Darkest Dreams Read online

  Then the sound of someone else breathing reached my ears. Fear crawled up my spine, and I whipped around, gasping in relief when I saw Alexander standing in the doorway. He leaned against the jamb with his arms crossed in just such a way as to let me know he was not amused. Fiery heat that had nothing to do with his sensual appeal burned my cheeks.

  It appeared as if he’d not shaven nor slept well since I last saw him. His jaw and eyes were darkly shadowed, making the fullness of his mouth so much more noticeable and the loneliness of his soul almost too painful to see. No. I wasn’t about to excuse his outrageous response to my innocent flirting Friday. I could still feel the wine and his tongue on me…

  Hmph. I snatched my shoulders as straight as I could and matched his stance, tapping my foot. “Well, you’ve not a single artifact in your room!” I said, deciding to brazen it out. “Why do you live like a monk?” I glanced at the papers he’d surely seen me perusing. “Make that a Druid-sacrifice-and-crime-reading monk!”

  His brows shot up. “A monk?”

  “Well…a Spartan then,” I amended, hoping not to learn what the flashing gleam in his eye meant. It reminded me too much of the moment just before he dumped both glasses of wine down my dress. I swung around to view the whole room, then faced him again. “Why ever do you live so bare?”

  Before I could read the emotion in his expression, he turned and went into the carpeted room, as if my presence in his bedroom was too painful to stand. “If you must know, Miss Andrews, I simply don’t need things about me. My family has collected more than enough of them, and these rooms are where I meditate, fence, exercise...and sleep.”

  My heart squeezed. He led such a solitary life. Why would a man abstain from collecting any personal belongings besides those which were functional?

  Personal? Was that it? Was he so set on not developing any attachment for this life? Was he truly only filling space until he died and left his title to Sean?

  You’re looking at my legacy. He’d meant it, I realized, recalling his words about Iris on the docks. The only thing he let himself care for and build upon was his horses. It would seem that the Friesian breed wasn’t the only thing on the verge of disappearing from the earth. My heart twisted and tears stung my eyes as I looked about the room again, seeing it for what it was. Even in my worst imaginings about having to live alone, I never pictured anything as stark as what he’d imposed upon himself.

  I went to the doorway. He’d walked to the center of the carpeted room, standing upon the black dragon woven into the snowy carpet.

  “Miss Andrews, I must—”

  “Andromeda or Andrie,” I said. “When you last spoke to me Friday night, you called me Andromeda.”

  He didn’t turn to meet my gaze, but stared at the fireplace as if flames danced there. “For which I owe you my deepest apologies and a new dress. I…wasn’t myself, and I never should have done what I did or said what I said.”

  I’m not sure what possessed me. I suddenly had to touch him. I crossed to him and set my hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Self disgust, fevered passion, and a bone-deep loneliness rang in his voice, but I couldn’t “see” that in his mind, just a gray, swirling cloud of angry emotions.

  “We were both at fault,” I said. “It was a difficult night, and the wine affected us both.”

  He swung around to face me, and my hand fell from his shoulder, leaving a void his gaze filled. For a moment I saw the truth in his eyes. To blame the wine and the intense emotions were polite excuses for uncontrolled lust. I knew it and he knew it, just as we both knew that lust wasn’t going to go away. It had sparked the moment we met earlier this summer and had grown whether we’d seen each other or not.

  I wasn’t ready to confront the issue of our attraction, nor did I know what I wanted to do about it. I did know for certain that I did not want to walk away and let him live a barren existence. I forced myself to lower my gaze from his and searched for a subject. “Did you say you fenced in here? With whom?”

  “Captain Jansen if the ship is docked, Brighty if it is not, or most often just myself.”

  “Yourself?” I held up a mock sword. “Move a muscle and I’ll run you through.” Then I lowered the pretend sword, turned to face the opposite direction and lunged. “Think you can get the best of me, do you?”

  He stood blinking at me with a pained expression.

  I quickly recovered myself. “My apologies, my lord. I often get carried away with myself. Hand me a Chinese vase and suddenly I’m in Kubla Khan’s court.”

  “I believe it’s called being rash, Andromeda. And you must call me Alex,” he said as he moved away from me, closer to the fireplace. “After all, if we’re going to duel we might as well do so on a first-name basis.”

  “Duel?” I managed to spit the word out before he left me speechless by pressing on a panel next to the fireplace and causing the wall to move. A whole room opened up with swords of every kind mounted on the far wall.

  “Yes, your form is deplorable. Even if you’re going to just pretend to run a foe through, you should at least do so with style. Besides, you trespassed into the dragon’s lair. Did you not think there would be a consequence to such an action? You must fight me for your freedom.” His sexy, almost devouring grin was exactly what I’d imagine a pirate’s to be.

  I drew back a step, several in fact. “Uh, my lord, I mean Alex. I think a duel is not a good idea. No, I mean I am certain it is not. Since I was only doing my job and thought it most prudent to catalogue the items in your room during your absence, I don’t see how I trespassed at all. So consequences aren’t necessary.” I backed even more toward the open doorway.

  He crossed toward me, smiling a bit too much like a cat about to pounce a mouse, making me feel like the most delicious morsel ever to cross his path.

  “Catch,” he said as he tossed a very thin sword straight up into the air above me. With its point toward the ceiling, the guarded hilt fell first.

  I yelped but couldn’t move back fast enough to avoid the sword and reached out to catch it, amazed to find my fingers had wrapped around the hilt. At least I think they had. It was as light as a feather.

  “Excellent,” he said. “But it would go better if you didn’t close your eyes.”

  I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d shut to find he’d caught the tip of the sword blade he’d tossed at me and had held it in place for me to grasp, something I would have seen if I’d kept my eyes open. He let go, and the sword became slightly heavier, but not as much as I expected.

  I pushed the sword toward him. “Here. This is ridiculous. I know nothing about swordplay.”

  “Fencing,” he corrected. “You’ll learn, then. First you need to gain a feel for having a blade in your hand and keeping your balance as you move.”

  He meant what he said, and after another stunned moment, I realized the notion interested me. I lifted the sword tip higher as I met his gaze, and he arched a brow. “How do I accomplish that?”

  “Mirror me,” he said. “But hilts need to be held just right.” Moving in behind me, he held his sword out to the right, so I could see how he held his. At first I saw nothing but a haze, for I think my eyes blurred from the sensations prickling me. All I had to do was to lean just a few inches, and I’d know the warmth of his heat and the feel of his hard, sculpted planes pressed intimately to me.

  “Here,” he said, reaching over and moving my fingers for me. “Now, this is your en garde position.” Closing the inches separating us, he used his body to mold mine into place. His arm pressed mine, his leg curved mine, his hand held me so intimately tight against him that the heat of him warmed me everywhere, and the caress of his words were a tantalizing whisper in my ear. “Different parries will require your wrist to be turned up like this, or down like this. Your blade can face to the inside like this or to the outside like this. For example, if your opponent thrusts at you, you respond with a parry using the forte, or lower part of your blade, to bl
ock his attack. Then riposte like this to keep your opponent on the offensive. Making him retreat first will give you a psychological edge in the match.”

  I wasn’t sure of anything he showed me except that another minute of his body touching so intimately to mine would surely set my skirts on fire. The heat enveloping me made me burn.

  “Now I’m going to face you from the opposite side of the room, and I want you to follow my every move. Parry number one is known as prime. Turn your blade down and to the inside with your wrist…”

  He moved with such slow, controlled grace that I’d often forget to follow, and he’d have to repeat the movement. The steps I made and the arcs I swung with the light sword soon took on the feel of a very unique, slow-moving ballet. “This fencing isn’t too hard,” I said after he’d shown me the seventh parry position.

  “Getting to know how your body moves and what a sword feels like to hold is an important step, but you aren’t exactly fencing yet.” His voice deepened, rumbling over me in an almost mesmerizing way.

  “Show me then,” I said taking a step back. “What do you do when you fence by yourself?”

  “You really want to know?”

  I nodded.

  “You’ll have to go stand by the door then.” I did as he asked and found that he’d returned to the sword room and disappeared for several long moments. When he returned, he’d changed his clothes and now wore loose black pants and a shirt with flowing sleeves. His feet were bare, and he’d exchanged the long, thin practice sword for two shorter, heavier and deadlier blades, one in each hand. Then he moved to the dragon at the center of the carpet and bowed. After that, I forgot there was anything else in the world besides him.

  He swirled the blades so fast and adeptly that I could hardly see them. The action would be quite a feat alone, but added to the fact that he jumped, kicked, dove, flipped and rolled from one corner of the carpet to the other made what he did impossible. When he finished, he stood with his head bowed in the very place he’d started, his swords clenched tightly in his fists as they crisscrossed his chest. I didn’t know what special ritual I had seen, but I did know that it was the most passionate thing I’d ever witnessed, and the deadliest.

  “That was beautiful. I now understand why this room is so empty. You fill it with your freedom, your energy, your art.”

  He didn’t respond at first as he sauntered toward me, his every movement one of grace and style. I stood with my back against the doorjamb. The raw, masculine power of his every movement sent my heart racing. He planted his hand on the wood molding above me and leaned down, bringing his face to a whisper away from mine.

  “If you understand that then you’ll also understand why the other room is empty and will stay empty.” His gaze searched mine, then dipped to my mouth, sending shivers of anticipation dancing through me. He wanted to kiss me so badly I could taste it, feel it. Or was it my own desire and need that I couldn’t escape? The exercise he’d put his body through had energized him in a very charismatic, sensual way. But instead of kissing me, he met my gaze again. “And you’ll understand why I’ll never marry, no matter how much I want something. Sean and I began learning to be sword masters together. In my anger, I stole his freedom. I condemned him to a life of darkness and dependency. He’ll never move with freedom and grace again. He’ll never be free of pain.”

  “I understand,” I said softly, pressing my hand to his cheek, sensing and feeling his pain and his passion even though I couldn’t see into his mind. I had yet to comprehend why my gift vacillated so wildly with him. But I did understand him. He’d put himself in prison for life to atone for injuring his brother. I could have pointed out that it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant to hurt Sean so severely, but I knew he wouldn’t hear or understand anything I could have said. Our lives weren’t all that different. I let my thumb slide over his lips to gently soothe the pain inside him. He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilating, turning his vibrant green eyes to nearly black.

  “I need to get back to work,” I said and ducked under his arm, escaping into the corridor just as he leaned to kiss me. If I had let him, I would have been lost completely. Nothing would have stopped us from consummating our passion. And when I wasn’t drugged by the heady pleasure of his touch, there was still a part of me that hesitated. He’d been honest with me about who he was. I had yet to tell him what I was.

  He followed me to the Queen’s Room, and I found I still had the fencing practice sword in my hand. Frowning at my hand wrapped around the hilt—for I’d never imagined that I could hold a sword and forget it was there—I held it out to him. “Take this,” I said.

  Without realizing it, I’d pressed the blunt tip to the center of his chest.

  He held up his hands in surrender.

  “I’ll do whatever the lady wants.” The gleam and sensual pull grabbing at me was stronger than ever. “Within reason,” he amended.

  I stepped back and directed the hilt his way this time. “Then take this away before I hurt someone.”

  He quickly set the sword aside instead of returning it to the other room as I’d hoped he would. I could have used the moments to quiet my clamoring senses, either by protectively immersing myself in the lunch tray Mrs. Lynds had left for me or in another box of artifacts.

  Forced to do something before he could follow up on the desire in his eyes, I said, “You’ve explained your sparse room, but not the rest. Why have you collected so many crime publications about…well…”

  “About murdered women?”

  I gulped. “Yes.”

  “Since you just handed me your weapon, and you’re not racing from my home screaming, I gather you don’t suspect me of perpetrating such crimes.”

  “Heavens no!”

  “I’m not sure which of us is the bigger fool. You for not suspecting me of murder or me for being relieved that you don’t.”

  “I brought up the subject because I am hoping you’re attempting to investigate the similarity between Lady Helen’s murder and my cousin Mary’s. Have you learned anything from the book on Druid sacrifices? I don’t know that Constable Poole is giving the matter the attention it needs. At least that is my impression after Cassie and I spoke to him this morning.”

  “You what?”

  “I accompanied Cassie into town this morning. She is convinced that Jamie Frye is innocent, and since his attack was against her, she thought it her duty to inform the authorities.” I told Alex about our conversation with Constable Poole.

  “Andromeda, this is not a game or an adventure for you and your sister to be meddling in. Investigating what happened to Mary understandably brought your family from Oxford to here. At great risk to herself, Cassie uncovered the fact that Mary hadn’t been swept out to sea. Now you need to leave it to the authorities and to me. Learning about what was done to Helen and Mary from Dr. Luden has drastically changed everything.”

  “Have you found any other women who’ve been murdered and marked?”

  “I don’t think you heard me,” he said.

  I tossed my hands up in frustration. “Alex, you can at least discuss the matter with me and let me ask questions.”

  He sighed. “No. I’ve contacted all of the authorities along the coast and have not found any similar cases. No symbols carved upon the victims.”

  “What does the symbol look like? I know a great deal about different symbols in relation to ancient people and their artifacts. I may be able to help.”

  He hesitated.

  “Given the severity of the situation, I don’t think any stone should be left unturned or any resource ignored.”

  “I’ll draw it for you as the doctor showed it to Sean and me.”

  I handed Alex my cataloguing notebook and a pen. “Use one of the blank pages in the back.”

  He flipped it open and glanced at the work I’d done already in his home. “Good Lord, woman. This is amazing.” He scanned several more pages before turning to the blank pages in t
he back. He spoke as he drew. “You’re not only thorough, but you’ve done more in a week than I’d expected could be done in several.”

  “As I consider such work my profession, I wouldn’t be anything but thorough and timely.”

  He handed the notebook back to me, and I glanced at the drawing. It was simple enough, a circle with a line bisecting it, only at the bottom and at the top, the line branched into three segments, depicting a center line that continued straight to the edge of the circle, a line angling to the right and a line angling to the left. A small oval lay in the center of the circle. I studied it for a minute, feeling my stomach turn over where I imagined this had been carved. “I’ve never come across this particular symbol before.”

  “Neither Sean nor I recognize it.”

  “It could mean more than one thing?”

  “For example?”

  “The oval in the center looks like an eye.”

  “Which could mean a number of things. Evil eye. Watching. Is the killer saying he watched Helen and Mary?”

  “Maybe.” I shivered. Put in that context, it made me wonder if the killer was watching someone else now.

  Alex wandered over to the open crates to peer down at some of the things I’d unearthed, not as unconcerned with what might be in the boxes as he’d indicated.

  “You have to see these artifacts,” I said. “They are amazing.” I held up two heavy, gold figurines. “These are most likely worth a fortune. And you won’t believe this.” I pulled out an alabaster carving of a lotus blossom, running my fingers over the cool, solid smoothness of the stone. “Isn’t this magnificent? Look at how gracefully made this flower is.”

  “Beautifully wrought,” he said softly.

  I glanced up and he just smiled, making my heart flutter and my cheeks heat. Artifacts. Focus on the artifacts. “Honestly, Alex, these things shouldn’t be in a crate. They should be displayed at the very least, better yet if they were put in a museum for others to enjoy. How long did you say they have been like this?”