I squeaked in surprise, but he was not even looking at me, his eyes fixed on the moors outside, his thrusts getting wilder and more frenetic as we jostled past them.
“The coachman?” I cried in a low tone, afraid the wet, lascivious sound of our bodies connecting was audible, but my husband only ground me harder against the window.
“Silence. Look outside.”
It almost seemed as if Mr. Gideon Nightshade himself was getting wilder as the land did, his strong fingers reaching back for his cravat, tearing the knot out with savage power until I heard it rip.
He poured a lustful release into me and kept going, his seed squirting out of me and down my legs to drip onto the carriage seats.
And then, from a distance. . . Grayspires! Towering out of the twilight, looming out of the darkness. It was a long manor house, made of differing colors of gray stone that seemed to almost be a part of the land itself, blending into the earth with its mossy roofs, gnarled branches twisted protectively as if cradling Grayspires.
After all this time,my new home.
It was dark by the time we arrived at the gates, but not so dark that I did not gasp in shock as we drove down the deeply pitted and rough driveway. Although the house obviously had been built with opulence and ease in mind, it was in some considerable disrepair now, stone crumbling and windows ajar, with one broken and only hastily repaired.
What had happened here?
The carriage house too, was quite barren, devoid of that full stable of horses and hounds I would have expected for a gentleman of his stature.
It was very odd, but I resolved to be patient and wait and see what the future held. Perhaps Mr. Nightshade—Gideonnow—did not enjoy the sporting life.
"Come," he said impatiently as the carriage stopped, and I gathered my skirts and hastened to obey.
After all, he was my master now, and Iwouldtry to be a good wife.
The halls were dark and very dimly lit, with the bodies of servants only outlined in shadow.
"Light the scones," Gideon directed to the first servant who came respectfully up to him. "It doesn’t matter now."
Whatdidn’t matter now?
But I had no time to ponder this before he was taking my hand, more of a preemptive grip than a proud display.
“This is Mrs. Nightshade.”
I waited for the gasps of excitement, or the polite applause at least. But none came. The servants merely stared at me, their eyes cadaverous-big in their carved faces.
"Mariam, you may take Mrs. Nightshade to her new room."
It was a bit startling to be dismissed so abruptly, but I tried to be optimistic as I followed the elderly woman up the stairs, then down one dark passageway after the other.
There were heavy paintings behind the curtains but we had no time to stop and look at them, wonder which of the old-fashioned figures were my distant relatives, too.
I tried to look out the window at the moors, but it was too dark to see anything. Somehow, it was unsettling to realize the moor was out there but I couldn't see it.
But that was assuming it was a living creature, and it was not.Just grass. Just fields.
Then Mariam finally opened a little white door, and I was in my new quarters.
I walked in eagerly. Although the room was big enough, with a four-poster bed, the hangings hung limply. The blankets had once been a pretty rose-pink color, but were faded and threadbare now. The wallpaper too looked quite worn, with large wet spots on it, and my mirror was cracked and small.
It smelled like a window had been opened at some recent point, but there was also a tiny thread of rot or perhaps mold somewhere I couldn't identify.
Swallowing my dismay, because this was the size of a room we would have put the servants in at home, I cast about for something positive to say.
"It's a very pretty color," I said, smiling brightly at Mariam. "What a pretty room. I am looking forward to getting my things sent over."
The housekeeper said nothing. Her lined face was harsh, her lips downturned.
