Obsession (5 page)

“She has nothing to offer you,” Edwina said.

“Perhaps.”

“She’s not the same woman. She never will be.”

“That’s not certain.”

“What if she never heals? Will you content yourself with living like a monk for the rest of your life?”

I watched a shooting star flash across the deep purple sky. Then it was gone.

“A woman’s body has been your curse since you were old enough to take your first whore. You simply can’t help yourself. You have needs, like any other man, but more than most men. Even if she were to awaken from her idiocy and become the woman you once loved—would she, could she satisfy you to the end of your days?

“You said once her purity cleansed the wretched sin from your soul. ‘An angel,’ you called her. Your…salvation.

“Will she be able to satisfy your base hungers? What will you do when your sins corrupt her innocence, when she is no longer the angel? Or worse, will you ultimately grow weary of her naivete and hunger for the whore?

“I’m sure of it. We’re much alike, you and I. We’re…empty, and starving to be filled. It’s what bonded us, I think. Our neediness.”

“You could be right,” I said wearily. “But I don’t love you. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I’ve always known. You’re honest, if nothing else. But you do care for me; I know that. As much as you are capable of caring for anyone but yourself and your own needs. This desire you have for the woman—I’m sure it stems now from guilt. You think you owe her something.”

“I destroyed her.”

“Your grandmother destroyed her.” Edwina sighed. “I won’t give up. You’ll eventually grow tired of this encumbrance. Your hunger for flesh will erode this momentary obsession for self-sacrifice, and you’ll need me again. I’ll make it so.

“When you rest in your bed at night, alone, you’ll think of me—of what we shared. I’ll return again and again. I’ll break you down. I’ll erode your willpower. Maria Ashton may claim your heart—for the moment—but I’ll claim your soul. I vow it.”

D
ARKNESS
. C
OMFORTING.
S
HIELDING
. A
VEIL OF
oblivion. Oh, how she loved it. Craved it. Worshipped it, the oblivion.

“Paul?” she whispered. “Paul, are you there?”

She waited, barely breathing in anticipation.

A new fear taunted her, an uneasiness that threatened her fragile stability. It had begun with the light.

“Are you there?” she cried.

Aye, sweetheart. I’m always here. You know that.

“Am I dead at last?”

Dead? No, not at all. What makes you think that?

“The light, of course. I thought I saw it.”

I’ve told you, I shan’t let you die.

“But I’m certain I saw the light. It was so bright, and beckoned me.”

Silence.

“Paul?” Panic mounting. “You haven’t left me?”

Not yet.

“You must never leave me. Not again.”

I’ll stay for a while longer. For as long as you need me.

“I can’t see you. Come closer so I might see you. Why are you remaining in the dark?”

There. Is that better?

She relaxed. “Yes. Come and sit beside me. Here. Near me. Have you spoken to Mama?”

Mother sends her love.

“Is she truly happy?”

Happy and relieved, now that the pain is behind her.

“I miss her terribly.”

I know.

“Perhaps I’ll see her soon. And the three of us will never say goodbye again.”

It isn’t your time, Maria. You mustn’t give up. Not now. You must continue to fight. Now, more than ever.

“Why are you smiling in such a way? You look so very…sad.”

I am. And glad, too. Do you know why?

“Tell me.”

The light you saw. It wasn’t heaven, Maria. It was the sun.

“Don’t be daft. There is no sun in this horrible place.”

Look around you.

“Nay. I won’t look! ’Tis dreadful. And
they
will soon come. Why do you suggest such a thing? This place is painful and frightening—”

Give me your hand.

“Why?”

I have something to show you. Come along. Carefully. Stand here. Look yonder. What do you see?

“Darkness.”

Try harder.

“I don’t want to. Why are you doing this?”

I see vast green meadows. And a beautiful stone wall whereon lovely white roses are growing wildly and lavishly. Dusk is kissing the horizon—pink here and golden there. The sun hovers upon the darkening treetops like a giant fiery melon. Do you feel it? The warmth on your face?

“No.”

Try harder.

“No. No. I shan’t! I want to go back to sleep.”

Beyond the wall is a winding lane. It travels for miles. I see a shepherd with his sheep and a dog—black and white, dashing here and there, herding them into a cluster.

“Like the lane near our house?”

A little. Only prettier.

“Remember how, as children, we ran down the lane to the pond beyond the church? We ate apples beneath the rowan until our bellies ached. Mama would scold us and put us to bed. We would lie beneath the covers and giggle and recount Father’s sermons word for word, then you would tell me stories—I was always a princess, and my love, a knight in shining armor who saved me from dragons.”

I remember.

“You broke my heart when you left.”

I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped.

“I so wanted to go with you. Paul? Paul, where are you? Don’t go.”

Shhhh, Maria. They’ll think you mad.

5

I
RIS, THE SCULLERY MAID, BEDECKED IN HER
rumpled black dress and pigeon-stained pinafore, a pale gray feather thrusting out of her haphazardly upswept silvering hair, stood with her ear pressed against the bedroom door. Her brown eyes were wide as coins and her mouth formed a tight pucker of distress.

She had obviously been lighting the girandoles along the gallery when her curiosity had inspired her to linger a moment outside Maria’s room. As she watched me approach, she straightened and pressed one plump finger to her lips, to shush any tart comment I was prepared to make regarding her skulkery.

“Shay’s babblin’ to ’erself, Yer Grace. Full-on conversation with someone called Paul.”

Paul. The name tapped upon some familiarity in my memory.

As I approached the door, the key in my hand, Iris stepped back and shook her head. “She’s crazy as a loon, I vow. ’Erbert tells me she tried to fly like a bleedin’ pigeon out the window.”

I plucked the feather from her hair and regarded it.

“Ya ain’t payin’ me enuff to work ’round no loon, Sir. I’ve got me poor husband to think about. If ought happened to me wot would become of him?”

I sighed and allowed the feather to float to the floor. “She isn’t dangerous.”

Her eyes widened and focused on the scratches on my cheek. “That ain’t wot I hear…Sir. ’Erbert tells me she’s wot done that to yer face. Tried to rip out yer throat, he says, and woulda done had she not been yanked from ya in the nicka time.”

“Herbert talks too much, I think.”

I pressed my ear to the door, hearing nothing.

Paul. Ah, yes. Her brother. Died young, as I recalled. They had been close—very close. His death had affected her greatly. She had never fully gotten over it. She had admitted as much once, when we lay in one another’s arms, learning each other as only lovers in love would do.

I handed Iris the key.

“Lock the door behind me and unlock it for no reason, no matter what you might hear. Don’t disturb us until morning. For breakfast, I’ll expect porridge with honey. And
fresh
bread. Not that stale rubbish you tried to feed me before because you were too damn lazy to rise out of your bed.

“Edwina is staying the night. Prepare her a room—the red room in the east wing. She desires a bath. See that her water is warmed sufficiently or suffer the consequences. You know what she’s like.”

Iris rolled her eyes.

As I slid the key into the lock, the servant moved away, prepared to flee at the first sign of trouble.

I hesitated. Listened again, then reached for the lit candle sitting on a table near the door.

I tossed Iris the key, then entered the room, dark but for the starlight filtering through the closed window.

I moved around the room, lighting each lamp, my gaze fixed on the bed in an attempt to see Maria, becoming at last aware that she wasn’t there. Frantic, I looked around, closer at the window for fear she had attempted to fly away again. It was closed and locked, just as I had left it.

My gaze flashed around the shadowed room, and found her just as she had been in her cell, curled up in a corner, her knees drawn up to her breasts and her arms crossed over her tucked head.

“Maria,” I called softly.

She didn’t respond.

I set the candle aside, near her, so the glow illuminated her form, then crouched at arm’s length, uncertain if I should touch her.

“I won’t hurt you. Maria, look at me. Please. It’s Trey. Remember? No one is ever going to hurt you again. You needn’t be frightened ever again. Dear heart…look at me.”

She coiled more tightly and began to tremble. In the frail light of the candle, her gauntness became disturbingly more evident, the bruises deepened by shadows.

Fresh anger roused inside me—hot and cutting, drawing my hands into fists, my lungs into tight knots that made breathing painfully labored.

“Let me help you,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. I held my hand out toward her—a mistake.

She exploded from the corner like a startled hare from its discovered hiding place, forcing me to fling myself aside or risk being trampled. Like a wild thing blinded by fear, she crashed into the walls, the chairs, then turned for the window.

I lunged and grabbed her as her feet left the floor, my arms wrapped around her waist. We hit the floor, rolled in a tangle of her kicking legs and flailing fists.

I caught her wrists and pinned her to the floor beneath me. My heart pounded as I stared down into her face, tear-streaked and anguished, her wide eyes looking through me as if witnessing something too wretched to bear. A sound escaped her—pitiful it was, heart-rending, like the weeping of a dying doe.

“Hush. Hush. I won’t hurt you. How could I hurt you. Maria! Stop fighting. You’ll harm yourself. Stop.
Stop!”

“Trey!” Edwina cried outside the door, then she banged on it with her fist. “Are you all right?”

“Go away. Leave us alone.”

“Stop this madness before you’re killed. Come out of there. Now.”

“Get the hell away from here. Go to bed.”

The door flung open and Edwina entered, nightgown flowing from her shoulders in folds of gossamer silk. She froze at the sight of me, straddling Maria, my chest heaving from exertion, the scratches on my face broken open by a jab she had landed against my cheek.

Edwina gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.

“Dear God. She’s an animal.”

Lifting my head, I stared into her horrified eyes. “And you’re a heartless bitch. Get out before I throw you out. Not just out of this room, but out of Thorn Rose; before I make you regret you were ever born. I’m capable of it, Edwina. More than you know.”

“You’re as mad as she is to put yourself through this…hell,” she declared breathlessly.

“Aye, and growing madder by the moment. Now get
out!”

“Fine. I’ll get out. You deserve one another.”

She stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her and relocking it. I heard her bark orders at Iris and Herbert before something broke. A vase? I hoped to Hades it wasn’t the Chinese dragon figurine I had planned on selling to the magistrate’s wife for enough to pay Herbert’s wage come Sunday.

The fight having left her, Maria seemed to melt in my grasp—lifeless, to my despair. What little rationality had gripped her in those moments vanished as if she had, once again, retreated into that strange void where I could no longer reach her.

Lifting her in my arms, I gently placed her on the bed, propped her on the pillows, and draped her in the sheet.

She looked little more than a frail child as the sheet molded to her thin curves. The image made my chest grow tight. So little of the woman I had known remained—her breasts once full, her hips once shapely, comforting me as I lay on her, inside her, feeling her heart beat against mine.

I briefly closed my eyes and listened to the rapid thump of my heart in my ears until my breathing became steady once again and the anger had settled somewhere deep in the black pit of me.

Then I looked at her again.

Her face was turned away from me—her long lashes shadows upon her milky cheek. How the vision of her in that moment roused the images of another time—when we had lain upon the meadow grass, her naked body sprinkled by anemones as pure white upon the upper surface of the petals as her skin, and beneath, pale rose to match her lips. I had nestled my naked body close to hers, and whispered: