Obsession (6 page)

“Coy anemone that ne’er uncloses

Her lips until they’re blown on by the wind.”

Aye, my precious, fragile anemone had been battered. I would crush the guilty culprits with my own hands, if I could. My need for retribution shook me.

I moved to the window and thrust it open—then drank in the air in hopes it would assuage the heat of rage building, building in my every fiber. The wind arose, as if somehow disturbed by the turbulence of my emotions, tossing the dark firs, filling the night with the sounds of whispers. A sharp coolness brushed my face, a hint of changing weather, sending a shiver down my spine.

Upon the horizon rose the eerily gyrating light of the distant coal mines. Soon I would smell the acrid stench of the burn, and the deep black smoke boiling into the sky would obliterate the stars.

As a boy cursed by a vivid and wild imagination, I had oft believed the fires to be belching dragons and I a knight in Arthur’s court sent to slay them. My brother and I, caught up in such inventions, would parry with invisible swords while bouncing on our beds, until Grandmother would sweep in and staunch our fantasy with reminders that dukes had men slay dragons for them.

Ah, Grandmother, the hateful and hated dowager duchess.

She would come to Thorn Rose, of course, and I would be forced to face her. She was not, nor ever had been, a woman to back down in the face of adversity. Clayton had once sworn that she would stand toe to toe with the devil himself if it meant protecting the Salterdon lineage. I had no doubts.

Yet, in that moment, I felt more evil than the devil.

I
SLEPT OFF AND ON THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT IN
a chair by Maria’s bed, and awoke, neck and back stiff, to find a gray morning outside the window, tumbling clouds above the treetops and the first spitting of rain against the mullioned panes.

Edwina stood over me with a breakfast tray, her gaze fixed on my hand that was wrapped around Maria’s.

There was little of the previous evening’s emotionalism on Edwina’s face. She wore an emerald green dressing gown and had brushed her flowing hair until it shone like silken fire. As usual, she smelled of roses.

“I wonder which of you is more insane,” she said. “I’ve brought her porridge and you look like hell.”

Groggy and aching, I took the tray. “She’s not insane.”

“No? Then what is she?”

“Frightened.”

She floated to a nearby chair into which she gracefully dropped, watching as I moved with the bowl of porridge to the bed.

“I thought you were leaving,” I said as I regarded Maria’s face. She was staring again at the window.

“In time.”

“The weather’s turning sour. Best leave before the roads become impassable.”

“You know I can’t tolerate travel in this sort of climate. Besides…” She lay her hand on her belly. “I don’t feel well. And something else.”

Sitting on the bed, I looked toward Edwina, waiting.

“I felt the child move.”

Wind rattled the window.

I stirred the porridge, watching the thin golden streams of honey dissolve. “In most cases, I would say that congratulations are in order.”

“What an annoyance.” Her voice quavered. “I was certain I awoke with a raging case of dyspepsia.”

Her blue eyes widened and her face flushed. “There it is again. For God’s sake, Trey, do something. Make it stop. I can’t bear it. Any of it. This…dreadful illness…”

She jumped up and ran for the chamber pot.

I looked away while she retched as ladylike as possible. When she finished, she leaned against the wall and turned her sweating face toward mine.

“I could kill you for this.”

“You’ll survive. Stop sniveling and come help me.”

“I’m not sniveling. For God’s sake, I expect a modicum of compassion from you.”

“Seems I recall more than a few times when you’ve reminded me that I’m compassion
less,
Edwina.”

“Obviously, I was right.”

“Obviously. Now come here.”

She made a face and reluctantly stood at my side, refusing to fully approach the bed, as if Maria’s malady would somehow infect her. Her carriage remained rigid, her expression one of repulsion.

“Lift her slightly,” I ordered, dipping the spoon into the cooling porridge.

“I won’t. She’s…filthy.” She glared at Maria, whose soft features were as smooth and pale as the cold melted taper wax on the table.

Although I had never struck a woman, in that moment I wanted to slap the haughtiness from Edwina’s face.

Something in my mien must have warned her that my patience had grown much too thin to tolerate her behavior. Still, she made no attempt to hide her disgust as she slid one arm under Maria’s shoulders and barely lifted her from the pillow.

Maria’s head rested upon Edwina’s shoulder like a sleeping child’s, causing Edwina to gasp and tense up.

Looking into Maria’s face, I smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Edwina asked, frowning.

“Her eyes.” I stirred the porridge again. “She has beautiful eyes. I’ve never known a woman who could so love with her eyes.” I smiled again. “She could undo a man’s soul with her eyes.”

Edwina looked away. “Get on with it, will you? I’m feeling desperately ill again.”

I lifted the spoon of porridge to Maria’s mouth. “Eat,” I said gently.

Nothing.

I wedged the tip of the spoon slightly between her lips. “Please.”

Nothing.

I allowed the porridge to slide from the spoon, onto her tongue.

It ran, unswallowed, down her chin.

Again.

Nothing.

Again, my frustration mounting. My hand shook. My brow sweat.

“She doesn’t want it,” Edwina said.

Again.

“You must eat, Maria. Please. Listen to me.”

“She doesn’t hear you.”

“It’s Trey, dear heart. Please. For me.”

“She
can’t
hear you.”

“Please.”

“For the love of God, darling, she’s dying. Accept it and let her go.”

“Damn you!” I exploded into Edwina’s shocked face, then hurled the bowl of porridge as hard as I could against the wall and stormed from the room.

I
N THE LIBRARY,
I
POURED A GENEROUS GLASS OF
Scotch and paced as I drank it too fast. It burned my throat and hit my gut like a fire-punch. Then I poured another, drank it as swiftly, then another, pacing, doing my best to dilute the impact of Edwina’s words. I wanted to return to Maria’s room and force the sustenance down her throat, wanted like hell to obliterate Edwina’s words, which boiled like something toxic in my brain.

A fire burned in the hearth. Dropping into a chair before it, I stared into the little crackling flames, hearing the patter of light rain against the windows.

I suddenly felt crushed by the weight of my despair and helplessness.

“Trey,” came Edwina’s gentle voice.

“Get the hell away from me, why don’t you? Leave me the hell alone. For the love of God, Edwina…just go home.”

She moved to the chair and dropped to her knees, one hand lightly resting upon my thigh. Her pale face reflected the glow of the fire as she watched me.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

Sinking back into the chair, I turned my face away, unwilling to let her see the raw emotion I was feeling at that moment.

“You would have to have known her, Edwina. She was so damn pure. Too good for me. So full of trust and kindness. To think that I, in some way, have brought this upon her…”

I swallowed, the Scotch dragging me down. The room swam and I felt like a man drowning, going under for the final time and too damn weary to struggle.

“I can’t lose her again.”

Edwina removed the empty glass from my hand and set it aside. “You’re inebriated, darling. And exhausted. You can’t help her if you’re like this. You need rest.”

“You’re right. She’s dying; she’s given up. If I could only reach her—but I don’t know how.”

Edwina left momentarily and returned with several tasseled pillows, which she placed on the floor in front of the fire.

“Come here.” She extended her hand. “Come to Edwina. Poor darling. That’s right. Lay your head here on my lap, as you did last month in Paris. Remember how we made love all night? You lay naked with your head in my lap as we watched the sun rise. There, there. Let me stroke your brow. Close your eyes. Do you remember, darling?”

“Maria,” I whispered, drifting into the dark.

Y
OU HAVE TO WAKE UP NOW.
M
ARIA?

“I don’t want to. I’m so cold. Please, just let me sleep. I’m so very tired.”

I said to wake up.

“You’re angry. Why are you so angry with me, Paul?”

You have to eat.

“No. I don’t want it. It’s…vile.”

We have to talk.

“Not now. Later. I’m so very tired.”

I’ll leave and I won’t come back.

“No! No, please. Don’t say that. Don’t ever, ever say that!”

You can’t continue like this, Maria. You can’t will yourself to die. You have to fight.

“I’m too bloody tired to fight. Besides, it’s so much gentler here, in the dark. It’s too frightening there. Too…horrible.”

I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.

“Why won’t you let me die? Then we can be together forever; you, Mama, and I. Like it used to be, before you went away.”

We’re not children any longer.

“I wish we were.”

Maria, you must stop being afraid to come out of the dark.

“Never. I’ll never come out, ever again.”

Things have changed.

“Never. Not for you. Not for anyone. I’m lost, I tell you. I’m lost.”

6

“S
HE’S GONE,
Y
ER
G
RACE.
T
HE LASS IS
gone! Fled like a chick from a coop, she has. Vanished!”

The cry wedged through my murky confusion and thrust me into a frail reality where pain drove a sledge against my temple.

Iris stood upon the library threshold flapping her arms in excited agitation, her face a mask of fear and despair. As I roused, I blearily wondered if I was still mentally tangled in some dreadful nightmare.

“She’s gone,” Iris repeated in a horrified whisper.

I shoved Edwina’s hands from me and jumped to my feet. “What the hell are you saying, she’s gone?”

“The door was unlocked. ’Twas open. ’Erbert and me has looked all over. She ain’t in the house, Yer Grace.”

As I stumbled from the room, numb and sluggish from inebriated sleep, I came face to face with Herbert wearing a long dressing gown and night cap. He smelled heavily of my Scotch, and his eyes were rimmed red as a summer sunset.

“Who left the damnable door unlocked?” I demanded through my teeth.

“She did, Your Grace.” Herbert pointed at Edwina. “She were the last one out of the gel’s room.”

Her eyes wide, Edwina took a cautious step back, her mouth opening and closing, saying nothing.

“I’ll deal with you later,” I threatened, trembling with a fury that made me feel too dangerous to linger in Edwina’s presence a moment longer. I bolted from the room, slamming the door behind me with a fierceness that rattled the windows and caused Iris to jump like one scalded and Herbert to turn tail and flee down the gallery, his hairy, banty legs flashing with each extended stride.

I stormed from the house, into the inclement midnight—to what intent or purpose, I could scarcely tell. Where would I go? Where would I search?

The night was black as pitch and wet, bitterly cold, and the prospect of finding Maria seemed vastly unlikely. A chaos of heart-pounding emotions swept upon me like an avalanche, rendering me paralyzed and drowning in a whirlpool of helplessness.

I had never loathed Thorn Rose more than I did in that moment. I despised every wild privet hedge that might hide her from my sight, every wall that barricaded me from a glimpse of her body.

I half rushed, half staggered like a blind man along the cobbled paths, my stocking feet splashing in the puddles, the windwhipped drizzle clawing at my face and making me struggle for each breath.

I trampled through plots of wild anemones and crushed the pummeled peonies and raked my shins through rose briars that tore at my breeches and scored my flesh like razors, crying her name again and again.

“Maria!”

It pounded inside my head and my heart, louder with each beat of mounting fear and self-recrimination.

“Maria!”

The horror of her vulnerability drove me on, a wild search of every privet and recessed nook within the manor’s towering stone walls.

Where?

“Maria!”

God, where had she gone?

Think. Think.

Stopping, I gasped for air that bit sharply at my aching lungs, as my frantic gaze rushed from one hedge to another. Then I lifted my sight toward the long tongue of lapping fire illuminating the sky in the distance.

The light! Merciful God. Would she search out the light?

I leaped or tumbled over the rose-strewn walls. The lea stretched out before me and behind me, black as perdition—my soul in a paroxysm of anger and despair.

I earnestly prayed for death in those moments—an end to the guilt that razed my conscience. No crime of the heart I had ever committed, no iniquity I had perpetrated upon some innocent soul, no gambled and lost farthing had left me so teeming with torment and misery.

What if I were to find her lying on the damp earth, dying, or already dead—God forbid?

The appalling possibility drove me onward until I reached the wide river-bed that curved like a serpent’s back through the dales, its water shallow but cold—so very cold as I plunged into it that its icy grip climbed up my ankles and calves and sent dull blades of ache up my legs.

There was no sound but the chuckling of the water and the splash of my feet as I slipped on the round stones that made my path as treacherous as ice.