The Dark One (15 page)

“Maybe this is the one,” Gabriel said quietly. “The one battle that may save us all.”

Armond hadn't thought of that—the riddle in a poem left by the first cursed Wulf. He hadn't gone in search of the enemy, but perhaps the enemy had decided to come to him.

“Good night, Brother.” Gabriel rose. “It would be nice if I could carry you up the stairs on my shoulders and deliver you to your bride with well wishes. But I cannot. We are not normal men, Armond. See that she doesn't make you forget that with her ripe red lips and her deep violet eyes.”

Armond didn't respond and Gabriel obviously didn't expect him to. His brother left the study. Armond glanced toward the ceiling as his brother had done earlier. He'd told Rosalind the choice of sleeping arrangements in their marriage would be up to her, but he wondered if he could stay on his side of a door that joined their rooms. He wondered if he could manage to resist her, even for tonight.

The bath was wonderful, but lacking in that Rosalind had none of her perfumed soaps along with her. Hawkins had given her a bar of something that smelled like Armond. A hint of sandalwood. Well, she supposed it would have to do until she was able to retrieve her things from the house next door. She shivered at the thought of confronting Franklin. She wouldn't take the clothing he'd had made
for her when she first arrived in London. None of the gowns were to her taste anyway. They were meant to show her figure. They were meant to entice a man—to trap him into marriage.

She felt as if she'd trapped a man after all. And she wasn't certain Armond Wulf was the type of man a woman wanted to ensnare. His voice had been cold when he'd said that he did not love her—would never love her—and yet when he kissed her, or touched her, there was nothing but heat between them. Last night she'd awoken at some point, feeling as if someone was standing over her, staring down at her.

Now the memory seemed hazy to her, as if she might have been dreaming, for she remembered opening her eyes in the darkness and seeing only the shape of a man and, in place of his eyes, two glowing coals of blue fire. Again she shivered, and realized her bath had grown cold. Rosalind reached for the towel Hawkins had provided. She stood and wrapped it around her and had only stepped from the water when the adjoining door suddenly swung open.

Her gaze locked with her husband's. He did not blush upon realizing he'd intruded upon her bath, nor did he look away. “Forgive the interruption, Rosalind,” he said. His gaze ran the length of her, settled upon her exposed legs, then finally lifted to her face. “It is time to go next door and retrieve your belongings. Afterward I have business to attend to.”

For a moment, Rosalind forgot about her state of undress. “Next door? Already?”

He moved farther into the room. “I told you last night it would be our first order of business. You need your belongings.”

“Perhaps I could just wear the same gown for the rest of my life,” she said. “Sleep in your shirts.”

Armond walked to the bed where she'd shed his shirt, picked it up, held it to his face for a moment, then laid it back down. “I am not poor, Rosalind. I can have everything ordered new for you if you wish. I assumed you'd have private belongings of importance to you.”

“I have little left in the way of personal belongings.” Rosalind clutched her towel tighter. She had wanted to cry when two months back she'd gone to her jewelry box to fetch a pair of pearl ear bobs that once belonged to her mother, only to find them gone. And any jewelry of value. Franklin had hocked them, and when confronted, he'd simply shrugged and said he'd needed the coin.

“But I do have a silver brush and comb that belonged to my mother, and I would like to keep them in my possession.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Armond had changed the subject so quickly his question took her off guard. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “Armond, do you mind?” She glanced down at her nearly naked state.

“No, I don't mind,” he answered, and a half smile shaped his sensual lips.

“Well, I do,” she said. “I know I'm your wife now, but I hope that doesn't mean I am no longer to have my privacy.”

He walked toward her. “Hawkins is upset that we don't have a personal maid in residence for you. I thought I might suffice until I can hire someone . . . if I can hire a woman who'll work for me in this house.”

The thought of Armond helping her dress made her blush. It also brought thoughts of him helping her undress. She turned her back to him. “I can manage on my own.”

She felt him behind her, so close his body heat penetrated her chilled skin. He pushed her hair over one
shoulder. His lips touched the sensitive place where her shoulder and neck met. “Do you know how beautiful you are? How seemingly perfect in every way? Do you know how badly I want you?”

Rosalind fought the urge to close her eyes and lean back against him. The way his voice lowered an octave when he was impassioned affected her strangely, almost as if he could put her under a spell. She recalled her decision that what she wanted, in fact needed, from Armond was more than physical pleasure.

“You said that the choice of intimacy would be mine,” she reminded him, although she was embarrassed by the husky sound of her voice, the slight shaking of her legs. “It seems like a long time has passed since I've had choices of my own. I want more than what you want to give me, Armond.” She felt his sudden withdrawal from her in more than a physical way when he stepped away from her.

“I cannot give you more,” he said. “I did not lie to you, Rosalind. I did not try to deceive you. The pleasure we can give each other might be a sorry substitute for love in your eyes, but it is all that we can have together. I told you that before we made our vows to one another.”

His honesty was admirable. And heartbreaking. Rosalind's future still loomed bleak before her. “Then the vows we made were false,” she said. “Everything about our marriage is false. I would have done just as well to have married Lord Penmore.”

She wasn't prepared when he reached out and turned her to face him. His expression was stricken. “Do you truly believe that?”

Guilt immediately rushed up to claim her. The future was not as bleak as it had once been. “No,” she admitted. She sighed. “I'm sorry for saying that to you, Armond.
Too much has happened too quickly. I need time to adjust. I relish the idea of making my own decisions again.”

What she didn't tell him was that for the first time in a long time she might feel safe again, but she wanted to feel loved again. Rosalind could face anything the future might bring her, if only she had a deep connection to another human being again. One that was returned.

“And so you shall make your own decisions,” Armond said, although he didn't look that happy about the one she'd already made. He moved toward the door. “Meet me downstairs in the dining room when you're dressed. You didn't eat much last night. I've had Hawkins instruct Cook to make us a big breakfast. Gabriel will be present.”

His last statement sounded like a warning.

Still clutching her towel, she nodded.

He made one last lazy sweep of her and left the room. Once he'd left, Rosalind let out a sigh. This was awkward. Being Armond's wife, yet being denied a suitable amount of time to have been courted by him, to get to know him better. Suddenly she felt like they were polite strangers dancing around each other. She supposed that it was when the music stopped that she should worry about.

She recalled that she had much more to worry about at present and decided to focus her attention on that. Perhaps she should ask Armond if he had a pistol and if he knew how to use it. The conversation she'd had with Armond at supper last night came back to her. Was her stepbrother a murderer? She didn't want to believe he was capable of that atrocity, but she wasn't certain. Any man who held women in such low esteem as to hit them might hold women in low enough esteem to kill them as well.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that breakfast waited downstairs. Breakfast and Armond's brother, who did not look at all happy last night upon learning of his
older brother's recent nuptials. Rosalind went about the business of making herself presentable. She put her hair up and struggled into the same clothing she'd worn the previous day. Her undergarments were another must that she would fetch from the house next door.

Once she'd dressed, Rosalind left the room and went downstairs. She heard the clank of dishes and walked into the dining room. Armond and his brother sat at the table. Neither spoke to the other. As if he felt her presence, Armond glanced up at her.

“Come, sit next to me, Rosalind,” he instructed.

He stood, gave his brother a dark look that also had the man rising as she entered, although she could tell Gabriel didn't want to. In the light of day Gabriel was even more handsome but, she thought, not so handsome as Armond, or perhaps it was only her preference that made that distinction between them. Gabriel wore his hair shorter, just to the point where it curled around his collar. His eyes were a vivid green, and again, she was struck by his commanding presence.

“Good morning, Lord Gabriel,” she said as she joined Armond. Her husband pulled out her chair and she noted that he'd also had a plate filled for her.

“Morning,” Gabriel muttered, then seated himself and immediately focused his attention on his breakfast.

Awkward silence stretched. Rosalind picked up her fork and toyed with her breakfast. Conversation over a meal was obviously not a necessity among the Wulf brothers. She felt it important to bridge the gap between her and Gabriel, at least for Armond's sake. But what to discuss with the brooding man? Armond had said the estate was his one true love.

“What is Wulfglen like, Lord Gabriel?” she asked. “I love my father's country estate. I was quite happy there until . . . until I came to London.” It suddenly occurred to
her that Armond would now be responsible for Montrose, though he could not inherit her father's title. That would pass to her son . . . but Armond had said there would be no children.

“It's beautiful,” Gabriel rather reluctantly admitted. “The land is good for farming, if we don't do much of that. But there is good grazing for the horses, and plenty of room for them to run.”

“I love horses,” Rosalind said. “The Arabian mare is my favorite in Armond's stable. Did you raise her from a foal?”

Gabriel set his fork aside. “Yes, I did, and she's still a filly. She hasn't been bred. Armond and I in fact argued over her. I wanted to keep her to raise colts, but he thought she was too delicately built and would fare better as a lady's pleasure horse.”

“She
is
delicate,” Rosalind admitted. “But she has such good lines. Very distinctive Arabian traits, with her flared nostrils and perfectly arched neck. Maybe if you bred her with a stallion just a bit larger than her, you could drop foals with her distinctive traits, yet of a sturdier stature.”

“That is exactly what I suggested to Armond,” Gabriel said, and Rosalind finally saw signs of life from him. “See, even Lady Wulf thinks so,” he said to his brother.

She glanced at Armond and found a slightly bemused expression on his face. Rosalind felt a rush of pleasure, for she could tell her tactics for drawing Gabriel out pleased him.

“Rosalind likes the filly so much I have decided to make a gift of the horse to her,” Armond said. “I suppose it's up to her if she wants the horse bred or not in the future. That can be a project between the two of you.”

Rosalind shook her head. “A gift? No, Armond, she's worth too much. I couldn't—”

“Of course you can,” Armond interrupted. “You are my wife. There's nothing wrong with a husband giving his wife a gift that pleases her.”

Even though her spirits soared with the thought of owning the beautiful white filly, Rosalind saw by Gabriel's sudden frown that the reminder of her being his brother's wife had spoiled the conversation. She turned her attention to her breakfast. The rest of the meal passed in chilly silence.

Hawkins arrived with two men she assumed were kitchen help to clear away the dishes. If suddenly having a woman amid an obviously male-dominated domain ruffled him, she couldn't tell it. Armond rose and pulled her chair out for her.

“It's time to fetch your things, Rosalind.”

Her stomach twisted into a knot. “Do you have a pistol, Armond? I have no idea what my stepbrother might do. I fear if he doesn't try to shoot you, at least he'll threaten you to a duel of fisticuffs.”

“I'll lend my fists,” Gabriel suddenly came back to life. “We Wulfs take care of our own.”

“I wouldn't mind having you at my back,” Armond said to his brother.

Gabriel rose and the three of them left the dining room. The closer they drew to the foyer of the house, the greater distress Rosalind felt. Armond, she noted, didn't look in the least nervous but simply determined. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabriel. He looked almost pleased by the possibility of a fight.

Hawkins held the door for them. The day outside had dawned sunny, though she did not feel sunny on the inside. They hadn't stepped two feet outside of the house when a carriage pulled up and Franklin and Penmore got out. When Franklin saw her with Armond, his face turned purple. He marched toward them.

“You will release my stepsister this instant!” he shouted. “You had no right to take her from me!”

Rather than speaking, Armond marched straight up to Franklin and delivered him a sound blow to the jaw. Her stepbrother stumbled back and had barely righted himself when Armond lunged forward and delivered a second blow.

“I should kill you,” she heard Armond say. “And I will, if you ever touch her again!”

“I say, Wulf,” Penmore sputtered, taking a step forward.

Gabriel left Rosalind's side and went to stand beside his brother. “You say what?” he inquired of the man, his voice very low.