Dark Angel (3 page)

He smiled in triumph, and I realized he had received a sort of submission from me after all. I had not achieved the boundary of formality I sought. There would be no “sirs” or “madams” between us.

His glance strayed to the window, which revealed the first inklings of dawn beyond its bubbled panes. “One thing, Catherine. Can you tell me the date?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I am not so addled that I do not know what day it is.”

He did not speak, waiting with a tension in his frame I did not understand.

“I set sail on October twenty-fifth,” I finally said.

“Of what year?” At my expression, he added, “Indulge me. You took a knock on the head. It might affect your ability to recall simple information.”

“Why, it is 1859, of course.”

He stared at me for a long time. “Sleep, Catherine. We will speak again tomorrow night.”

With a tilt of his head, he pulled open the door and was gone, leaving me with too many questions and not nearly enough answers to suit.

Master, indeed.

…

I slumbered fitfully, tossing and striking out at vague phantoms, startling awake when the bite of the dreams assailing me became too much to bear. Of course, there were the usual nightmares—those of little Eliza and my husband Jonathan and the others—but those had now become intertwined with newer ones involving seawater and suffocation, black beasts and gray eyes, attacking until I finally succumbed to the dark void of unconsciousness.

When I awoke, my eyes bleary, my head aching, I found that someone had left a covered tray of food on the nightstand beside my bed.

Whatever you need, I will provide.

My savior was absent; I did not sense him in the room, but he had made his presence known nonetheless. I stared at the food, a sense of disquiet invading my mind.

The truth be told, I
was
starving. I could not remember the last time I had eaten. It was only natural my host would provide a proper meal.

I pushed the heavy mass of my hair out of my face and sat up, inspecting the tray.

For all the opulence of the ornate china and silverware, the fare it held was simple: roasted rabbit; stewed carrots, leeks, and onions; a baguette of crusty bread. I hovered my hand over the meal. It was still warm. The mouthwatering scents mingled and made my stomach growl.

Red wine glimmered in a fine crystal decanter, and though I would have liked tea, I poured the wine into the glass provided.

I ate quickly, my bare feet dangling over the side of the bed since I left the tray on the nightstand and helped myself from it. The storm had blown itself out. Night settled over the horizon through my window, darkening the sky to royal blue.

My hunger satisfied, I pushed the dishes away. I had slept the day away and wondered if Gerard would visit me again before the night was through. While I had eaten, I thought continually of the children—I waited anxiously for someone to come. I had to make plans. I needed something to wear, information about my location, and how soon I could book passage to Liverpool—my ship’s destination—and find transport to London.

I went to the ornately carved door with its polished brass knob to flag down a passing servant, but the door would not open.

It was locked.

Outrage, and then apprehension, quickly followed. Why had I been locked in?

I tried hammering on the door and calling out, but when no one came, I returned to the bed. I distractedly picked up my wineglass and drank from it while I contemplated my situation.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the door opened and in strode Gerard. I had not heard the key turn in the lock.

I quickly tucked my bare legs beneath the blankets, nearly choking on my wine in my haste. I sputtered and my eyes watered.

“Do you not knock before entering someone else’s bedroom?” I demanded, mortified.

The question brought him up short, as though it had never occurred to him before. Perhaps it had not. His manner with me earlier indicated he was a man of some privilege and rank. He had likely never been denied entrance to any room in his home he wished to enter.

“I have never had occasion to do so,” he finally responded, confirming my suspicions. “Is it your preference for me to knock?”

I nodded vigorously, clearing my throat as I wondered whether he was admitting to never having had the occasion to
knock
, or of
entering someone else’s bedroom.

“Why was I locked in here last night?” I demanded. “Am I a prisoner?”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Merely a precaution. You were quite dazed. I did not wish to risk your well-being if you wandered away.”

“My well-being?” What was he protecting me from in his own house?

His gaze was steady. “There are places here which are not safe. It is best to have an escort at all times.”

I had no choice but to accept his explanation, but a sense of unease lingered.

He tilted his head, his expression curious. “Why do you wish for me to knock before I enter?”

I stared at him in disbelief. Was he mocking me? The expression on his face spoke only of mild curiosity, nothing more.

How to respond? He had entered without warning or chaperone into the bedroom of an unattached, undressed female, and he did not seem to understand the shattering of propriety his act entailed.

If word filtered back home, I could be—would be—ruined beyond all redemption. Due to Jonathan’s status in society a few of my transgressions had so far been overlooked, but hosting a man in my boudoir would not be one of them.

I tried to think of a way to explain that did not reveal my own disquiet at being alone with Gerard. My apprehension in his presence surprised me—he had rescued me, cared for me, seen to my health. I doubted he would go to such trouble if he had meant me any harm.

Then again, he had also locked me in.

“Why? Surely you must realize it is simply not proper. Others might judge us.” I did not know what else to say.

He snorted. “Who?”

“Everyone. Your servants, to begin with.”

One black brow rose imperiously. “The opinion of servants is not a consideration.”

I might have expected such a response from him. “Your friends, then.”

He looked away, out the window, to where the dusk had turned to full night. “I have no friends…no friends of any consequence.”

Something about the stiffness in his stance, the melancholy in his profile, made me believe he had changed his words as an afterthought. Could it be possible a man such as he—with a becoming appearance, in possession of apparent wealth, and perhaps a lord by custom if not by right—might not have friends? My heart softened and I bit my lip, wondering how to offer my friendship without having him misinterpret the gesture. Before I could act on my impulse, he turned back to me.

“If it pleases you, then I will knock next time.”

“And wait for my permission to enter?” I imagined him offering a peremptory knock as a mere sop to my request before barging in on me again.

He sighed dramatically. “Will these conditions never end? Very well, I will wait until you say I may enter.”

I smiled with relief, which was short-lived at his next words.

“As long as that
is
what you say.” He tilted his chin down to look at me directly. “For you would not keep me from you for long,” he said softly, his gaze warm and frank, “if I thought you might have need of me.”

Oh my.
My breath stopped, then started again.

I trembled under his regard, drawing the sheets higher around me. I felt exposed, the silver mists of his eyes enclosing me like a cool fog.

“You’re shivering,” he observed with concern. “Are you chilled?”

I grasped at the excuse as a drowning sailor would a life preserver, though that might not be the best analogy given my recent experiences. “Y-yes. The fire has died. Would you send for someone to relight it?”

“I will do it.” He went to the fireplace at once and knelt before it, reaching for kindling and logs.

“Do not trouble yourself with such menial labor,” I told him hastily. “You will dirty your hands.”

He stepped away from the fireplace, and astonishingly, the flames were already beginning to rise. I had not even seen him strike a match. He turned to me with a wicked gleam of amusement. “It is accomplished.”

“Well.” I stared at the roaring blaze, dumbfounded. “It most certainly is. You have a promising future as a chambermaid should you ever decide to abandon your life as a gentleman.”

“I will try to remember that.” He searched behind him, spying and seizing on a large, overstuffed chair he pushed to my bedside with ease. He sat down in it with some ceremony, and leaning forward, rested his hands on his knees. “Now, tell me, how are you feeling today? Have you recovered from your ordeal?”

“Before I answer, may I ask how long I was unconscious?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A few hours before you awoke in this room.”

“Well, sir, that in itself astonishes me. I expected to be cut and bruised, even to have broken bones, but save for a few scratches and some weakness, it is as though nothing has happened to me at all.”

His intense gaze slid away, becoming interested in the carved posts around the bed. “Hmm. Yes, it is a mystery.”

“I do not understand it. I knocked my head, and my ribs were damaged, and yet as you can see, I am quite whole.”

“Perhaps you are a naturally fast healer.” He looked back at me. “Or were not as injured as you first believed. You were quite traumatized. And we agreed you would call me Gerard.”

Under duress
, I thought, and yet it was a small concession given all he had done for me.

“Yes, Gerard,” I stammered, and noted the pleased expression on his face.

“I must know more about this place,” I pressed. “I am unfamiliar with your island. The captain would not speak of it before—” I hesitated, my stomach plunging at the memories, “before disaster befell us. He seemed unusually afraid of making landfall here.”

I’ll not make landfall in these parts
.
Not for gold or glory.

Gerard leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers in front of him, gazing at them as though they held a crystal ball. “Yes. The tides will not carry any ships to our shores, and even if they did, the barrier of the reefs awaits them. Nothing can come close to
Ynys Nos.”

“Ynys Nos?”
The words sounded mystical to me, bearing images of Druid priests and ancient rituals.

“Welsh for Dark Island. You, Catherine, are the real first contact we have had with the outside world in many years.”

My blood chilled at his words. “But…how then can I find passage to Liverpool? Is the island connected through some overland pass to the mainland?”

He shook his head but said no more.

I huffed in frustration. “I will need your assistance in making arrangements to remove to Liverpool as soon as possible, however it may be done. I have responsibilities that simply cannot wait. I can secure transportation to London from there.”

He lifted his gaze to mine. “Leaving will be quite impossible. I am sorry to be the bearer of hard news, but I regret to inform you that your stay on
Ynys Nos
will be a permanent one.”

I sat upright in shock. “
What?
”

The glow from the fire flickered over him, casting his face in alternating bands of shadow and light. My mind refused to absorb his words. His eerie eyes did not blink. He looked like demon and angel, and I did not know which he might turn out to be.

“No one ever leaves the Dark Island, Catherine. You are trapped, as surely as the rest of us, and will never see home again.”

Chapter Three

Trapped
.

The word echoed in the cavernous room, and I could only stare at him. My fingers went lax with shock, and the sheets slipped from my grasp.

Then I remembered the terrified words of the
Merry Widow’s
captain.

Only the dead or dying see that island. Only those who set sail and never return home see that island.

And an even more horrifying thought:

What will become of the children?

The dinner I had consumed earlier threatened to rise. I swallowed hard. “What do you mean by trapped, Gerard? If there is a way
onto
this island, then surely there is a way
off?
”

He leaned close. “You must resolve yourself. How you made it past the reefs is a mystery to me. Do you remember anything at all about your ordeal?”

Bodies tumbling past mine in the water…
and another image:
a child’s cold, dead eyes, staring up at me in blank accusation…
No. That was wrong. Eliza had not been there…

His hand settled over mine. My mind was so disturbed, I did not even think to pull away. This close, I could smell his unique scent, reminding me of the moments he carried me on the beach, of his warm skin against my cold cheek, of the feeling of utter safety I had in his arms. I wanted that feeling back, but was too ashamed of my weakness to admit it.

Perhaps I did not have to. Perhaps he sensed it, and that is why he stroked my hand with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic caress.

I closed my eyes, guiltily, greedily absorbing the sensation. “There was a terrible storm,” I whispered.

“Yes.” He spoke softly, too, as if not to disturb my recollections.

“It destroyed our ship. So many were drowned. Just thirty of us made it to the lifeboats. Only we lost one, and then the one I was in rose—too high—and came down as though a giant’s hand lifted it and turned it over. I heard a crack, and the boat split into pieces.”

His thumb stilled. “Go on.”

“The—the captain, the other passengers…so much water, and the terrible cold…I could not breathe, I could not tell the direction to go in—” I clenched my hand inside his, remembering my struggle. “I came up once, but then something struck me on the head and I felt as though my skirts were caught and something pulled my legs down…perhaps one of the other passengers in a panic clinging to me?”

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

I hitched my shoulders, fighting to remember even while my fear of remembering tried to prevent it. “And I sank and everything became black. I thought it might be all right, really, because I would see—see again those I had loved, and perhaps death was not so terrible after all.”

“Catherine…”
He said my name in an anguished whisper, squeezing my hand.

I gazed worshipfully at him. “And then you were there, pulling me to the surface, propelling me forward onto the sand, and I was safe.”

“I?” He sounded perplexed. “Where? On the beach?”

“No, in the ocean.” My heart filled with gratitude. “You
saved
me.”

He seemed to hesitate before he spoke. “Catherine, it was not I in the water. I never go into the ocean. Never.”

“But you were there,” I insisted.

“Only at the end. You were partially submerged and I pulled you the rest of the way out, but I did not enter the water. It could not have been me.”

Sinking through the icy waters…a cold hand pulling me to the surface…

“I do not understand.” I touched my head, which had begun to ache again. “I clearly remember being aided while I was still in deep water. You said yourself no one else survived, and there were no others on the beach before you came. If you did not rescue me, who did?”

He averted his gaze in contemplation. “It must have been one of the other passengers. Perhaps after rescuing you, he went back for the rest and perished in the attempt.”

“Perhaps.” Something in me remained skeptical.

His gaze drifted over me. “Such an unusual shade of red,” he murmured, looking at my hair, his hand rising as though he might touch it.

“It is quite ordinary,” I protested distractedly, wondering how he could be discussing such banalities as the color of my hair while my world fell apart around me. “There must be a way off this island. I will not accept no as an answer.”

He allowed his hand to drop and settled back in his chair, his expression growing remote. “You do not believe me.”

“It is not that. Perhaps you have not explored every avenue, perhaps—”

He drummed the fingers of one hand impatiently on the armrest of his chair. “I have lived here for many years. I know this island, her curves and her turns, her secrets and her boundaries. I have explored them all. If there was a way off, I would have found it.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I assure you, there is no way.”

Desperation pushed at me, causing me to push at him. “But
–
”

His hand slapped down on the armrest, making me jump. Tension emanated from him in waves. “You
question
my word?”

I glimpsed something terrible behind the facade of civility Gerard presented—only for a moment, and then the moment passed. What remained made me believe I had imagined it to begin with. He was an imperious man accustomed to getting his way and unaccustomed to being questioned. That was all.

Still, instinct told me the last thing I should do was show him any fear.

I held Gerard’s gaze, my own steady. “You may be master of this place, Gerard, but you are not master of
me
. I will thank you to remain civil when you address me.”

He scowled at me at first, but his expression soon gave way to a begrudging smile. “I like you very much.”

“Well, I like you, too. But I
will
find a way off this island.” I smoothed the sheet across my lap, more in control now that our moment of tension had passed and I had set myself a goal. “I am a force of nature, you see, or so I have been told. I bend all things to my will.”

“What a coincidence.” He winked. “So do I.”

His secret smile left me feeling as though he was amusing himself with the ending to a joke he could not tell. He stood with a grace that hardly seemed like movement at all.

“You are leaving?” Disappointment made my voice quaver.

His expression softened. “I will stay if it pleases you, Catherine. However, my servant is bringing you garments which you may wish to change into, and I suspect a multitude of your rules would prevent my presence here on such an occasion.”

He lifted an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

I gave a resolute nod of my head.

At that moment, there was a tapping at the door, and Gerard bade the visitor to enter.

An elderly woman, gray hair tucked into a neat bun at the back of her head, a serviceable apron around her waist, advanced into the room ahead of two towering footmen bearing mounds of muslin, lace, and fine silk garments. From the brace of keys at her waist, I deduced the woman was the chatelaine of the estate.

Gerard confirmed it. “This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Jones. She will attend you.”

Mrs. Jones gave me a brief curtsy, then set about displaying the garments on every available piece of furniture in the room. Soon the bed, chaise longue, wardrobe, and even the footstool were covered with fabric. With a brisk clap of her hands, she dismissed the footmen, then looked at Gerard expectantly.

Gerard waved his hand over the garments. “Select whatever you like. They are yours to keep.”

“I couldn’t possibly.” The fabrics were costly. The woman who had commissioned these articles of clothing would not like to see them given away, I suspected.

“They belong to you now,” he said. “Their previous owner has no use for them, I assure you.”

Your mistress?
I cringed at the thought. But, I needed something to wear other than the delicate nightgown. “You are certain she—you will not mind for me to wear them?”

He shrugged. “Wear them or burn them. Do whatever pleases you.”

Ah. Former mistress, then.

I looked at the garments more closely. I noted the high-waisted empire dresses with tiny floral patterns, the predominance of white gauze and satin slippers, the narrower silhouettes. The styles were from before the turn of the century, and yet the clothing appeared relatively new.

As if reading my thoughts, Gerard explained, “They are not fashionable perhaps, but finely made. You will not be embarrassed to be seen in them, I assure you. Things change slowly here.”

It made sense, if the island had, according to Gerard, been cut off from the outside world for many years. Still, these seemed rather older with details here and there from earlier decades mixed in. Regardless, the dresses were quaint with a charm all their own. It would be like playing dress up with my grandmother’s clothes when I was a little girl.

He turned to go. “I will come back in one hour. You will accompany me, and I will show you my home.”

I tried to restrain my exasperation at his autocratic tone. He reminded me of a particular battlefield doctor with whom I’d worked who had expected me to obey him in the same manner one might obey a deity. I had had to remind him that my primary duty was to my patients, not to him. “Perhaps you should ask me instead of ordering me. I might be more inclined to hurry then. An hour is not nearly enough time to sort through this vast collection of clothing.”

He stopped short. I chanced to glance at the housekeeper. She stared at me, then at Gerard, her eyes a bit wary.

“You do not wish to accompany me?” he asked, disappointment evident in his tone.

“I do, but that is not the point.” Perhaps on this secluded island he ruled, there had been no one brave enough to teach him the graces of an English gentleman. I felt it my duty, however temporary my stay, to remedy that. “It is always nicer, more polite, you see, when a gentleman invites a lady instead of commands her.”

His frown deepened. “I always get what I want regardless. Why, then, must I be nice as well?”

“Because,” I said carefully, “it would—it would
please me
, and I would be more likely to respond to your requests in the manner in which you wish.”

He gazed at me for a long moment, and I could see his mind working. “So if I am nice to you, you will give me whatever I want?”

Good Lord.
“W-within reason, and God and Society’s bounds, of course.”

Then I noticed his mouth twitching in an attempt to suppress a smile. He had known exactly what his comment had implied. He was having me on, as the children would say.

“I am not a
complete
idiot, Catherine.” He let his grin loose. The effect on my pulse was astonishing. “One hour. Be ready…or I will take you as you are.”

…

Gerard might be autocratic, but he was also punctual. The hand on the red tortoiseshell clock atop the nightstand had only just counted off one hour when a commanding
rap-tap
sounded on the door. I, understanding the knock was a concession on Gerard’s part, quickly called, “Enter,” so as not to try his patience.

The heavy door swung open and he stepped in, smiling in approval at the white gauze dress I wore, embroidered with tiny pink flowers over a white satin slip, a pink ribbon running along the hem and low, wide neckline. I’d tucked my cameo beneath it, reluctant—I do not know why—to display the images just yet, and draped a lace scarf around the bodice to compensate for the excess of bosom the neckline revealed. I’d had no time to effect repairs to my hair, so I’d simply brushed it and left it hanging loose down my back. The lack of crinolines and boned stays not possible with this style, the figure-clinging drape of the gown, and the low neckline made me feel almost naked.

Gerard paced around me, silently examining me. He exuded a restless energy, a compelling male aura that set my nerves to thrumming. Still, I was anxious to escape with him from my temporary cage, as luxurious as it might be, so I held myself motionless beneath his regard. Despite the lush Savonnerie carpet under my satin-shod feet, despite the gilt-framed landscapes on the walls, despite the blazing fire in the fireplace, I longed to be with the children in their drafty three-story house in one of the dingiest districts of London. They
needed
me, and it was imperative for me to be necessary. Leaving this room was the first step in returning to them.

“It appears an hour was more than adequate,” Gerard finally said, his gray eyes smoky in the firelight. “You cut a fine figure, Catherine. Shall we go?”

I preened at the compliment and admired him shyly beneath my eyelashes.

Gerard’s thick hair gleamed in the lamplight, one heavy lock falling across his broad forehead. He had dressed for dinner in an old-fashioned and yet impeccably tailored black dress coat and gold waistcoat with matching buttons and cravat, and wore tight black breeches with high, polished boots. His striking attire was entirely British, and yet with his dark coloring and direct gaze he managed to appear as exotic as a foreign prince.

I could not imagine myself as company for such a man. He exuded a daring self-assurance; beside him I felt hopelessly outshined, like a honeybee beside a dragonfly. And yet, the unabashed appreciation in his gaze made me lift my head and straighten my spine in feminine gratification.

He dismissed the housekeeper, who had assisted me in my selections, with a glance. She curtsied and left silently by the open door. Flickering lamplight pooled in the corridor and made me wonder how Gerard acquired his supplies. There was no lack of elegant furnishings. The basic necessities of candles, tallow, and lamp oil appeared to be in ample supply. I determined I would question him about it after my tour. If there was a way to get supplies onto the island, perhaps the same route might be used to free me from its captivity.