The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke Page 7

  “What did we ever do to deserve such a man, but most of all why did she marry him? She was wealthy, independent of him through an unentailed inheritance.” Camille fidgeted in the chair, and the wooden dowel squeaked. “Time to get this fixed.”

  She arose and paced the rug, clasped her hands together, agitated. “Radolf, his evil knew no bounds. My poor mama never had a full measure of happiness, except for you and me.”

  He nodded. “This evening has been a moment of many truths for me. I refused to come home during university vacations and chose to visit with friends and their families. Later those same friends in the Defence Ministry employed me to do limited covert work and time passed by. When Father demanded my return, I used Halbert to sell a portion of my gun collection so I would have funds to live on. That’s how we met, and my soldier compatriot has been my batman ever since. Mother’s small inheritance when I came of age was used to purchase a commission in the army at age twenty-one, where I remained until the end of the war—twenty-six at that time. The next ten years in Turkey were a different military education. The culture fascinated me even though a continent apart.”

  He went to his sister. “A good part of my audacity on and off the field was that death did not frighten me. The more I dared the Grim Reaper to take me, the more I returned victorious with my life intact.”

  He arose. In strident steps to the fireplace mantel, he took the poker and settled a log in place. The flames, anxious to consume the dry wood, leaped higher.

  He turned to her. “One night after a momentous battle with many fallen soldiers, I fisted my hands to the air. I remember my words exactly. You foul deity! Why didn’t you take me instead of any one of these men? They were brave. My only wish was to die in their place! And, dear sister, because of their fearless gallantry, I was awarded more medals for valor on the field. It wasn’t heroism that led me to the front line of danger. It was my desire to die so the world would be rid of me forever.”

  Camille ran to her brother and crushed him in her arms. “How would I have survived without you? But that’s selfish of me. You deserve happiness, my brother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Tearful Heart

  Wolferton recognized the love on his sister’s face and continued the conversation. “It’s time we slay our demons. Camille, in your mind and heart, I could never do any wrong, but I did.”

  He paced again in front of the fireplace as the afternoon waned and dimmed the light through the stained-glass window of the wolf and archangel. Amber wolf’s eyes turned blue, but the archangel remained still. Of course, his sister’s rapt attention directed to him since only he could envision the supernatural actions. His mind cautioned about the possibility Jaclyn witnessed the changes, but they hadn’t discussed these anomalies yet.

  Wolferton questioned why he hesitated to speak about the family prophecy. Likewise, the fact he and Camille never before discussed the subject puzzled.

  “Let me tell you, as a fifteen-year-old in my father’s footsteps and influence, I was a bully. Look at these hands, sister. They’ve pushed girls in the mud. These lips made fun of boys. I remember one disabled lad who had a bad limp. What did I do? I imitated him and made God-awful noises so everyone would gawk—and laugh to follow my despicable actions. The young lads envied and admired me as their role model. May heaven forgive me.”

  He beat a fist into his palm and paced anxiously, scanned the room, and searched for non-existent shadows. “Power—pleasure—passion drove me, and all the while, the old man encouraged and applauded.”

  She tilted her head in acknowledgment of his obvious pain. “No, you didn’t know better. All you had was Father, the devil incarnate, for a role model. How could you know at such a young age?”

  The fire crackled, rain pelted the window, and the silence in the room confirmed who he was…a fallen man. Worse than a fallen woman, he had a choice.

  She stepped back, reached for his hands, and kissed them. “I won’t let you believe you were evil. How can you be bad if you’re so good to me? You took me out of the hell I lived in and brought me with you here. No, Radolf, you have more than atoned for any sins.”

  She withdrew and turned to him but locked her gaze to him. “Look at me. What would I be if you didn’t love me? You were my world. I grieved when you left for the military, but I understood what drove you away.”

  He exhaled. “I vowed after what he did to Isabella I’d never become like him. But he had drummed into me we were twin souls—like father, like son. If I hadn’t left when I did, his prophecy would have come true. I never said goodbye nor did I want to breathe the foul air he inhaled and certainly didn’t want to hear any protestations. Hearsay indicated he wished me dead and delighted at my absence.”

  He walked to the stained-glass window and ran his fingers over the red wolf and the sword of the angel. Through closed eyelids, Wolferton recalled the horrific language the old man used to describe women. His vocabulary so filthy even Satan himself would not utter them. Words so vile no one would commit them to paper, but as a lad, he remembered them all. The bile started its ascent into his chest and then to his throat. Always the same path until his tongue coated and forced him to swallow hard. He poured another drink to drive out the disgust, but no amount of liquor could curb the wretched taste.

  He spun on his heel. “What a pity our remembrances aren’t of goodness and love. However, I’m aware of all I’ve done and didn’t do. I would share other stories with you, sister. At this moment, revulsion has beaten me to my knees, I may never rise again.”

  “I’ve always felt that when so crushed, such a position is worthy of prayer.” The consolation in her soft voice soothed.

  Seated at his desk, he took the “Suitors’ List” from its folder. “Shall we discuss possible candidates for Jaclyn’s hand in marriage? My list is of no use.” He gave her a furtive glance. “How are the preparations?”

  “Let me see your names?” She extended her hand and retrieved the listings.

  She glanced and laughed. “I can see why these would not be appropriate. A good many of these men are simply ancient. Those who are not are dissolute. Give me time, and I’ll have something for you tomorrow. I’ll ask some of my friends and see who they recommend.”

  She tucked the paper in her sleeve. “Brother, have you thought about yourself as a possible suitor? Jaclyn is more than fond of you.”

  His breath hitched, and then he exhaled. “No, Jaclyn’s much too young for the old man I’ve become. She is a romantic and deserves better.”

  “Somehow I feel, Radolf, there is no man in England or the continent of whom you’d approve.”

  He laughed with a curled grin. “It would appear so, wouldn’t it, for I have seen the worst?”

  “By the way, have you seen the flowers Halifax sent Jaclyn?”

  “No, are they unusual?” He opened his ledger books again.

  “I wouldn’t say so, but they are profuse and occupy half the small drawing room.”

  He threw the quill across the desk. “Dammit. The bounder is not for her. He has a mistress.” Wolferton muttered profanities under his breath.

  “He told Jaclyn the relationship exists no longer.” She tilted her head toward him. “While he didn’t say so, she is under the misguided impression you have renewed your affair with Marguerite.”

  “Don’t believe a word Halifax says. As of last evening, he still paraded his mistress around the salons. He’s a fortune hunter, to say the least. In addition, any affairs are my business and no one else’s.” Wolferton stretched his shoulders and back to relieve the unwelcome ache that invaded his body. His insides were tighter than a viola string.

  To change the subject, he inquired in light humor, “Which gown will she wear for the main ball here. When is it? Has a date been set?”

  “You do not fool me with your humorous attempt. She’s selected two gowns but would like you to decide which one would be best.” Camille gazed upon his face. “I believe you
love her too, Radolf.”

  At those words, he picked up his quill. “As I’ve told you before, Jaclyn’s young and influenced by me because I remind her of her father. I’m almost twice her age, not to mention I never intend to marry.” Then he smiled in mischief. “Let’s say when you, sister, find a good man to marry, I may be convinced to follow suit.”

  “You’re impossible. You know I’ve told you I’m too old to marry anyone.”

  She rose from her chair, ran a finger across the edge of his mahogany desk. “You forget I know a good heart beats in your chest. Let’s see how you react when all these eligible men come to call. But then again, there’s always Halifax.”

  “It will never be him. I’d kill the scoundrel first.” The venom in his voice transmitted the contempt he held at the thought.

  “In case you wonder, the drawing room is filled with white roses. He mentioned he wanted to send black to match her hair but found they were not readily available.”

  “Do not vex me further, sister. You may leave.”

  “How kind you are since I now go to enjoy the roses, Wolfie. Dinner is at the usual time.” She turned and sauntered off humming a tune from their childhood.

  Wolferton raised his left hand to his mouth. Halifax had become a problem of huge proportions.

  However, not to be undone, he left his study and went to his conservatory—presumably to count the black roses to make sure the upstart Halifax didn’t encroach on his personal floral property. The bright sun streamed through the windows as he opened the French doors.

  Wolferton removed his jacket and fitted it on the coat tree. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, rolled his sleeves to above his elbows, and proceeded to trim the buds. While in Turkey, he made sure to visit Halfeti to study the cultivation of the specific black rose. At first sight of the pitch-black flower, he swore he never saw such beauty—dark and exotic. The vision stunned him. Was it prophetic Jaclyn held the same unusual qualities with her coal black hair and striking eyes? Was it at all possible he—she—they—were predestined by the supernatural forces?

  The rose only grew in the tiny village of Halfeti because of the unique acid and alkalinity of the soil from the Euphrates River. It created the deep crimson red color of the rose, which is, for all intents and purposes, solid black unless inspected closely. Upon his return, he worked with the chemicals to achieve the correct formulation and now had five healthy bushes, but it was a struggle. He’d hired only the best arborists to oversee his cultivation.

  Wolferton found one perfect rose and moved the stem to examine it closer. So intent was he on his work, he didn’t hear the French door open, but he did breathe in the scent of lavender and clove. Jaclyn, her body outlined against the windows, stood like a Madonna. He averted his gaze for a moment. Why was she here now? Bloody hell!

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Wolferton.”

  “Is there something you require?” He pretended to continue the cultivation of the bushes. “I’m told you are busy with the scent of Halifax’s white roses which represent purity.” His voice filled with sarcastic overtones.

  “Can you tell me the history of these rare black blooms?” Her melodious voice lilted, as she walked toward him.

  She stopped short when she saw the tattoo on his right forearm. “Oh, you have a wolf tattoo, but why does it have a teardrop down its face?”

  “Because it has seen too much pain, and it still suffers.”

  She reached out to him when he turned to her, his arm outstretched. “It’s beautiful. When and where did you get it?” She ran her fingers over the inked skin, paused, and held his gaze, but didn’t remove her hand. “I’ve not noticed it before.”

  Jaclyn’s touch tempted. Wolferton withdrew. “Most likely because I keep it well covered by my shirt. You intruded here, and I didn’t expect you. Otherwise, my shirtsleeve and cuff would have hidden the marking. A tattoo artist in a seaport near Istanbul inked me.”

  Before he could think, fingertips skimmed each other. Her smile opened slowly, her upper lips a single breath away, her tongue a slither of invitation one moment, stilled the next, only to venture closer again. Slippery, dazzling the senses, forbidden, but desirable in its implication, the thrill spiraled higher and higher into a mad vortex of lust, pure, and—simple. A sin so delightful it spun around to make one unable to resist, to give everything for her touch—the infinite pleasure. She moved her mouth closer until there was no space left to hide—only to join in a kiss of blissful ecstasy.

  Ahh, he never believed it possible to feel such sensations again. They stood to face each other, and he swore he’d never be the same. The look in her seductive eyes held wonder. He could relate to the immense passion that traversed between them, unspoken messages of the gossamer thread of sensual pleasure and its physical force.

  A delightful shiver crept up his spine as his fingers danced across her contoured breasts. Then reality sank in, and he withdrew his hand. The expression on her face told a story of passionate onslaught and carved a swath to his heart, and perhaps hers, too.

  She swayed into him, her head on his shoulder, one hand rested on his chest as if it belonged there. Her fragrance intoxicated him. Wisps of Jaclyn’s hair danced away from her arrangement and haloed her face when he eased her away.

  “What happened between us? I need to know.” Her innocent facial expression was one of curiosity and trust.

  He pulled down his shirtsleeves and did up the cuffs to hide the nakedness of the corded muscle of his forearms. Then he walked to the coat tree and grasped his jacket for propriety’s sake. Now appropriately attired, he approached her. Perhaps his sister’s comments about his ward caused him to weaken his resolve.

  “Jaclyn, I beg your forgiveness. What I did was inappropriate. Remove my actions from your mind. I am your guardian and misbehaved. Nor do I wish to betray your father’s trust.” He tried to apply humor, “You’ve only yourself to blame, for you are a treasure and any man would succumb to your charms. Do allow me to make amends.” He walked beyond where she stood quiet, in apparent study of his every move. “Kindly hand me the clippers next to you.” His voice was a sliver of an uncomfortable whisper.

  She did so with no comment as he snipped a stem of a luxurious black rose. He added a wire along the stem for strength and held it together with a wet cloth tape. “I doubt this will compare with all your baskets of roses, but the Turks had a love-hate relationship with the rose since it symbolized not only mystery, hope, and passion, but also unsurprisingly, bad news and death. It’s not quite a romantic gesture, but I’d like you to have it. I’d prefer you think of its beauty reminiscent of yours.”

  Jaclyn stood in front of him again. “You didn’t answer me, Wolferton. What happened when you kissed me? Why did a strange sensation overwhelm me? I’d like to understand.”

  How those eyes implored an explanation. What else could he say, but the unvarnished truth? “When I kissed you so enjoyably, I violated my position as your protector. It will not happen again.”

  “How can I forgive something so pleasurable that I’d like to experience more?” she asked, a quiver to her lips.

  “It was wrong on my part. I pledged to take care of you. It’s time for us to leave, Jaclyn.” He ushered her to the doors, opened them wide, pointed for her to move on, and locked the conservatory.

  It took every ounce of his control not to take her in his arms and release the passion he held for her and proclaim his true sentiments.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Next Day - Another Lie

  Despite the fact Jaclyn’s final season ball was months away, the house filled with female friends who were escorted by their eligible brothers and cousins to seek both Camille and Jaclyn.

  “I grow weary of all this entertainment. I wish we could refuse more visits. I feel like I’m on a slave auction block.” Restless, she had written in her daily journal of the rendezvous in the conservatory with Wolferton. She refused to believe he didn’t return her strong fe
elings. The black rose resided by her bedside and gave her inner peace. She’d place it soon within the pages of her diary as a token of his affection and a remembrance of his wondrous kiss.

  She re-read the words on the page, Not sure how but Wolferton’s kiss was mysterious and exotic. His tongue swirled, simmered, and I experienced a consuming flame that became a fire that demanded quenching. His fingers tangled my hair, and hands cupped my head. Sweet heaven, it was molten, heat everywhere—no, it flowed through every vein in my body, surging, exploring, and intoxicating. All sanity and restraint left my brain with one lovely thought. Please don’t stop. The maddening heat of him pulsed my heart, and the last wonderful slide of his lips again sealed my fate. The universe crashed around me, and I was lost in the wonder of him.

  Sweet heaven. Hell…I’m going to hell.

  Jaclyn sighed at the words, and she touched her lips with her hand. They weren’t warm, but her fingertips traced her mouth in marvelous remembrance.

  Back in the present, she became aware of her agreement to Lord Halifax’s request to take her for a walk, with a chaperone, of course. She placed her journal in the drawer under lock and key and left the room. Descending the steps, she sighed, still enthralled by her journal entry. She donned her feathery bonnet at the door along with her pelisse, just in time to see that Halifax arrived. A servant opened the door for her and her maid who would accompany them and walk behind.

  “I wish we could go for a ride in the carriage, but it only seats two.”

  “Lord Halifax, I do enjoy a stroll to get away from the house, and the season’s preparations. At least you are a rogue known to me. Most likely, unsuitable, too.” She laughed as she joined her arm to his.

  “So you think me a rake, do you?”

  The smile on his face was a wonderful surprise. Perhaps she was too harsh on him. How dangerous could a man be in these circumstances?