“As I was saying, you’re very fortunate there’s any accommodation free at the moment, let alone at this time of night. Mrs. Vansomeren had the apartment for a fortnight, and had only been here a day or so, but all of a sudden she upped and went home. If you ask me, it was something to do with the roses her husband sent.”
“Oh, really?” a bored male American voice replied.
“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll like the rooms. Now then, let me sort out the keys.”
The footsteps halted the other side of the door, and then Kathryn heard more people on the stairs. Children laughed, and a woman scolded them.
“Can’t you make less noise? I have a headache.”
A key rattled in the lock, and Kathryn scrambled from the bed. God, what was she to do? If they saw her in these clothes they’d think she was some weirdo who fancied herself as Lady Hamilton or the Empress Josephine! She had to hide—but where? All she could think of was under the bed, and she wriggled beneath it just as the outer door opened and the lights were switched on.
Jack conducted the newcomers into the apartment. There was a man and woman and two children, a boy and a younger girl. Jack stood back for them to admire the accommodation. “It was all done about a year ago, to the highest standards, of course, and as I said, it’s available for almost two weeks.”
“We can’t stay that long, seven days will be just fine. We just need to finish our vacation, but not in the so-called luxury cottage we’d booked,” the woman said, running her finger along the window ledge and inspecting it for dust. She was in her early thirties, with long dark hair and a pale, rather pretty face. By her accent, Kathryn guessed she came from somewhere down New Orleans way.
Jack cleared his throat. “Cottage not up to scratch, eh?”
“You could say that. There wasn’t a shower, and I never take a bath anywhere except my own home,” the woman replied emphatically.
“Well, there’s a shower here,” Jack said quickly.
“What price are we talking?” the man asked. He was a little older than the woman, and definitely New Orleans. Something about him told of the workaholic executive who’d come only grudgingly on the annual family vacation. He had brown hair, gray at the temples, and didn’t look relaxed in casual clothes.
Jack began to list the charges, but his voice was drowned by the children as they ran noisily from room to room, switching on every light they could find. Their mother called complainingly after them.
“Bridget! Patrick! Try to make less noise! Don’t you guys listen to anything I say?”
Clearly not, for they shouted excitedly to each other as they investigated every nook and cranny. The woman sighed. “God, will I be glad to hit the sack tonight,” she muttered.
The bedroom where Kathryn was hiding had so far escaped the children’s attention, but she knew it would only be seconds before one or other of them burst in. She pulled back as far as she could beneath the bed, but was only too aware that even if she somehow escaped detection now, she couldn’t stay where she was forever. Sooner or later she had to come out.
“Come on, Alice, do your stuff!” she whispered, then fell silent as the bedroom light was suddenly switched on. The girl ran in, flung herself on the bed, and began to bounce up and down as energetically as she could.
Then the bouncing stopped, and Kathryn turned her head to watch as the child’s feet swung down to the floor again. To her horror she realized a beneath-the-bed inspection was about to commence. Go away, you horrid brat! But the horrid brat got down on all fours and peered under the valance.
The girl’s breath caught with shock as she found herself looking at Kathryn, and with a frightened gasp she scrambled away. “Mom! Hey, Mom, there’s someone under the bed!” she screamed, and ran from the room.
Kathryn didn’t know whether to stay where she was, or get up to face the music. She decided the latter was more dignified, but as she tried to move, she found she couldn’t. Her muscles seemed to have lost all their strength, and no matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t obey her.
The girl returned with everyone else, and the room seemed to be filled with feet. The man knelt down and looked under the bed. He stared directly at Kathryn, but didn’t seem to see her, for he straightened a little crossly.
“Aw, come on, Bridget, there’s no one there!”
“But, there was! I saw her!” the girl wailed.
Then Jack knelt down and looked as well. His gaze went through Kathryn, and then he too straightened. “Reckon it was one of our friendly ghosts, my dear,” he said reassuringly to the girl.
The boy gave
a gasp of interest. “Gee, are there ghosts here?’ he asked.
“Oh, yes. I especially recall a little old bright-eyed lady with a shawl and a walking stick. Some say she lived here a long time ago...”
Alice! Jack had seen Alice, Kathryn thought, but as she listened to hear more, she realized his voice was becoming more and more distant. Everything began to slowly revolve, and the light in the bedroom seemed to be slipping away, as if she were falling into a deep, dark well. Fear gripped her, for if this was her final journey into the past, it didn’t feel at all right.
She continued her endless fall, spinning and tumbling through a frightening darkness that didn’t seem to have any end. Why was it so different this time? Had something gone dreadfully wrong?
Suddenly the terrifying fall ended. There was a sickening jolt and then nothing, just silence, and a cocoon-like impenetrable blackness. Her senses reeled so unpleasantly that for a moment or so it was all she could do not to throw up. But then the dizziness began gradually to recede, and her eyes became accustomed to the darkness.
She smiled, for she was standing in the great hall at Marchwood.
Chapter Twenty-four
Kathryn was standing next to the fireplace that was under repair, and could smell soot and disturbed stonework. There was dust beneath her feet as she turned to glance around the hall.
Pale moonlight shone across the table down the center of the floor, picking out the arrangement of flowers and making them seem almost ethereal. Her eyes went to the half-landing, but even on canvas Dane now seemed cold and unapproachable. She wished Alice were with her now, but somehow knew the old woman was still in her cottage in Gloucester.
“You’re on your own now, honey,” she murmured to herself, and a soft echo picked up the sound. Honey ... honey ... honey ...
She shivered. How eerie it was. There was no sign of anyone, not even a servant slipping quietly about some late task. The castle was silent as the grave. She bit her lip then, for that wasn’t a metaphor she much cared for right now. Drawing herself up sharply, she put such thoughts from her mind. She had things to do, starting with retrieving the wedding ring and then trying to speak to Dane, although whether or not he’d be even remotely prepared to listen remained to be seen.
Gathering her skirts, she picked her way over the dust by the fireplace, and then walked toward the staircase. On the half-landing, she paused to touch the portrait, tracing the outline of the painted lips with her fingertip, but then there was a step at the top of the staircase and she looked swiftly up.
Dane stood there. He’d discarded his coat and neckcloth, and his shirt was undone to the waist. His face was as cold as it had been when last she’d seen him, and as he descended slowly toward her she realized that the glass of cognac in his hand was not his first.
He halted a few steps above the landing, his scornful glance sweeping over her disheveled appearance. “So, my lady chooses to return, but where has she been, that is the question? Such disarray suggests she may have been rolling in the hay. With Denham, no doubt. Or wasn’t he to hand? Possibly she settled for a groom, or maybe even some rough laborer. Anyone will do, eh, Rosalind?” The echo picked up his words, so his voice seemed to come at her from all sides.
“Don’t say such things, Dane, for they aren’t true.”
“Very well, I take some of it back. Only Denham will do, that’s the truth.” As he reached the half-landing, he swirled the cognac and then drank it all.
“Is cognac wise if you’re to fight a duel?”
“How tender of you to inquire, but I’m sure your interest is born of the hope that I’ll be senseless come dawn.”
“If that were so, I wouldn’t say anything,” she replied. His cold loathing touched her like frost, and his eyes were those of a stranger. She wanted to fling herself before him and beg him to believe in her innocence. Then she wanted to hold out her hand and have him draw her to her feet and into his arms. But she knew he’d only spurn her with even more abhorrence than he showed now. He didn’t merely think she was unfaithful, he
knew
it. To him, her guilt was proven beyond all shadow of doubt.
He put the empty glass on top of one of the newel posts. “Why have you come here? I would have thought Denham Hall a more appropriate residence from now on.”
“This is my home.”
“Is it indeed?” He raised a coldly amused eyebrow. “Well, I’m afraid that is no longer so, madam. You’re soiled goods now, and Denham soiled you. There’s no place for you here, and I expect you to be gone before morning light. Go to your lover. He can take care of you from now on, provided, that is, he lives long enough to carry out his obligations.”
“Please don’t ask me to go, Dane.”
“I’m not asking, Rosalind, I’m ordering. I can no longer bear the sight of your face, and certainly don’t want to endure your close proximity. You made your bed, now you can lie in it.”
“Yours is the only bed in which I wish to lie, Dane.”
“Ah, the softly seductive voice of the injured wife,” he mocked. “Dear God, I marvel at your capacity to play the martyr. Well, at least you’ll never starve, my dear, for if Denham doesn’t want you, I’m sure you’ll be welcomed at Drury Lane.”
“Do you think I was acting last night? Was it all false when I gave myself to you in the carriage, and then again here? Was I deceiving you when I woke you this morning and we made love again?”
“Yes, madam, I believe you were.”
“I’m evidently a truly great actress,” she said, holding his gaze.
“There’s no doubt of it, madam; indeed, I take my hat off to such dazzling talent.” He sketched a derisive bow.
“Please don’t be like this, Dane,” she whispered, feeling the familiar salt sting of tears.
“You surely don’t expect me to be affable?”
“I don’t expect anything, but I want you to believe in me, Dane!” she cried. “I love you, only you! Thomas Denham means nothing to me!”
The echo that had whispered their entire conversation so far, now picked up her raised tone almost eagerly, and flung it wildly around the silent hall, as if laughing at her.
Nothing to me...! Nothing to me...! Nothing to me...!
Dane was unmoved. “I suppose that’s why I found you in his arms today?” he replied dryly.
“You found me trying to spurn his advances.”
He laughed. “Oh, how foolish of me to misunderstand. So you went into the timber yard with him in order to tell him you didn’t wish to be with him? How very credible!”
“It’s the truth.”
“You’ve forgotten what truth is, Rosalind, I doubt you’d recognize it even if it stood before you with a label around its neck!”
“I want to stay with you, Dane.”
“Well, my dear, I don’t want you, so we have an impasse, I think,” he said acidly.
The tears shimmered in her eyes now. “Is that what you really wish?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you what I really wish, madam. I wish I was monster enough to deal you the appropriate punishment right now!” Suddenly he strode down the final steps and seized her wrist, twisting it savagely behind her back so her body arched painfully against him.
“You’re hurting me!” She tried to writhe away, but his grip was like a vise.
Her throat was pale in the faint light of the moon, and he could see the fullness of her breasts, cupped only by the plunging bodice of her flimsy gown, and he gave a low laugh. “Perhaps I should sample you one last time, my dear. You’re mine by right—conjugal right!”
He pulled her down to the floor, still twisting her wrist behind her so she couldn’t escape, and only letting go when she was pinned helplessly beneath his weight. Then he looked down into her eyes. “Being on your back suits you, my dear; in fact, I’d go so far as to say it was how you were meant to be.”
“Take me like this if you wish, it will make no difference to the truth. I love you now, and I always will. Always!” The spiteful echo mocked her.
Always...always...always...
“Oh, what an unerring touch you have for the dramatic. A veritable tragedienne,” he breathed. “Well, let’s see how convincing you can remain, let’s really test your skills.”
He wrenched her flimsy muslin skirts up to her waist, and forced her thighs apart. Then he bent his head to kiss her fiercely on the lips. Whether it was anger or hatred that aroused him she didn’t know, she only knew that he was far from impotent at that moment. She felt him undo his breeches and take out the rigid shaft through which the bitterness of betrayal pulsed like a heartbeat, then he kissed her again. It was a harsh kiss, but behind its cruel force she could sense his agony. It was within his power to really hurt her physically, but he didn’t. Neither did he penetrate her, but watched her face as he pressed his masculinity to the threshold of her body. He was hot with desire, and if he entered her now he would surely impale her soul.
Instead he looked contemptuously into her eyes. “What price Denham now, my sweet? You’re my wife, mine to do with as I please, and now it pleases me to reject you, for you’re not worth my effort.”
With that got to his feet and smiled mockingly down at her as he did his breeches up again. “I swear this is the last time you and I will share any intimacy, and I pray it is also the last time I ever have to look at you. Be gone from this house within the hour. Everything that is yours will be sent to your new protector.”
The cruel echo continued to whisper his last word, as if intent upon taunting her to the very end.
Protector...protector...protector...
It was still swirling around the hall as Dane stepped over her, as if over something in a gutter. Then he went up the staircase without a backward glance.