Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (18 page)

It was a valid question, as sometimes she awakened with a
punishing migraine.

“No, I did not, thank you. Why are you wearing this. . .
this costume?” She gestured to his odd attire. “I was led to believe that you
were no longer a pirate, my lord.”

“It’s true. The Raven is long retired. May I present Le
Comte de Rochembeau, one of the identities I maintain on my estate.”

“One--one of your--“ She stammered, taken aback by his
statement.

“Count Rochembeau is the owner of Ravencrest Plantation. Mr.
O’Rourke, my other persona, is his servant, or to be more precise, the steward
of the estate.” He stood and placed his arms about her. “No one knows we are
the same man.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked in a high voice, tamping down the
rising panic.

“Servants blend into the background.” He replied with
confidence. “As O’Rourke, I can gain people’s trust, learn their secrets, and
discern potential plots against me as the count.”

Oh Dear! A man would have to be greatly unsettled in his
mind to fear others were plotting against him continually. She released her
hand from her throat, hardly aware she’d been clutching it as the full import
of Pearl’s words swept over her anew. “They tortured my lord.”

“I must insist that you play along with the ruse for a short
time.”

 “But why? Why the need for such an elaborate disguise?”

“The count adds a dramatic element. His face is rumored to
be disfigured, making him a recluse, hence the silk sheath.” He touched the
scarf. “It keeps people at a respectful distance. Ach, don’t worry, my bonny
lass.” Donovan switched to a convincing Irish brogue. “When you see my face I
am Mr. O’Rourke.” He pulled the mask down to conceal his features. “When you do
not, ma cherie, I am Count Rochembeau.” He added in a flawless French accent.

The ease with which he switched from one personality to the
other was frightening.

“Does the captain know?” As soon as she asked, she knew it
was futile to expect aid from another man. Donovan was her spouse. Legally, she
was required to obey him despite his eccentricities. Captain Rawlings couldn’t
help her. She was alone in this.

“Of course he knows.” Donovan replied, seeming perturbed by
her question.

“What about when we’re alone? How should I address you,
sir?”

“By my name.” He pushed the mask up and gave her a dazzling
smile.

She studied his eyes for a hint of madness, but saw none. “And
your name is Donovan?”

“Yes.” He studied her, appearing perplexed. “Interesting
point. I use Donovan with my O’Rourke disguise. You must not address me by my
Christian name when I’m the count.”

Elizabeth nodded, stunned by this strange turn of events.

“You’ll see me as Mr. O’Rourke most of the time. Don’t
worry, you’ll be fine, Lizzie.”

It wasn’t herself she worried about!

“I’ll be ending the ruse soon, a week at most.” He added,
caressing her brow thoughtfully with a forefinger. “Do you think you can
manage?”

Did she have a choice? “I will try not to disappoint you, my
lord.”

“Lizzie, you’re taking this too seriously!” He said,
laughing and hugging her. “Just think of it as my way of keeping you safe.”

How does pretending to be two different people keep me safe?
She wanted to ask, but did not. The question might upset him, and more than
anything, Elizabeth did not want this man to become upset. “Are you afraid your
slaves may have planned an uprising?” She asked, endeavoring to see things from
his perspective, and perhaps help him.

“Slavery is a vile business, Elizabeth.” His tone became
severe. “You have no idea the horrors that met my eyes when I took over the
estate. I came to hate Richard O’Donovan and everything he stood for. I
released his slaves. I buy prison indentures to use as a labor source.”

“What became of the slaves your grandfather owned?”
Elizabeth asked, intrigued by his confession. “Surely you didn’t evict them? If
they left your estate, wouldn’t they risk being subjected to slavery again by
others?”

“You are very perceptive.” He admitted. “A few left. Those
with families still reside on the estate. They run the saw mill and a smithy.
Some men oversee the cane operations during the harvest. It is an exacting
process, and they’ve done it for many years so I trust their judgment and pay
them accordingly for their expertise.”

He pulled the chair out and gestured for her to sit at the
small table.

She hadn’t noticed Pearl returned with her breakfast.
Elizabeth sat down and gave in to her hunger. Donovan sat next to her and
continued to converse with her as if nothing were amiss. “Aside from cane
production, I breed horses to sell in the local markets. I added a small coffee
grove and planted a hundred nutmeg saplings since taking over the estate. It
will be years before they bear fruit, but once established the spices will
bring a steady profit for years to come.” He took a sip from the steaming cup
of coffee before him. The alluring aroma filled the cabin.

Elizabeth had never tasted the exotic brew. “May I?” She
asked. Donovan held his cup out to her. She took a sip and grimaced at the
bitter taste. She’d stick to good English tea.

“It’s an acquired taste.” He mused, lifting the cup to his
lips.

********

The vast expanse of turquoise sea gave way to lush emerald
foliage. Stark volcanic peaks towered against the brilliant blue sky as the
ship passed the small islands of the West Indies. After close to seven weeks at
sea, with silence surrounding them and the endless expanse of sea, it was
invigorating to see land again, to hear birds and breathe in the the rich scent
of foliage. The wind caressed Elizabeth’s face with moist, warm kisses. The
aroma of Earth, spices and flowers permeated the sultry air. Birds called to
one another from the lush greenery.

She cast a furtive glance at the ‘Dark Count’ as they stood
at the rail. He looked like a highwayman with the black sheath concealing his
features. Just before coming on deck he rubbed cream on his cheeks, a rouge
containing stinging nettles, he said, as he tucked the small tin in his pocket.
The skin beneath the fabric was angry red, giving the illusion of
disfigurement.

As they drew near his island she could see a small village
hugging the wharf. Fishing boats dotted the pale, sandy beach. In the distant
horizon she could make out the hazy outline of another island; St.
Christopher’s, or St. Kitts as the locals called it. The harbor was a town
called Basseterre. St Kitts and Ravencrest Estates, a smaller island, fell
under British jurisdiction.

A mount was waiting for him near the wharf, a sleek black
stallion that could only belong to the dark count. Donovan lifted Elizabeth up
into the saddle and swung up behind her. “It’s not far, just up the hill.” He
explained. “They didn’t know to send the carriage. It will take too long to
have it brought down now.”

Wrapping his arms about her, he took up the reins and urged
his mount to a bracing trot.

Lush jungle vines and brilliant tropical blooms lined the
road as they traveled up the hill to the plantation house. Vibrant red and
brilliant pink blooms abounded among the brush. A cluster of birds called to
each other from the thick jungle on either side of the road and were answered
with sharp trills and deep, screeching caws in the hot, sultry air.

They crested the hill. Elizabeth drew in her breath at the
stately beauty of the white baroque manor house in the distance. It was
enclosed by iron fencing. Beyond the gate, palm trees lined the wide drive. A
pillared porch embraced the second story.

Donovan dismounted at the gate, unlocked a heavy chain, led
his mount through, then wound the chain through the iron fencing once more and
locked the paddock. A pair of mastiffs came bounding down the drive from behind
the manse, snapping and snarling. The horse reared. Elizabeth lurched forward
to clutch its neck, bracing herself to hit the ground in a painful thud.

Her husband snatched the bridle and secured the anxious
beast. “Halt.” He commanded the approaching dogs in a harsh, guttural snarl.
The dogs stopped in their tracks several feet ahead. He snapped his finger and
pointed at the ground. They sat down. “That’s better. Come,” he instructed,
holding out a hand to them, while keeping a tight grip on the bridle. The beasts
approached him with wagging tails and pressed against him, vying for their
master’s attention.

Donovan pushed the sheath over his brow and smiled up at
Elizabeth. She didn’t smile back. The estate seemed far from welcoming as she
took in the neglect of the grounds that weren’t noticeable at a distance. There
were weeds where flower beds should be and iron fencing with razor sharp spikes
preventing anyone from entering or leaving. An empty fountain in the courtyard
had moss and weeds in it. The house had most of the shutters drawn on all the
first floor windows.

“It needs work.” Donovan admitted, seeing her apprehension.
“It’s lacked a woman’s touch for many years. Just think of all the fun you’ll
have redecorating, my sweet.” He led the stallion past the fountain to the
front steps, his guard dogs flanking his tall form. The front lawn had been cut
recently, she noted, trying to find sunshine among the clouds.

Donovan helped her dismount and led her up the stone stairs
to the front door.

Just as she feared, he placed a key in the lock. Elizabeth
had a bad feeling about it.

Was there no one here to welcome him?

Chapter
Sixteen

The large entry hall had parquet flooring and furniture from
earlier in the century. Hunting scenes were painted as frescoes in the white
plaster walls.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He admonished, leaving her
to gaze up at the winding marble stairs that lead to the second story. The
mahogany banister had been polished not too long ago, she noted, feeling
hopeful that the interior was not as neglected as the exterior grounds.

Double doors to the right of the stairs piqued her interest.
She decided to peek beyond them. She was relieved to find this door unlocked,
only to have hope crushed as she gazed inside. The room was dark, the shutters
were drawn to block out the sunlight. The furniture was covered with white
sheets, resembling ghosts in the darkened room. She crept in a few feet and
waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Slats in the shutters allowed
jagged shafts of light to diffuse through the shadows. Something dark and furry
scuttled across the floor in front of her. Elizabeth stifled a scream and
stepped back, remembering Peter’s tale about hairy spiders the size of tea
saucers.

Who lives here? She wondered, eyeing the room with
disappointment. The house had an empty, desolate feel to it, as if no one
occupied it for a very long time, at least, no one who cared.

“Lizzie.” Elizabeth turned at the sound of her husband’s
voice, his normal voice, not an affected one. He stood in the foyer, seeming
perturbed that she wasn’t standing precisely where he’d left her. “Come.” He
held out his hand. “I’ve ordered a bath for you. Tabby will see to your comfort
while I’m out.”

“Where are you going?” She grimaced as she left the dark
room for the sunlit foyer. “We’ve only just arrived.”

“I want to take a ride about the place while I’m still
dressed as the count. Enjoy your bath and a nice nap. You look all in,
darlin’.” His lips brushed hers, teasing lightly, reminding her of the tender,
caring man on the voyage. He smiled down at her, and then straightened as a
lone figure stepped from the shadows of the hall. “This is Tabitha Wilkes, my
grandfather’s--” He paused momentarily. “Housekeeper. I kept her on after he
died, and the cook.”

Mrs. Wilkes was clad in an informal muslin gown rather than
the starched black uniform that housekeepers wore in the wealthy homes in
England. She was barefoot. Her white hair was unbound, cascading down her back
in gentle waves. She was thin, graceful, her complexion golden from time spent
in the sun instead of indoors, cleaning her master’s home.

She did not resemble any servant Elizabeth encountered in
England. Nevertheless, she smiled at the older woman. This was Donovan’s home.
She was going to have to accept his odd ways and get along with the people in
his employ. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilkes.” Elizabeth responded,
knowing her mother would scold her for being familiar with a servant. Alas,
putting on airs would not win her acceptance from the count’s household staff.

“It’s Tabby, Ma’am. I’m not married.” The woman archly
corrected Elizabeth, looking her up and down as if she were a dead rodent the
cat carried in from the woodpile.

“Don’t be impertinent, Tabby.” Donovan interjected before
Elizabeth could form a response. “My wife is the grand-daughter of the ninth
Earl of Greystowe. She’ll put you through your paces, old girl. You might wish
to put some thought into retiring. I’m certain my lady will be more particular
than I am regarding the household routines.”

The woman bristled at his words, looking for a brief second
as if she might curse out loud at them. She managed a limp smile from taut
lips. “Welcome to Ravencrest, your ladyship.” She made a polite curtsy to
Elizabeth.

“Take care of my lass, and mind your tongue, Tabby. I’ll
tolerate none of your cheek with her!” Donovan directed as he made his exit,
effectively abandoning Elizabeth.

Elizabeth followed the woman up the stairs and down the hall
to the master’s chamber. She sensed resentment within Tabby. She dismissed the
impression, reasoning that she’d be cranky, too, if she was in this woman’s
place and the master dropped a new mistress on the doorstep without warning and
then left again. It was an awkward situation all around.

Donovan’s bedchamber was furnished in a deep forest green
that complimented the oak paneling. Very masculine, indeed, befitting a
bachelor lord.