he stood directly before her, Isabeau felt contrasting emotions quiver through her. Even though he was upon her, he somehow continued to press onwards and she ended up falling backwards and sprawled inelegantly upon the cushioned feather bed.

  Although she felt slightly fearful, the female in her was relaxed and felt almost predatory. While she lay supine on the bed, she could turn his presumptions against him and play his game and surprise him.

  His hands came down and were pressed beside her arms. He leaned over her and his head hung low and close to her own. Her eyes traced his handsome features, before halting at his own and spying the thundering and riotous emotions there.

  Slowly, purposely, she licked her lips and watched his reaction to that gesture. His eyes, already black as night, were suddenly shot through with gleaming strands of appreciation that turned the orbs into an even darker shade of obsidian. It was like seeing a shard of a lightning bolt run across the breadth of the sky. Sharp, shocking and at the same time, exhilaratingly exciting.

  His head dropped lower and she could tell, although this had been her intention all along, his emotions were in control and not his head. That in itself sent a peculiar sensation of arousal shuddering through her.

  Before his mouth could reach her, her hand quickly shot up to curl around his neck and she pressed him against her. The sudden touch of his lips against hers made her blood start to shoot through her veins like quicksilver. At first, it was hesitant. A gentle press of his to hers and then, his tongue escaped and he flickered it around the perimeter of her mouth. Then he slipped it back and forth against the central line of her closed lips until she opened up and it slid in between to press against her own.

  Gently at first, then a little faster until she shuddered as the new reaction made her heart pump harder, she pressed her tongue against his and gasped as the small muscle seemed to pulse with life in reaction.

  When his hands slid over the shabby material of her dress, rather than pushing him away, she accepted the touch, improper as it was, and enjoyed the sensation of his rough hands cupping her waist and sliding along the length of her arms.

  Every inch of her seemed to grow nerve endings that were so supremely sensitive, a slight quiver continually danced along her flesh until she felt as though she were nothing but a bundle of aroused vitality. His hands cupped her calves, this time skin to skin and she gasped against his mouth as they slid to her knees. A small voice urged her to tell him to stop, to order him to leave her alone, for never had she been in such a dangerous position as this. But she couldn't. Even if his mouth hadn't engaged hers, Isabeau wouldn't have wanted to tell him to stop.

  Despite that, her uncertainty over his next move had her feeling slightly anxious. Would he attempt to touch her intimately...or, what else could he be intending to do?

  Nerves balled in her stomach and before she could feel even more anxious, he started to spread her legs but his hands halted at her knee. She froze, wondering what he was about, when suddenly he settled himself in between her legs so that their nether regions met. They were covered by cloth, but it was the most powerful of meetings regardless of that. His lips supped at the moans that escaped her throat and her fingers came to a halt at his shoulders. They dug into the hardened muscles they found there and when his hips rocked against her, she cried out again.

  Suddenly, his mouth snatched away from her. His hands moved from her legs and rushed to the bodice of her chest. He ripped at the material that covered her and rather than denounce his actions and call him a rake, she dove into his touch and welcomed whatever he intended to do to her. Whimpers burst free from her mouth as his hands, those roughened, callused palms and the strong, firm fingers pressed against the sensitive flesh of her bosom. The skin there had never been touched by anyone but herself and the press of her own hand to her breasts had never caused any sensation to rush through her, but now, she felt as though she was riding the crest of a wave. And it was marvelous.

  Her chemise was pulled away and that left her bare to his gaze. Only her mama and nanny had seen this part of her and she licked her lips, as his eyes roved over the abundance of her flesh.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice gruff, deep and husky.

  In the pit of her belly, warmth broke out and engulfed her at his words. When his head dropped down and she felt the sudden slickness of his tongue wet the peak of her breast, a deep groan that came from the very depth of her being escaped her. Her nails dug into him again, as he continued to flick flesh that she had not even realized to be sensitive, and drove her higher and higher until she felt literally shaky with emotion.

  When his lips suddenly opened and sucked at the tip of her breast, she gasped and everything that had happened prior to this, suddenly felt as unimportant as the touch of his finger to her hand. The sensations it caused to feel him suckling at this area, were so unbearably powerful that it felt almost as wondrous as when the onyx ring healed her of whatever ailed her.

  The rake of his teeth on one and then the pinch of his fingers on the other, pushed her to cling to him. Her legs cupped him and held him to her with a ferocity that shocked even her. She had not meant for anything of this nature to happen. There was no way that with these emotions rushing through her, she would have the wherewithal to try and steal the ring or rush away from him and attempt to escape.

  Her reaction to him told her that there was something between them that she had not yet acknowledged. Something powerful and beyond her understanding, but vital all the same. There was no way on this Earth that she would have reacted in this way, had she been frightened or fearful or scared of the most basic and intrinsic parts of him.

  Everything about what was happening between them, seemed honest and real. Perhaps that was strange, but it was how she felt. And a part of her hoped that the way she felt, was shared by him.

  In the back of her mind, she recalled the way her mama had described that first kiss with her papa. Although Isabeau knew that it would not have been as explicit as the one she was currently sharing with Wolfe, somehow she knew that it would have felt the same. The thought ha
d her heart thudding in her chest, because her mama had always said that she had known her husband was the love of her life within moments of meeting and their first kiss had been upon the announcement of their engagement.