Page 12 of Mistress of Darkness

Chapter 5

Dinner had been quiet and, thankfully, uneventful. Gwen had particularly enjoyed the Welsh rarebit and the grilled mackerel, as had Robert. Though at first she thought he’d only agreed to their garden walks and choice of foods in order to be agreeable, it seemed that they genuinely appreciated the same things. There’d been little new to report from either of them, so they’d played a brief game of piquet. Gwen had proved lucky in cards this evening, and Robert had seemed to bear his losses with equanimity. It had all been quite pleasant and normal.

Now she lay in bed under the pale moonlight, waiting for sleep to come. But as always, of late, her thoughts turned to Robert. He’d confided to her in the garden today in a way that no other man had ever done. Rather than think him weak when he’d confessed worry for his parents, she found that it endeared him to her. They were alike in this way, in their devotion to family. Of all the things she expected to find at Dredthorne, surely that had not been one of them.

She blew out a breath. Sleep was obviously nowhere near. Her gaze fell on the journals that she and Robert had brought up. Perhaps they would distract her. She got up, put on her dressing gown, and lit a candle.

“What happened to you, Miss Wilson?” she said to no one.

Earlier, she’d found a letter from her, tucked between the pages of one of Mrs. Thorne’s journals. Though it revealed little, she read it again, impressed once more by how rushed the handwriting seemed.

My Darling,

I hope this finds you well. Spring has arrived in the countryside with a vengeance. Wildflowers seem to bloom everywhere and the staff take pains to keep all the vases full, even the large Chinese urns in the entrance hall.

My stay in the great house has been rather pleasant until now. Mr. Thorne is an excellent host. I find I am entertained by his reading to me from his wonderful library in the evenings. He insists that he shall teach me to ride, so that I can accompany him in the mornings. The cook here is wonderful and my maid quite diligent.

But I fear that not all of the family or staff approve of my presence here under Dredthorne’s roof. I have my own set of rooms, but I have seen Mrs. Thorne wandering the corridors when I return to my bedchamber in the early mornings. Of all things, one of the stable boys has been asking a great many questions about my past and my future.

There have been some accidents around the hall of late. I’m nervous that they may be brought on by more than just unfortunate circumstances. I fear that someone is going to

Going to what?Why had the letter not been finished? Is that the moment that she had gone missing?

Gwen mused for a moment on the possibility that the courtesan’s disappearance might be the fuel for the rumors of the hall being haunted. But reading the letter again had proved no more illuminating than the first time. She tucked it back into the journal and went back to bed.

Burrowing under the covers, she closed her eyes, trying not to think of whatever “unfortunate circumstance” might have befallen Miss Wilson. Instead, Gwen decided to think of weddings, particularly the one that she and her mother had planned for Regina and Christopher. They’d have made a handsome couple, but now she realized that Robert would easily have eclipsed his brother and made a very dashing best man.

“Heavens,” she muttered. She was thinking of him again.

With an exasperated sigh, she turned onto her side. Unfortunately, staring at the window did little to distract her. Instead her mind turned from the courtesan, to Mrs. Thorne, to her husband, to the Dredthorne curse, to Robert and Christopher, to Regina, and back again. Such thoughts continued to swirl through her head, until at last her eyelids grew heavy.

Someone crept into the room so softly that she barely heard them. With deft and fluid movements, they slid into the bed behind her, resting a hand on her hip.

“I could not help but to come see you,” Robert said softly.

His fingertips gently caressed her side, and she shivered, feeling as though she were in that dim place between wakefulness and sleep. Dazed, she leaned her head back against the strength of his chest as he lightly slid his fingers across her waist, making her shudder against him. With a start, she realized that he was wearing nothing more than his sleeping clothes, not even a robe.

“Robert,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed, as she reached back to hold his hand. He raised up and kissed the side of her neck lightly, then trailed his soft lips down her shoulder, and closed his teeth gently over her skin. Whimpering, she clutched his hand, and he slowly brought it up to her breast.

His hand cupped her flesh and his clever fingers plucked at her pebbling nipple. Her body responded to his touch as if it’d been born for the very purpose. As he slipped his other hand beneath her and pulled her close, warmth spread down her belly. As though he’d sensed it, his hand found its way beneath her nightgown and his fingers slipped between her legs.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “Yes.”

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice deep and husky. “Let me pleasure you. You have done so much for me, Gwen.” Then he touched her, gathering the wetness from between her legs to rub against her throbbing nub. She squirmed against him, pressing back into him as she whimpered.

“Robert,” she breathed. What he was doing felt so good. He flicked his fingers against her slowly, and then with growing haste. She was rocking her hips against him in little, urgent movements, bunching the sheets in her hands, trying to find something to hold onto. “Take me, please,” she whispered, almost at the point of tears.

His fingers stilled. “Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice low and full of dark temptation.

“Please,” she moaned louder, panting hard. “Please, I need you.”

The words were still on her lips, when she sat upright in bed—alone.

She blinked hazily, swaying, and realized that it had only been a dream. “A dream,” she gasped, feeling the flush in her cheeks and the warmth still lingering in her body. It took her several moments to adjust to her wakened state, if one could call it that, for the image of her and Robert still played in her mind.

She swallowed hard, climbing out of the bed on shaky legs, and stumbled over to her dresser to find a dry nightgown. It was all she could do not to go down the hall, climb into bed with Robert, and re-create some of that dream.

But even as she glanced at her door, she realized the utter folly of what she was thinking—and finally she realized why. The older she became, the less likely it was that she would ever experience such things. As the years mounted and the suitors dwindled, the fact was that a happy marriage and a family of her own were the real dreams. And yet…