Echoes in the Darkness (11 page)

* * *

Struggling to fight off the mists of sleep, I fumbled to light my candle and hurried to answer the staccato summons on my bedroom door. When I opened it, Cad was leaning against the frame, the lids of his cat’s eyes half-closing sleepily. His white shirt hung open and his feet were bare. With a hint of his piratical smile, he held up one hand to show me the two-thirds empty bottle of brandy he clutched.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” His speech was very slightly slurred. “I thought it was time I got to know my new sister a little better.”

“I think we know each other well enough,” I informed him coldly. His eyes roamed the length of my body, and I was glad that one of my recent purchases had included the high-necked, serviceable, completely unrevealing nightgown I wore. My hair hung in a loose plait over my shoulder. In spite of the cold and the fact that I was alone, I would never have considered wearing a nightcap. The very idea made me shudder.

Ignoring my less than welcoming manner, Cad strolled past me into the room anyway, throwing himself down onto the bed and patting the space next to him invitingly. I closed the door but remained standing. “Ah, but that was on a purely physical level,
bouche,
” he reminded me with a reminiscent grin. “So, while I know how much you enjoy having the back of your neck kissed, and that you have a tiny mole, shaped like a star, on the inside of your thigh, and that, if I flick my tongue just inside—”

“Stop it!” I gasped. Fury and surging lust fought a desperate battle in my breast. Fury won. But only just.

“But I am simply illustrating my point,
bouche,
” he said reasonably, unstopping the bottle and taking a long swig. “I know all of these things, but I do not know where you grew up, who your family are, what music you enjoy. Or, for example, why you were in
my
bed in Paris, when you were living with my brother. Your ‘roommate,’ I think you called him?”

He had obviously been making enquiries about me. I should have expected it. I took a deep breath. “It was wrong of me to have spent the night with you—”

“No it wasn’t!” The words were wrenched from him with an intensity that astonished me. “You know as well as I do, it was
right.
The most perfect, incredibly
right
thing—My God,
bouche,
if you knew how hard I tried to find you again! I was like a man possessed. I even threatened to choke the life out of Maurice if he did not tell me who you were. But the little worm feigned not to know your name.”

I should think not. I had sworn Maurice and Claude to silence and, in return had posed for them free of charge for a whole month. I had also steadfastly refused to allow them to tell me the identity of my mysterious stranger. If he had a name, I reasoned, he would become real and it would be even harder for me to consign him to the past.

Cad broke off, running a hand through his already disordered hair. “You cannot love Eddie,
bouche,
not after what we shared.”

“You are very sure of yourself.”

“I was there,
bouche.
I have every reason to be.” I knew, of course, that the arrogance in his tone was justified. “And, having seen the two of you together, even fleetingly, I
know
you don’t love him. And he—” The word was filled with contempt. “The way he looks at you is the way a child seeks his mother’s breast. For sustenance, nothing more. You have more fire and passion in your little finger than my brother has in his whole body.”

I sighed. “There is so much more to this.”

“Ah, yes! There is the little matter of the title, is there not?” His voice was ice and I winced. “You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last beautiful woman to snare one of those simply by using what you have between your legs.”

“Don’t be so crude,” I whispered. I could hear the hurt in my own voice.

He laughed cruelly. “I can be a hell of a lot cruder. But you know that already, don’t you? And I don’t remember you complaining.” He took another slug from the bottle and the dangerous glint in his eyes deepened. “Does he know about me?” I shook my head. “Well, that should make for an interesting conversation. We don’t usually have much to say to each other, but swapping notes about you might provide us with more to talk about.”

“What will you gain by telling him?” I asked. “Other than to cause him hurt?”

“Ah, sweet Dita.” There was a laugh trembling on the edge of his voice. “How little you know of our family. Hurting each other is something of a specialty for the Jagos. Sometimes we also enjoying hurting nonfamily members.” Cad slid from the bed and came toward me.

I wanted to tell him then. Suddenly it seemed that it would be the easiest thing in the world to melt into his arms and say,
“I am not really engaged to your brother, but I cannot allow myself to love
you
because, if I do, a madman called Sandor Karol will kill us both.”
I actually opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Cad moved closer. His eyes raked my face.

“When I think of him touching you, I want to put my fist through a wall. Or through his head. I think they call it jealously. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never felt it before. I wish I could get you out of my mind,
bouche.
I wish I could close my eyes and, just for once, not see your face.” He was swaying slightly now. “The only consolation is I know you ache to feel me inside you again every bit as much as I long to be there.”

“No,” I said softly, and he bent his head closer to hear. I couldn’t help myself. “I want you more,” I whispered in despair.

“It’s not a bloody competition,” he muttered, grabbing my hand and jerking me hard against his chest. The effort made him stumble backward slightly and he fell heavily onto the bed, pulling me down on top of him. I lay, unmoving, for a heart-changing minute, then I lifted my head cautiously to look down at his face. I did not know whether to be angry or amused at the discovery that he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Conversation at the breakfast table was stilted until Porter appeared with devastating news. “Another girl has gone missing. This time in Port Isaac, my lord, and the police are asking all able-bodied men to join a search party.” A tiny frown marred Tynan’s brow at Porter’s words, and he turned to look at his wife, a question clouding his eyes. She gave a very slight shake of her head.

All at once I knew what that silent exchange meant. And I knew the answer to their unspoken question. Because, of course, I knew where Cad had spent the night. And, as far as I was aware, he was still there. Hurriedly, I excused myself and made my way back to my bedroom. Once there, I flung back the heavy velvet curtains to let the sickly sunlight in through the windows. The prone figure on the bed stirred slightly. Cad was lying facedown with his head buried under a pillow, and I reached out a hand to shake him by the shoulder. He came fully awake at my touch, turning to regard me with surprise that changed gradually to amusement.

“I see,” he murmured, looking me up and down with interest. “It cannot have escaped your notice that I was somewhat the worse for wear last night,
bouche.
I do hope I managed to acquit myself honourably?”

“You did not acquit yourself at all,” I informed him. Bluntly, I reminded him what had passed between us following the knock on my door that had roused me at an ungodly hour. “You tumbled headlong onto my bed and commenced snoring like a tormented lion,” I reminded him.

He gave a shout of laughter, and I found my lips curving upward in an answering smile. He might be infuriating, but he was also irresistible. Thankfully, he appeared to have forgotten that I had confessed how much I wanted him. And the dawn had brought me back to sanity. Even if there was no Sandor, my feelings for Cad would snap my only friend like a twig bent over a child’s knee. Eddie was not strong enough to cope with the knowledge of the untamed passion I felt for the one man he hated above all others.

“Who undressed me?” Cad asked, lifting the bedclothes and studying his own—presumably naked—body with interest.

I shrugged. “I expect you did it yourself during the night. I wouldn’t know, having spent the rest of the night on the sofa in the dressing room.”

“Ah, no wonder you are as cross as a stranded crab this morning.” He nodded sagely, shuffling the pillows behind him so that he could sit up. “I must have been very drunk,” he observed.

“You were,” I assured him.

He continued as if I had not spoken. “To have passed up an opportunity to reenact our Parisian idyll.”

“Perhaps you remembered that I am going to marry your brother?” I said coldly.

He appeared to give the matter some thought. “No, I didn’t remember that, and I don’t think it would have stopped me if I had,” he said.

”It might have stopped
me,
however!” I exclaimed.

Without warning, his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down so that I lay diagonally across his chest. I stayed still, breathing in stale brandy fumes and cigar smoke and the achingly, adorably familiar scent of his body. I could see amber fire dancing in the depths of his eyes, and the slight chip in the front of one of his otherwise perfect teeth. One strong hand gripped my chin, bringing my face closer to his, while the long fingers of the other slid just inside the lace at the neckline of my dress. His mouth followed the trail of his fingertips and lightly brushed the delicate flesh where the swell of my breast met the cloth of my gown. The infinite tenderness of his mouth contrasted wonderfully with the maddening rasp of stubble. I shuddered violently.

“Would it, now?” he asked, holding my gaze. Hating myself, I shook my head. There was no hiding from the truth. I had been utterly captivated by Cad from the first minute I saw him. And I knew that nothing in my life would ever match the depth of the emotion I felt for him. False loyalty to his brother could not even scratch the surface. Even the menacing threat of Sandor could not keep me from the truth. Cad Jago had turned me into a sorry, quivering mess of a girl, and the only cure would be to get away from him and away from Tenebris.

Cad laughed. “That’s better,
bouche.
Honesty is an underrated, and much underused, quality. Particularly, in my experience, by those of your sex,” he said. “Now I suggest that, if you wish to preserve your pretence of maidenly modesty, you avert your eyes.” And without further warning, he slid from beneath the covers. With an outraged squeal, I turned my back.

“Another girl has gone missing,” I informed him. I sensed his movements become still. “Your father has been asked to help set up a search party.”

“What does she look like?” he asked, and it was such an odd question that I swung back to face him. Thankfully, he had already donned his trousers.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“I would offer you a prediction, but I don’t have time,” he said cryptically. Gathering up the rest of his clothing, he dropped an impertinent kiss on my cheek and was gone. I stared at the closed door for a long time. My whole body thrummed with suppressed longing, and my thoughts were in turmoil.

Chapter Eight

The servants, as always, were full of the story and keen to share it. The missing girl was called Nellie Smith and she worked as a lady’s maid in the house of a wealthy landowner whose home was situated half a mile from Port Isaac. She had every Wednesday afternoon off, and her routine during that time never varied. She walked into the town to visit her family. Her mother was a widow and Nellie was the oldest of six children. Mother and daughter would spend the afternoon shopping and baking, and Nellie would set off for her employer’s house again after they had eaten their evening meal together. Both Nellie’s mother and her employer were adamant. You could set your clock by her.

But Nellie had not arrived at her mother’s house on this particular Wednesday afternoon. After waiting an hour, Mrs Smith had gathered up the younger members of her brood and marched up to the smart mansion where Nellie worked.

“She’ll have met her friends on the way and gone off with them,” the housekeeper said soothingly, when it emerged that Nellie had set out as usual. She had even told one of the footmen she was “off to her ma’s.”

“No, our Nellie’d die afore she’d let me down,” Mrs Smith had insisted. In hindsight, the words had an ominous, prophetic ring.

Cad, together with most of the servants and estate workers, had joined the search party, but no sign of Nellie Smith had yet been found. Dispirited by the atmosphere of gloom, and unsettled by my nighttime encounter with Cad, I slipped out of the house and followed the cliff path toward Port Isaac. Below me, the incredible creativity of nature was on display. Over countless eons, water from both narrow streams and the Atlantic Ocean had sculpted cliffs, boulders, pebbles and sand into fascinating, improbable shapes. The sensation of walking along England’s edge, at the world’s end, overwhelmed me. I felt small and insignificant. The weather was blustery and chill, but my head was clearer and my footsteps lighter by the time I reached the cobbled streets and followed a familiar path.

I reached the tiny cove that Eleanor and I had come to on my first visit to the town. It was the place to which the errant Bertram had led us with his stubborn refusal to come when his mistress called. I paused, recapturing the breath my brisk pace had stolen from me. The boy, Tristan, who we had seen on that first day, was there again, digging in the damp sand. He looked up from his task as I approached and regarded me with interest.

“You were with Miss Eleanor,” he said, rising from his kneeling position and brushing the sand from his knees. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Are you looking for Nellie Smith, as well? I thought the murderer might have buried her body in the sand.”

“We must hope she is found alive,” I said, although I, like everyone else, had grave doubts that would be the case.

“How do you suppose he gets them to go with him?” Tristan asked, as if we had known each other for years. “Supposing she is dead, and supposing it was the same man that killed Amy Winton. What would make them go off with him?”