The Secret Kiss of Darkness
Read The Secret Kiss of Darkness Online
Authors: Christina Courtenay
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Regency, #Historical Romance, #Romance, #eighteenth century, #Historical, #Time Travel, #Fiction
Copyright © 2014 Christina Courtenay
Published 2014 by Choc Lit Limited
Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK
The right of Christina Courtenay to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-78189-070-7
To my three lovely aunts –
Görel Larsson, Christina Jelmhag and Barbara Andrews.
With lots of love.
An early version of this story went through the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s New Writers’ Scheme and the encouraging words I received from the anonymous reader made me carry on writing. I can’t thank the reader and the organiser at the time, Margaret James, enough for making me believe that one day I would be published – without them I would have given up.
As always, huge thanks are due to the wonderful Choc Lit team, especially the Tasting Panel members – I’m always grateful to receive their seal of approval – and my fellow ChocLiteers. You’re all awesome and a more supportive bunch would be hard to find!
Thanks also to my family – Richard, Josceline and Jessamy – for holding the fort at home and supporting me. And to my writing buddies and friends in the RNA, thank you for being there!
The characters in this novel are all fictitious, except for the artists Thomas Gainsborough and his nephew Gainsborough Dupont. They really did tour the West Country on at least two occasions, although obviously they never painted any portraits such as the ones in my book.
I have tried to keep the character of Thomas Gainsborough the same as the way he is described in biographies of him, and some of the things he says are apparently more or less his exact sentiments. While reading about him, I got the feeling he would have relished stumbling upon an intrigue and secret such as Jago and Eliza’s, and he seemed a very likeable man. I hope I have done him justice.
He’d sworn he would wait an eternity for her if he had to, on the assumption that the waiting would eventually be rewarded. But years, centuries passed with no end in sight and he was beginning to despair. To doubt. Would they ever be reunited?
He drifted in and out of the darkness that held him captive, sometimes conscious of things going on around him, sometimes just listening. He learned how the world was changing, evolving into a more tolerant society than the one he’d lived in. It gave him hope, but also made him sad. If only things had been like that in his day.
The scent of honeysuckle and roses unexpectedly jolted him out of the shadows and he looked at the woman standing before him, staring with rapt attention. It wasn’t
her
, his lost love, but there were similarities and that perfume teased at his nostrils, bringing bittersweet memories. He felt hope well up inside him once more, stronger this time. Perhaps it was a sign?
Yes
. It had to be.
She walked away, but she would be back, he was sure of it. He smiled as he returned to the secret kiss of darkness.
London 2013
What on earth am I doing here? I must have been out of my mind to come …
Kayla Sinclair fidgeted in her seat, a prey to conflicting emotions. A part of her wanted desperately to stay in the auction room at Sotheby’s in New Bond Street, but the rational half knew it was wrong. She really shouldn’t be here.
It was surprisingly noisy. Prospective buyers murmured amongst themselves and staff spoke quietly to telephone bidders, creating a constant background buzz. Kayla barely registered this, however, as the sound of her own heart hammering in her ears blocked out everything else. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the auctioneer’s next words. He had a loud voice, deep and carrying, which penetrated even Kayla’s temporarily deficient hearing.
‘And now we come to Lot number three hundred and four,’ he announced, but the rest of his sentence was drowned by the sudden rush of blood inside Kayla’s head. Two men wearing dark blue aprons brought in a large painting and, with some manoeuvring, managed to hold it upright between them, standing to the right of the podium.
Kayla looked down at her lap where the numbered paddle for bidding rested on top of the sale catalogue. Why had she bothered to obtain one? ‘I’m not buying anything. I am definitely not buying anything,’ she chanted silently to herself and took another deep breath. The noise inside her head subsided and she registered the fact that the auctioneer had begun to take bids.
‘Starting now at five thousand pounds. Do I have five thousand?’ He scanned the crowd for signs of raised paddles.
Kayla felt her body grow cold.
‘I have five thousand five hundred on my right, six thousand the lady near the aisle …’
She began to shake, but almost as if it had a will of its own, her right hand raised itself and her bid was acknowledged.
‘Seven thousand, the blonde lady at the back.’
Oh hell, that’s me.
Kayla closed her eyes, not wanting to believe what she’d just done.
‘Ah, seven thousand five hundred, do I have eight thousand?’
Kayla grabbed her right hand with the left and held on to it in a childish effort to restrain it. She mustn’t buy this painting. It would be sheer madness. For one thing, it was too large and for another … no, it just wouldn’t do. Perhaps if she tried to concentrate on something else it would take her mind off the proceedings? She turned to study the people around her, looking everywhere except directly at the painting. That way lay danger.
She had never been to an auction before and had had a vague idea that only very rich people went to such events, but the audience was an unexpected mixture. There were ladies in Chanel outfits, dripping with jewellery, and men in expensive tailored suits, but Kayla could also see quite a few rather scruffy individuals. One man in particular looked as if he couldn’t afford his next meal, never mind thousands of pounds worth of art, but just then he raised his hand to make a bid.
‘Ten thousand the gentleman to my left, ten thousand five hundred, anyone?’
Resolutely ignoring the auctioneer, Kayla continued to look around the room. As she wasn’t very tall she had to crane her neck to see the gleaming mahogany podium at the front. To her right a row of desks, manned by staff taking telephone bids, were equally shiny, and she found the whole set-up intimidating. Its occupants looked down on the bidders and Kayla felt like a lesser mortal.
She shouldn’t have come. She really didn’t belong here. But she’d had no choice. Had she?
‘Do I have twelve thousand?’
Twelve thousand!
That was a huge amount of money. But it was worth every penny.
She glanced at the painting, then made another effort to look around the room instead. An enormous skylight let in the pale spring sunshine, aiding the artificial lighting which illuminated the artwork that was hung around the walls. She wondered why none of them appealed to her. The only one she wanted was the one being sold at the moment. Her right hand came up, with the left one still holding on to it, as if someone was pulling an invisible string.
No, this was ridiculous. But she couldn’t stop it.
‘Ah, twelve thousand the blonde lady at the back, twelve thousand five hundred? Do I have twelve thousand five hundred?’ The voice droned on, and Kayla concentrated desperately on the huge board near the ceiling, which showed the present bid in pounds sterling as well as in several other currencies. The amounts changed and the conversions followed automatically. She saw that the bidding was now up to sixteen thousand pounds, but seemed to have slowed down.
Sixteen thousand pounds.
That was definitely more than she could afford, which was just as well, she told herself, and tried to suppress the disappointment welling up inside her.
‘I have sixteen thousand pounds,’ the auctioneer informed them, and lifted his gavel.
The mounting excitement in the audience was almost tangible as a hush fell on the room. Was this to be the final price? Everyone seemed to hold their collective breath, including Kayla.
She quickly raised her hand again. Surely she could afford an extra thousand pounds somehow?
I’ll buy a cheaper wedding dress.
‘Right, sixteen thousand five hundred, with the blonde lady at the back.’ The man lowered the gavel and scanned the room for any further bids. ‘And seventeen thousand, the gentleman on my right. Seventeen thousand five hundred anyone? Yes, I have seventeen thousand five hundred, ladies and gentlemen.’ He paused once more.
The heavy catalogue fell out of Kayla’s suddenly numb fingers, but with a supreme effort she managed to raise her hand yet again. As the auctioneer nodded, a lead weight sank into her stomach.
‘Eighteen thousand. I have eighteen thousand, lady at the back.’ No one moved and Kayla continued to hold her breath. Would anyone make a last minute bid? The tension was unbearable. She wanted to scream, ‘Please, somebody, outbid me! I promise I’ll leave straight away. Someone, do something!’
No one moved so much as a finger.
‘All done then at eighteen thousand. Selling at …’ the man waited a few moments more, ‘… eighteen thousand pounds.’ The gavel descended with a crack, which made Kayla jump even though she saw it coming. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might leave her ribcage any minute. Feeling very self-conscious she held up her paddle. ‘To bidder number five hundred and sixteen.’
Kayla closed her eyes and breathed rapidly, panic assailing her from all directions.
Oh God, what have I done?
How was she going to explain this? How was she going to pay for it?
Eighteen thousand pounds. That was at least three thousand more than she could afford. There was no going back, however, her bid had been acknowledged. In a daze she stood up and made her way to the desk in the next room to make her payment. She wondered if she’d be arrested or something if she suddenly changed her mind and said she didn’t want the painting after all? The thought made her want to giggle hysterically and she made a heroic effort to pull herself together.
‘Number five hundred and sixteen, is it? Right, that’ll be eighteen thousand pounds then, please.’ The woman’s brisk and businesslike tone kick-started Kayla’s frozen brain. She recovered sufficiently to haul out her cheque book from her handbag and write out the amount with trembling fingers.
‘Your cheque will take approximately three days to clear and we’ll keep the painting at our warehouse until then before delivering it to you. Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy your purchase.’
The hysterical laughter bubbled up inside Kayla once more and she swallowed hard to keep it down. Enjoy her purchase? Yes, the way some people enjoyed drugs perhaps – illicitly, guiltily. But it was done and the time for regrets had passed. With an outward calm she was far from feeling, she discussed delivery times and terms before leaving the building.