The Countess (32 page)

Kiss him until he was mad with it? I liked the sound of that. I felt his big hand on my bottom, pressing me against him. I wanted to be even closer. He was big, and he was strong, and I wasn't in the least afraid of that now. I wanted to laugh at that, laugh at how much I had changed and it was because of him, and I would love him forever. Beyond forever. My aura would be more substantial than his, I wanted to tell him.

He had given my life back to me. I wanted to tell him this, and I did, somewhere deep inside of me.

I don't know how long he spoke to me, how long he held me, and stroked me and kissed me, but it wasn't long enough. I never wanted him to leave. But he was gone then. I felt George lying pressed against my side. Everything was all right.

Then there was a light, I felt it hot against my eyelids. I didn't understand this. No one ever came close with a candle. What was this?

I heard a soft voice saying over and over, “I haven't gotten a chance to get to you alone, damn them all. Always someone close to you, particularly
John, may God damn him forever for murdering my dearest Lawrence.

“I feared the drug would wear off and you would wake up, but you didn't. For two days now I had no chance to feed you more. But now I'm here, no one else, and thank God you are still asleep. Now, you wretched girl, let me raise your head so you can drink this lovely potion I mixed up especially for you. I gave it to you that very first night, when you brought Lawrence's dead body home, when you brought your miserable father home and had Dr. Boulder take such excellent care of him. And he will be well and my poor Lawrence is rotting in the cold earth. I gave you the drug and you just collapsed, and everyone saw how distraught I was, how I cried I was so worried about you.

“I gave you the drug one other time, watching it just slide down your throat and lock you deeper inside yourself. Finally, you're getting weaker, just lying here all the time, not moving. Can you even hear me? I wonder. No one really knows. This last drink will send you away, forever, and about time I say.”

I was afraid. Miss Crislock was speaking madness to me. She wanted me dead? She wanted to kill me? She loved Lawrence? I felt her hands on me. No, no, I must be dreaming, a nightmare, no more than a hideous nightmare. I frowned, wanting desperately to wake up. And then I did. I opened my eyes and looked up into Miss Crislock's face.

She had a small glass in her hand filled with a milky-looking liquid.

My mouth didn't want to work, but I knew that I
said aloud, “Milly? Why? What are you doing to me? You have always loved me. Why?”

She laughed, but it wasn't the sort of laugh anyone would ever want to hear. It was an ugly laugh, a demented laugh, one filled with hatred. I realized that I was the object of that hatred.

“So you heard everything, did you? I'm killing you, you miserable whelp. Lawrence failed, but I won't. Jameson killed your mother, and I will have to kill him, but you must die first. That will distract everyone, and then I can get rid of him. When your eyes simply remain closed, no one will know what happened to you, just that you faded away, died. The doctor will have nothing at all to say. Nothing will happen to me. No one will ever suspect me. But I will know, and I will smile because I killed you.

“You thought Lawrence was the old woman who appeared in here with that knife, but it wasn't. I played that role. I wanted to scare you into madness, but you have no sensitivity in you, you are hard and tough, too much of this practical earth. Yes, I hoped you would simply fall into hysteria, but I should have known better. You are not your mother's daughter. Lawrence thought it would make you frantic. I hoped it would, but I wasn't as sure as he was. He didn't know you, and so he didn't listen to my concerns. Just look where it got him. It got him murdered by your damned lover, you little bitch.”

She grabbed my head and jerked me up. I saw that glass coming closer. I had no strength. “No,” I whispered, “no.”

“You killed my dearest Lawrence. You deserve to die.”

“He was evil,” I said. “Evil.”

“Oh, no, he was a man betrayed, both by Caroline and by your wretched father. He was a good man, a man who would have married me once you were buried deep in the frozen ground. I came to know him very well when he came to London. I did not want him to marry you, but he convinced me it was necessary. He told me he loved me, only me, and you were only a pawn, for him to gain his vengeance.

“I loved him, do you hear? I would have wedded him. But not now. Now I have nothing. As you fall back asleep this time, think of your father and how he will soon join you. He is weaker than you. He will be with you quickly. I believe I will kill him on Christmas Day. What do you think about that? Ah, and then there is John. Will I kill him? I haven't made up my mind yet.”

“No, Milly. You mustn't kill John. He has done nothing wrong. Oh, please, no, don't hurt my father.”

“He is pitiful in his weaknesses,” she said, hovering over me, too close now, that glass nearly to my mouth. “Here, now, let's end this.

I felt such helpless fear, I was choking on it. Then I heard a man's sharp voice.

“Miss Crislock, let me take this.” It was John. He grasped her wrist and pulled the glass from her hand. I saw him hand it to Peter, who stood directly behind him. Then he looked down at me. “Welcome back, Andy.”

“You're here. Why are you here?”

“I wondered about the old woman. I wondered even more why you didn't wake up. Peter and I discussed it, decided we would wait in here, just to see if anyone came in. When Miss Crislock entered, we nearly welcomed her, but Peter held me back and
we waited and listened to her. She is mad, Andy, her hatred has twisted her. But it's over now, all over, and you're back with me again, thank God.”

Suddenly Miss Crislock screamed, a curdling scream that sounded like a demon just released through the gates of hell. She was striking out at both John and Peter, yelling, kicking, her hands flying. I saw Peter pull back his arm and strike her in the jaw with his fist. She collapsed. He simply let her fall to the floor.

George was out from under the covers, wuffing until John, laughing, picked him up. “Just look at your mistress, George. She's finally looking at me again. You know what I think? I think it will be quite some time before she once again believes she can best me, either with her wit or with her fists. What do you think?”

George wuffed.

I was so happy, but there were no more words in me. There didn't seem to be anything. I tried to smile at my beloved cousin Peter, and at the most precious man in the world to me, the man who had brought me from the darkness into blessed light, into freedom, but I felt that blankness drawing at me. I wanted to cry out against it, but I only managed to say, “I am so very sorry. It seems I'm not quite ready to come back.”

“No, no, don't leave me again, Andy.”

But I knew I had no choice. Everything just went away from me again, I couldn't stop it, and I sighed and closed my eyes.

I heard Peter say, “I will get Dr. Boulder. He is with her father.”

John said slowly, “No, she doesn't need him. She
will be all right. Look, she's breathing easily. I think she's just asleep.” And I felt him kiss my mouth, and say, “I must rub some cream on her lips. They're dry.”

And I laughed to myself. When, sometime later, I heard his beloved voice again, I knew my mouth was very soft now.

I opened my eyes. This time I kept them open.

Deerfield Hall
Three Months Later

H
e came to me at Deerfield Hall in early March. It was still cold, more snow swirling on the horizon, ready to blanket the moors, and the Yorkshire winds howled at night.

I saw him standing in the doorway, his hair windblown, wearing riding clothes, and he looked healthy and brown and very big. Too young and strong, I thought, and smiled at him.

“It is time,” he said, striding toward me.

And so it was.

Peter gave me away, and our local vicar married us. It was a quiet ceremony, with only our families in attendance and many of our people from both Deerfield Hall and Devbridge Manor.

It was a lovely time, that day. So much merriment and drinking a delicious champagne punch that Peter made himself. And everyone laughed and smiled and wished us well. My little sister even snagged a glass of champagne, thanks to Amelia.

We remained at Deerfield Hall that first night of our married lives.

I will never forget John's first words to me when he walked into my bedchamber to see me lying in the bed wearing a white nightgown with its ribbons tied under my chin, and George clutched to my chest. I was staring at his bare feet, knowing that he didn't have a stitch of clothing on beneath that nice blue velvet dressing gown he was wearing belted at his waist.

He stopped six feet from the bed and said, “I swear to you that I will always love you. You are my wife and will soon be my lover, and together we will share everything there is for a man and a woman to share together. I pray we will have children, an equal number of each, I hope.

“I will never betray you. Now, George, come here to me. She doesn't need your protection.”

And George bounded off the end of the bed and jumped up so John could pick him up.

I was scared, though, I couldn't help it, but John knew what I was feeling, and between very light kisses, he said into my mouth, “In no more than three minutes from now, you will want to sing you will feel so very nice and then you will laugh, and perhaps even yell. I am going to give you pleasure, Andy, and you are going to enjoy yourself immensely. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I said. “I trust you.” I believe I sang an army ditty within two minutes, not three. And when, at last, he came into me, I tensed a moment at the pain, then wept at the wondrous pleasure.

I did yell. As I recall, so did he.

 

One Month Later

Venice, Italy

Palazzo Dolfin Manin

 

John held me close, rocking me, as was his habit. I loved to be held by him. I also loved Venice, the dark rich feel of it, the romantic smiling gondoliers who came by each day to sing up to me and wave.

It was April, the weather so sublime even the locals could talk of little else, other than their endless rounds of parties, balls, masquerades, their gambling, their newest lovers, of course.

It was thankfully too early for the ripe summer smells that could send a man to his knees, John told me. I looked up at that incredible blue cloud-strewn sky, and wondered if it ever rained here, if it was ever damp and cold and miserable. Did they ever have a wind that was so strong it would nearly rip your hair from your head?

Not now, in April, they didn't. It was Venice, and I felt its magic to the depths of my soul. The sounds of the gently lapping water of the Grand Canal against the ancient pilings below us soothed me to my very bones. George liked the sounds, too. He snored more loudly when he napped on the balcony and could hear the water.

It was perhaps a half hour before sunset, the most vivid time of day, when the sun shone gold on the water, and grew so large as it neared the horizon that it seemed to swallow the earth. I stared as the water glistened off that brilliant dying sun, spreading dazzling sharp points of white everywhere. A magic hand had strewn diamonds over the water. I heard
a gondolier singing to the dying sun, and I wanted to weep with the wonder of it.

I stretched in my husband's arms, and he dropped a kiss on my forehead. George sat on a cushion beside us, sleeping, his ugly little head resting on his paws.

“We have been here for two weeks now,” John said, and kissed my left ear.

“Yes, and the weather is so perfect, so absolutely, impossibly perfect, that I find myself pining for a nice stiff wind off the moors at home.”

“When I was a young man, just arrived here, I decided that I wanted to come to Venice with my bride. And because I am a man who can manage just about anything, here we are, my bride and I, all cozied up in Venice. What is this? Are you bored with me already?”

His hand lightly cupped my breast. I leaned into him, wanting to feel his hand, his fingers, the warmth it sent all the way to my belly.

“Perhaps in fifty or so years,” I said, and leaned forward to kiss his neck.

“I received a letter from your father today. All goes well with him. He feels fine now, and his diamond-cutting business continues to prosper despite his absence. He will visit us in June. Miss Crislock is being kept in a house near Leeds run by this woman Dr. Boulder knows. He said that she and her staff care for the insane. They are not maltreated. She is fine, Andy.”

I nodded, not liking to even think about the woman I had regarded as my second mother. I lightly rubbed my palm over his chest, feeling the slow steady beat of his heart. The feel of him, so
different from me. It was still a wonder to me. “I never thought a man could be so precious,” I said, and kissed his heart through his jacket.

He laughed, I felt the rumble of it. “Does this mean that you are thinking spiritual thoughts about me?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah, then you want to have your way with me?”

“I rather like that thick carpet in front of the fireplace.”

I thought he would swallow his tongue. I had changed so much, and it still occasionally floored him. Of course he was himself responsible for all the changes, and it pleased him enormously.

“Actually,” he said, “I do, too. We're alone, and George isn't snoring for the moment.”

“It's a miracle.”

He laughed and hugged me close. “I will hear your laughter every day of my life. It is a wonderful thing. Now, there is another party for us this evening. The Contessa di Marco. Are you yet tired of all the fetes and
soirées
and balls?”

I shook my head against his shoulder. “I wish to wear that beautiful turquoise silk gown you selected for me. There is something else, too, John. I don't want to leave Venice until we finally see a bit of rain, perhaps a bit of wind, perhaps feel a chill to our bones.”

“Then we might be here until next November.”

George wuffed, and John added, “He nearly fell into the canal the other day, trying to search out the perfect bush. There wasn't much of a selection for him.”

John leaned down and kissed me, not a light, friendly kiss this time, but one that was deep and
made me hungry, so very hungry for him. I felt his hand slip inside my gown, touch me, make me want to howl with the glorious pleasure of it. I whispered into his mouth, “I think I would like to throw you down on the carpet, my lord, right now.”

“I pray you will never lessen your demands, Andy. Never.” He laughed as he rose, carried me in his arms back into our bedchamber, George on our heels, wuffing with every step, his tail high, wagging.