Heart of Darkness (33 page)

He led her down the left corridor and almost
instantly into a study-like room. In her time, she had seen her
father's study, Wolfe's and that of her maternal grandfather's, and
if she was honest, they had all been of the same ilk. But this one
was completely different. Whilst there was evident wealth in the
furnishings, there was none of the heart and soul of a room that
was loved. It was a strange verb to use, but it was the truth.
There was a coldness at the depth of the study.

A desk sat in the very center of the room and
that was strange in itself. There was equal space all around the
heavy, oak table, which was laden with papers and blotters and the
requisite desk sets, which to her eye at least, appeared to have a
Louis XVI style about it. From the ornate standing clock to the ink
vessel and the pen holder. The large desk, which had a leather
blotter covering the center of the surface, was laden with what
appeared to be almost twelve separate yet matching pieces from the
same set.

To the left and right of the desk but to the
back of him, were two large and laden bookcases. To the right side
was a large fireplace, which flickered merrily in the night. In
front of him were two chairs and a drinking table, upon which were
a myriad set of decanters and each liqueur all in a varied golden
amber shade.

A stand-alone globe that had the patina of
age stood to an angle in front of his desk and there was an
enormous antique Persian rug on the floor that seemed to cover the
entire level, whilst leaving a foot or two of gleaming and richly
waxed floorboards around the perimeter of the room.

She turned her attention from her examination
of his bureau and returned her gaze to him. There was a slight
smile on his face that told her he'd been watching her. The thought
was not a pleasant one. Whilst she recognized the need for her to
be within his web, she did not enjoy acting like the entangled and
squirming fly.

“You were saying?” she remarked pointedly,
returning him to the subject in which she had a lot of interest.
That of her parents.

Even though she had known them for a longer
period of time than Wolfe had known his own, Isabeau still felt as
though she had been cheated. Her relationship with her mama and
papa had been uncommonly good and Isabeau had always rather looked
forward to a future, where she could grow to know them even
further.

That she hadn't had that meant that if Jaegar
could divulge any little tidbit about her papa, then she was a
welcome and eager listener.

With another smile, one that reminded her of
that confounded spider bestowing a sticky and inveigling grin to
the trapped fly, he murmured, “We share the notoriety of being
schooled at Worley. He and the head were chums, I believe. He
visited once or twice and each time, I seemed to somehow cross his
path.”

“How?” she asked curiously, eager to hear
something of her father. Something she had never before known.

“Once I dropped my books on his boots. By
accident, of course,” he said with a slight laugh. “That was the
last time though. My grandfather soon afterwards took me out of
school and I was tutored...until the Milesians came and permanently
disrupted my education. Unlike Wolfe, I never saw the benefits of
learning Latin. I can recognize it, but can't understand it. What
did he say, my dear? Something tediously dull?”

Raising her chin into the air, Isabeau
murmured, “Care will kill a cat, Jaegar.”

“Indeed it shall, milady.”

“Regardless of your lack of care for Latin,
sir, you appear to be well-rounded and educated in other degrees.
Just as Wolfe. Do you truly believe in the legend?” she asked, but
her scornful tone turned it from a question into a statement.

He laughed. “Yes. But not in the same way as
Wolfe does. How much do you know about being a Sidhe, Isabeau? From
your hesitancy with your talent I would say not long, but I could
be wrong. Or am I being too curious now?”

She ignored his wry expression and shrugged.
“Perhaps. But you are correct. I only became truly aware of my
status as a Sidhe, when Wolfe took me. But I've known of my powers
these four years past.”

“Has he explained to you what we are and what
you are?”

“Partially,” she admitted.

“Did your parents not teach you of their and
our ways?”

“No. About ten days before they were killed,
my mama handed this ring to me,” she said and indicated the heavy
piece of onyx jewelry on her right hand. “And said that I would
learn from and because of it. But that is all I know. Until Wolfe
told me, I thought that as I was last of the Hart line, I was the
last one with this kind of power.”

Isabeau intended to take full advantage of
Jaegar's loquaciousness. While Wolfe had attempted to impress upon
her the fact that Jaegar could not be trusted, she believed that in
this regard, there was no reason for him to lie. In his eyes, he
had her. There was little else of import to him apart from
imparting knowledge to her.

“A Sidhe comes into their power at adulthood.
Normally, most parents have their children grow in the environment,
but this world is intolerant to our kind and with the Milesians
hounding us at every turn, it is not unheard of for parents to
shield their offspring until it is vital to tell them.”

“I believe I would have preferred to be fully
aware of my background, rather than have it forced upon me
blindly!” she retorted in a huff.

Jaegar shrugged. “I would imagine that most
children raised like you would agree. Unfortunately it is for the
parents to decide what is best for their child. Anyhow, we digress.
By the time I had been taken by the Milesians, I was but a few
years away from gaining my powers. My father was light and my
mother of the dark. In my case, it was possible for me to be
either. In Wolfe's case, his mother was also of the light.

“Ordinarily, we go for opposites. But in my
father's case, he was blinded by Wolfe's mama.” He shrugged that
off as though it was of no import, but she could see from the
tightening about his mouth that it was. “For Wolfe, it is an
atrocity that he is of the dark. The Milesians changed him
intrinsically. But in love or in our search for a mate, there is no
fairness. You are mine.”

Isabeau's lips tightened but she merely
replied, “I am no one's. I choose who I want to be with.”

“Aye,” he retorted with satisfaction. “And
you have chosen me have you not?”

She cocked a shoulder. “Do you think it's
fair to take something away from a man, who desperately needs...I
suppose the word is salvation?”

“As I said, in this case, I have to be fair
to myself. You are more than just a Sidhe of the light, Isabeau.
You are a ring bearer. Did Wolfe inform you about a ring bearer's
importance to the Sidhe world?”

She shook her head.

“Your strength, your abilities are twice that
of an ordinary Sidhe. In one sense, you are correct. You were the
last Hart to bear the ring. Very few are tolerant to the gold for
it is charmed. And very few can channel their magick into the
minerals and have it respond.”

“Why is it important that I am the ring
bearer?”

“For Wolfe, tis the legend. For myself, I
require a mate who is as strong as I.”

“How charming to be desired for one's
jewelry!” she mocked. “While I thank you for the information and
knowledge you have imparted upon me, it has done you little favor.
You are taking me from someone who I not only love, but whose child
I could be carrying and who genuinely needs me.”

“You overreach yourself, Isabeau. I have
shown you my softer side in deference to what I wish you to be to
me, but do not take me for someone who can be easily
manipulated!”

“Did I say that you were? But perhaps you
should take into consideration that when you touch my ring, it
causes you pain. For Wolfe, it is as though it were any type of
precious metal. What does that mean to you, hmm? You talk of
mates...I assume we speak of a mate of the soul? Would it not
appear correct to you, Jaegar, that my mate would be able to touch
the ring bearer's ring?” she murmured softly but with the skill of
sliding a dagger into the heart within one attempt. Cocking a brow,
she let him glare at her and then slotted in, “Where are my
quarters?”

“With me, naturally,” Jaegar murmured,
regaining his composure quickly.

“I think not,” she retorted swiftly. “You may
force me into this damned farce of a marriage, but you cannot force
me into the marriage bed.”

He shot her a narrowed glance but bowed at
the waist and then said, “Would you prefer me to show you or a
maid?”

“While it saddens me to be parted from you,
Jaegar. I believe that I can cope with a maid.”

Jaegar nodded and smiled thinly. He walked
towards one of the bookcases, beside which was the dangling
beribboned bell. He tugged it and moments later, she was being
delivered out of the room and into the hallway by a shy and
blushing maid.

****

She was led into a luxuriously appointed
room, but once again, it seemed to be all looks and no substance.
There was a true coldness about this place and she realized that
she didn't like it. Not at all.

Where Wolfe's castle had been huge and like a
warren of rabbit hutches, a room leading to another totally
incongruent room and the sheer vastness of each area still did not
diminish the fact that the castle was a home. First and foremost,
always that.

But this manor house was completely the
opposite and coming from her background, where regardless of the
size or the number of properties they had, her mama had always made
each of their residences as pleasant and comfortable as possible.
Of course, there had been that rich patina of wealth behind it, but
there was here. So a lack of funds was no excuse.

With a jaundiced eye, she took in her
chambers and immediately took a dislike to both the furnishings and
the decorations. She wished more than anything that she was in
Wolfe's bedroom. She had grown rather accustomed to the overlarge
bed and the warmth that simmered within from the large fire during
the cold, early hours of the morning. Her eyes warmed as she
recalled, how only last night, the covers of the bedspread had been
almost at the bottom of the bed and she'd been wrapped solely in
his arms.

If she tried, Isabeau could still feel that
burning heat Wolfe always seemed to emit and when it was combined
with the high atmospheric temperature, she had been deliciously
warm.

How she longed for that memory to be real.
With an ache that shocked even her. It made her close her eyes as
that wish resonated inside her body and she had to hold back tears
so as to retain control. For as soon as one single drop trickled
down her cheek, that would be it. It would be impossible to
stop!

Instead, she spun around and faced the maid
down. “I need some warm water with which to bathe and some fresh
clothes. Including under and outer garments.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and Isabeau was left
to the solitary room.

It was very apparent that this chamber was
for Jaegar's female guests and was a rather lurid shade of pink.
From the velvet bed curtains and matching bed covers, to the
material that covered the windows and the rug that carpeted the
floor. All of it was pink. The only saving grace was a beautiful
walnut armoire and matching dressing table.

She stood awkwardly in the center of the room
and waited for the maid to return. As soon as the girl did, a
flurry of footmen entered with a heavy bath, which they set in the
center of the bed beside the fireplace, which another maid
valiantly attempted to start. Another flurry of staff entered, this
time with buckets of hot and cold water.

She dismissed them as soon as the bath had
been filled and was to her temperature and rather than immediately
undressing, she grabbed one end of the heavy dressing table and
began to drag it to the door. It took far too long and by the time
she actually made it, there a knock and then a bang when she did
not call out.

Jamming the table under the doorknob, she
then yelled, “I'm fine. I just want to bathe in peace!”

The knocking stopped, thankfully, and she
then decided to undress and climb into the warm water. She noticed
that a small plate had been left next to the tub and was laden with
a heavy rectangle of natural soap. She grabbed it and dropped it
into the water before lathering it and spreading it over her body.
It felt good to be clean, especially after the night's
escapades.

But again, her memory instantly walked down
the path of only a few days before, when she'd shared a bath with
Wolfe. The slippery soap fell into the water with a splash and it
was merely one in a chain of events and thoughts that had her
bursting into silent sobs that racked her slight frame.

For years now, she had been strong and fought
for her life. Fought to survive. Then she had met the man she loved
and had lived through a halcyonic if unorthodox ten days or so and
had realized what the difference was between merely surviving and
living.