When he moved away from her to allow them both to take a breath, his eyes were intent upon her face. He ran a finger from her lips, down her neck, and across the tops of her breasts just above her stays. “Is this what you really came here for?” he whispered.
Marlene wanted to deny it, to claim that she had never embarked on an affair, had never lain with a man before—only it wouldn’t be true. She had always had a passionate nature. Perhaps the fear of nearly losing her life as a child had compelled her to engage in carnal activities. Whatever the reason, she had only been with one other man, a hasty coupling that had taken her virginity not long after her parents had passed. She’d been despondent, her soul grieving for the tragedy that had occurred. She hadn’t known his name. It was a single night of passion with a stranger at a masquerade ball at Vauxhall. She had gone to the illicit affair with a friend determined to lose her innocence.
Looking back, she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do, even if she had always held a slight regret that she’d never known the man’s identity.
She realized that, as a fallen woman, she couldn’t offer this man before her anything more than the same. As much as she wanted to give in to the power of persuasion, she had to think sensibly. In her observant experience, temporary affairs never lasted. It would be best to harbor her passions, rather than risk furthering the emotional damage it might cause between her and Sir Gothry. The man at Vauxhall had been faceless and nameless, but the master of this manor was her employer.
And a witch.
She dared to place a restraining hand on his chest. “Returning the robe is all I came here for. Good evening, Sir Gothry.”
She turned and wrenched the door open, rushing down the hall.
Chapter 8
After a fitful night, where her dreams were clouded with more visions from the past, and perhaps even a warning for the future to come, Marlene reluctantly rose the next morning and laid out a dark green gown, feeling the somber tone suited her mood. But she didn’t feel like dressing just yet. If she had her way, she might just stay in her room.
She approached the silver tray that had been left on her dressing table and sat. But she merely picked at the food and ended up pushing most of it away with a sigh.
She sat there for a long time and just stared at her reflection in the mirror. Was Sir Gothry correct that she had some sort of supernatural ability, perhaps brought about by her close experience with death? After her episodes started, it had taken years before they had finally ceased. Perhaps the combination of grief over her parents’ deaths, as well as the surge of consciousness in this place had made her susceptible to its power yet again.
Marlene prayed that wasn’t the case, but what else would come close to explaining these episodes she’d been having? Now that she knew she wasn’t going mad, and that they weren’t hallucinations, she could be in very real trouble. And the only man who might be able to help her was the one from whom she should steer clear.
Moving away from her dressing table, she walked over to the terrace and stared out along the horizon. After last night, when she’d returned Sir Gothry’s robe and they had shared a devastating kiss, she had been hard pressed to deny her attraction to him. It had always been present since the day she’d arrived, but now it was a thrumming awareness that flowed through her body. It would be difficult to face him in the light of day and act as though nothing untoward had happened, because she knew it would pass between them like a shock of lightning, raising the hair on the back of her neck.
Right now, he was the forbidden fruit, just like the man in the mask that fateful night at the ball when she’d offered herself without reservation or regret. The difference was that Sir Gothry had the power to destroy her if he wished to do so. He was no ordinary man, but one with abilities that could warp the mind and spirit.
She shuddered just thinking of all the stories she’d heard about witches over the centuries. Not even a hundred years ago, just an unfounded rumor could be a death sentence. And yet, he had asked for her trust. Could she really offer that to someone of his standing? He had mentioned a coven. Who knew how many more like him she would have to encounter before this was over? It wasn’t a pleasant thought, to say the least.
As she inhaled the strong scent of heather blowing across the vast, open fields, she pictured the man from the bookstore in the village and tried to imagine him as Sir Gothry’s foe, Hector Corinth. She didn’t think that he appeared capable of such treachery, but neither could she discount him on that merit alone. She wasn’t sure if Sir Gothry would allow her to go into the village until Hector made an appearance. He definitely wouldn’t let her go without him, that she knew.
And then, there was the matter of the key to consider.
Marlene glanced back at the lantern on her side table and thought of the small, metal item inside. If Hector was able to control her mind in some fashion, he must know that key was important somehow. She hadn’t yet figured out a way to find out what it opened without anyone, especially Sir Gothry, knowing about it. She felt as though she should hold some of the cards if it turned out she was left on her own without any assistance. Should Hector kill Sir Gothry or abscond with her, she wanted to have some sort of bargaining chip to remain useful.
It was the only way she might retain her life.
A light knock at her chamber door caused her to gasp. She spun around and saw a shadowed set of feet in the crack beneath the door. She grabbed her robe from the bottom of the bed and held it in front of her, as if it was a shield. “Who is it?” she called out, grateful when her voice didn’t waver.
“Sir Gothry,” came the deep reply.
Marlene shoved her arms into her robe and fastened it securely. She forced her fists to unclench, and after a quick glance around convinced her that everything was in order, she smoothed her unbound hair and opened the door. Holding a hand at her throat, she noted the pensive look on his face, she feared Hector had arrived. That very concern compelled her to ask, “Is something wrong?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, as his blue gaze swept down her attire. “Get dressed and meet me in the north wing. I have something to show you.”
He strode off with purposeful steps, and Marlene closed the door. With a restorative breath, she began to gather her clothes.
Once she was presentable, Marlene quickly made her way to the master’s wing. She was grateful that she didn’t encounter Mrs. Bates on her way to the forbidden area. That made her wonder if the housekeeper was aware of her master’s true identity.
Or if she was part of it.
Sir Gothry was standing outside of his bedchamber, leaning against the doorframe when she appeared.
“I was worried Hector had appeared and demanded an audience,” she said when she approached him, hoping that her concern would be enough of a reason to explain her sudden breathlessness.
“That will not happen,” he said vehemently. “I won’t allow it.”
“You may not have a choice,” she returned quietly.
