Bittersweet Obsession Page 4

  Angel moved his feet closer to the meager fire, but the heat hardly penetrated the leather of his boots. Zander was preoccupied with the drapes, so Angel added an armful of kindling to the hearth. Even though the coal grate had been empty for a week, the dried kindling proved sufficient. Within moments, impressive flames burned in a hearth that had not felt the scorching heat of a respectable fire all winter.

  Angel relaxed back and basked in warmth. He glanced over at Zander. His head nearly reached to the top of the drapes as he started at the top of the fabric and traced the pattern to the bottom. The fire crackled loudly but Zander continued his task for several minutes. Then something drew his attention away from the monotonous game and he turned around.

  Flames roared in the hearth. He stared at it for a moment, and it seemed that he’d grown out of his fear. Without warning Zander’s eyes bulged and he lumbered toward the fireplace. Angel jumped up so fast, the tray, tea and all, spilled onto the rug. Zander’s tree trunk sized arm shoved Angel out of the way. Angel flew into the wall and smacked it hard enough to rattle the ancestral paintings hanging there. He fell to the floor.

  Zander reached into the flames with bare hands and pulled out the kindling. His sleeves and skin were on fire. Angel pushed to his feet, raced to the drapes, and ripped one panel from the window. Zander stood with arms outstretched calmly staring at the flames that burned his shirt. The pungent smell of burning flesh clouded the air, but it was apparent Zander felt nothing. Angel threw the heavy drapery over Zander’s arms and suffocated the flames.

  Ellie followed the smell of smoke into the room and stood open mouthed in the doorway. She could see enough to know that something beyond explanation had just occurred. Zander stared at the fabric covering his arms and smiled. The fire had petered to a respectable size, and the glowing embers Zander had dragged from the stone fireplace petered out on the marble floor of the hearth.

  Angel walked over and gently lifted the fabric from Zander’s arms. He flinched at the site of the blistered flesh but it did not affect Zander in the least. The same witless smiled stayed plastered across his face.

  “I’ve got some salve for that,” Ellie said shakily. Anyone else would have run from the room in fright, but the ever stalwart woman walked in and led her patient from the room.

  Father skulked in the shadows of the hallway when Angel came upon him.

  “Father.”

  The old man startled and nearly dropped the plate of cheese and bread he held. He had aged in these two days.

  “Angel, I did not see you.” He looked unsettled in his own skin as he spoke.

  “What about the girl, Father?”

  “What of her?” His eyes darted to the door of his lab and then back to Angel.

  Angel stepped closer and his father backed up a step. “Please tell me you have failed miserably.”

  Father’s lips pulled taut as if he contemplated his next words carefully. Then the veins in his forehead swelled with anger. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son, but I have not failed. And Rowntree will not be disappointed when he visits. There will be two impressive examples of my work to tout. But she is weak still. I don’t know when she’ll be strong enough to walk. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “I doubt you’ll want to parade Zander in front of Rowntree,” Angel said coldly.

  Father’s face popped up. “And why not?”

  “He just set his arms on fire . . . purposely. Although, perhaps Rowntree won’t mind spending eternal life as a feeble-minded, animated corpse. Only a lunatic would want to live forever.”

  “Fire? Why did you let him so near the hearth? You know he hates flames.”

  Angel rubbed his shoulder. It had taken the brunt of the collision. “I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “I shall examine Zander later. In the meantime, Angel, why don’t you amuse yourself in your usual life of debauchery and allow me to continue with my experiments to save humanity.”

  Angel’s laughter echoed through the hall. “Is that what you tell yourself, Dr. Van Ostrand? Is that how you are able to look in the mirror each morning, by merely convincing yourself that what you do, you do for all of humanity?”

  Rage once again reddened Father’s face, but he was speechless.

  “I assure you, Father, if a prize was being presented for the one with the largest collection of sins, you would win. I may come in a close second but surely the grand prize would go to you.”

  Father snorted like an angry bull, spun on his heels, and slithered into his lab. Angel watched the door shut behind him. He heard the lock spin. Curiosity drew him to the door. Angel pressed his ear to it, listening for a sound. It was not beyond reason that his father had lied or embellished on his success.

  Aside from the clatter of the tray his father had carried and the creaks of the floor boards, there was little sound coming from within. Angel was slightly heartened by the thought that Father may have very well traveled far enough out of his senses to imagine that he’d brought the girl back to life. He pulled his ear from the door and then it happened. It was the faintest sound but it had a profound effect on Angel and his entire body went rigid. There was no mistaking what he had heard. It was the soft, dainty

  Chapter 7

  She stared down at the plate of bread and cheese in her lap. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she did not possess the strength to eat. The man pulled up a chair near the cot she sat on. The gruesome drawings had been removed from the wall, and two candles burned on the table where she had woken hours before. The hole in her side still throbbed but the stitches made it easier for her to move.

  He watched her take a bite of the bread and then handed her a cup of tea. “What do you remember, Jane?” he asked quietly.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir, but why do you call me Jane?”

  He faltered on an answer and appeared agitated. “Why, you told me your name was Jane while you drifted in and out of consciousness. Do you not remember your own name?” He looked oddly pleased about it.

  She tried hard to think but it was as if her mind had been wiped clean. It took herculean effort to bring up even the slightest bit of a past. There was no past. It was as if she’d been born just yesterday. “Well, if you say it is true,” she said shakily. “Truthfully, I cannot remember. I cannot remember anything.”

  Again his face which should have appropriately shown concern showed relief instead. “Do not fear, my dear. It is the shock of your ordeal. It will come back to you in time.” He smiled but she did not feel the slightest bit reassured. Equally at odds were her own feelings. While she should have been overwhelmed with despair at her situation, she felt strangely secure as if she had escaped something horrible, something treacherous.

  “Are you a physician?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but you are not in a hospital. This is my home.”

  She stared down at the plate and the pink muslin dress she wore. “Is this dress mine?”

  “No, no, Jane. It belonged to my late wife.” The man paused and seemed suddenly lost in a past memory. A gleam grew in his green eyes. “She was about your size but I’m afraid it is several years out of fashion.”

  She brushed her hand over the finely woven fabric. Everything, even the feel of the dress, felt foreign to her. “I’m sorry you lost your wife. Do you have children?” There was so much she needed to know. So many questions crowded her mind that her head throbbed from it. She pressed her fingertips against her temple.

  The doctor stood abruptly. “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  It was a suggestion she readily accepted. He helped her lift her weakened legs onto the cot, and she rested back on the pillow he had so graciously provided her with. Her gaze drifted around the strangely appointed chamber. Her memory failed her but she somehow knew this was not a regular bedchamber. “Is this the office where you examine patients?”

  “Uh— well— yes, yes it is.” He moved his chair closer and took her hand. “My dear, prepare yourself for
something dreadful.” He laid his hand on her arm. “You were left for dead on the ice. My son and I discovered you and brought you here. But you are safe now.”

  Left for dead. The words repeated in her head over and over again. No matter how hard she tried, she could not remember one moment of her life before waking on the hard table and seeing the doctor stare down at her. The effort of it made her sleepy and her lids felt heavy with fatigue.

  The doctor pulled a blanket over her and she drifted off to sleep. She had no idea who she was or how she had ended up in this foreign place with this strange man looking after her and yet she felt oddly at peace.

  Chapter 8

  Angel wiped his forehead. The temperatures still hovered near zero but he’d set himself the task of splitting more firewood, and even without a coat, he felt heated from the labor of it. His shirt clung to his skin with sweat.

  Zander had been strangely subdued after the fire incident. He sat for hours in the parlor chair staring at the linen wraps around his arms. At first they had not dared to light a fire in the room, but it became so unbearably cold inside that they risked it. Zander had had no reaction.

  Father had all but locked himself away in his lab, and no one had talked to him in days.

  Hunger gnawed at Angel’s stomach. He wedged his ax into the stump and headed to the kitchen.

  Ellie looked up from her work table. “No coat? You must have worked up an appetite out there, Master Angel. Have a seat in the dining room, and I’ll bring you your breakfast,” she said cheerily. She was hastily preparing a tray of eggs and ham.

  “Save yourself the burden of carrying in the tray for me. I’ll eat right here.”

  She smiled. “This tray’s not for you.” She attempted to hold back a grin, and it was obvious she had news to tell.

  “Is it for Father?”

  “No,” she smiled. “We have a visitor, a young girl who arrived late last night apparently. Dr. Van Ostrand says she is a distant relative.”

  Ellie’s excitement grew with each word just as Angel’s grief grew. She picked up the tray and hurried out of the room. Angel sat silently in the warmth of the kitchen. This could not be. There seemed to be no way to stop his father’s madness. Scientific failure had been his only hope. The manor would soon resemble a lunatic’s asylum. Another layer of insanity would soon be added to their already loathsome existence. And for the time being, Angel could do nothing to escape the desolate life at Greystock Manor.

  Ellie did not return, and Angel’s appetite had diminished upon hearing the news of Father’s visitor. He headed to the drawing room to be alone with his thoughts. The room was empty, cold, and dark. He tossed a few pieces of wood into the hearth and lit them but did not draw back what remained of the drapes. He slumped into the chair and stared at the growing flames.

  For a few moments only the snapping sounds of the fire filled the room then he heard Ellie’s voice. “I’ll start a fire for you in the drawing room, Miss, and you can have your tea in there.” Ellie appeared in the doorway. She smiled at Angel. “Master Angel, you have read my thoughts. I was about to start a fire so our guest could warm herself.”

  Father entered with the girl on his arm. Angel jumped to his feet nearly pitching the heavy chair sideways.

  She stepped into the dimly lit room, but her own source of light seemed to follow her. She was tiny, delicate, and by far the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Long auburn curls were pinned up hastily with a pearl comb, his mother’s comb. Round violet eyes surveyed the room then settled on him. He had to slow his breathing as her lush pink lips turned up slightly.

  His father stepped forward and looked disgustedly at his sweat-drenched shirt. “Make yourself presentable, Angel, and join us for tea. Then I will introduce you properly to our visitor.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Father,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m just leaving.”

  Angel looked at the girl again. Her face was the essence of innocence and all that was right with world then he reminded himself of the irony standing before him. He turned to his father. “You’ve given her Mother’s dress to wear?”

  Then she spoke, hesitantly, softly, but it was a sound that floated around the room like music. “I’m so sorry. Of course you don’t want to see your beloved mother’s dress on a stranger. Please, if I’m given a washboard and sewing needle, I can repair the dress you found—”

  “Nonsense,” Father said quickly. He glanced at Ellie to see if she’d noticed the strange conversation but she had busied herself with the fire.

  The hurt in the girl’s face made Angel regret that he’d brought up the dress.

  She stepped forward cautiously holding one arm against her side but moving with the grace of a dancer. Without warning, she placed her frail hand on Angel’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I see I’ve caused you distress.”

  Angel stared down at the warm, white fingers that held his arm. His father was truly a genius, he would give him that. She felt all too alive and he reluctantly dragged his arm from her touch. Her fingertips, light as silk, trailed down the length of his wrist and over the palm of his hand. He felt the sensation of her touch deep in his chest. He looked at his father who seemed to have difficulty looking him in the eyes.

  “Bloody hell, Father, what have you done?” He left the room, grabbed his coat from the hook, and headed to the stables.

  Titus needed no prodding. He seemed to sense his rider’s urgency and galloped along the swath of road that had been worn clean of snow and ice by previous travelers. Angel had no real sense of where he was headed, but the rush he felt from riding fast and hard helped ease the misery that had penetrated every inch of his soul. His long hair whipped around his face and his eyes burned from the cold, but he didn’t slow. The image of the girl could not be wiped from his mind. She’d stood so sweetly innocent in the drawing room, an unwitting victim of a rich man’s obsession and his father’s madness.

  The village was nearly deserted. Spring and summer weather brought people from their shops, homes, and surrounding farmsteads, but the same faces disappeared in the bitter frost of winter. Angel paid for the owner of the livery to feed and house Titus. He had no plans of returning home today.

  A few patrons lined the benches in the Elk’s Horn Inn. Angel walked to the counter. “A bottle of gin, Marty.” He scanned the shadows of the room for the face he was hoping to find and spotted her red hair instantly. He threw his money on the counter, grabbed the neck of the bottle between two fingers, and walked purposefully toward Ruby. She’d been standing seductively between the blacksmith’s legs. The man scowled at Angel as he interrupted their intimate conversation.

  Angel took hold of Ruby’s hand and nodded politely at the man who looked quite close to jumping up and grabbing him by the throat. “My apologies, Mate,” he said and ignoring the curses being thrown at his back, he dragged Ruby behind him through the room.

  “George is one of my best customers,” she said hastily as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.

  He stopped when they reached the door to the backroom where Ruby lived and entertained her clients. His gaze traveled from her mouth to the deep cleavage rising above the chemise beneath her dress. He cupped the side of her breast in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the thin fabric. Her nipple pushed against his thumb and she sucked in a breath. He smiled up at her. “Shall I take you back to George then?”

  She grabbed for the doorknob.

  They’d barely shut the door of the room and Ruby had pushed the coat from his shoulders and had begun to fumble with the fall of his breeches. He reached down and grabbed both her wrists in one hand and lifted her arms above her head as he pressed her against the wall. His fingers clutched at her dress as he slid the hem up above her hips. Ruby moaned softly as he pressed his mouth against her ear. “I love a woman who does not bother with drawers or stays.” His fingers ran along the inside of her thigh and she collapsed but he held her wrists fast. Her eyes drifted clo
sed as his fingers found the mound of soft curls between her legs. He plunged two thick fingers into the moist heat. She pushed her hips toward him writhing against his hand. She struggled to loosen her hands but he held her securely, his hand moving in rhythm with her hips. Her breath quickened with her movements and a flush moved up her throat. Then her lips parted and she screamed out in pleasure as she held his hand between her thighs.

  Once released from his viselike grip, her arms flew around his neck for support. Then she dropped to her knees and finished unfastening his breeches. Within seconds her luscious plump lips were wrapped around him, her tongue running along the ridge and circling the tip of his erection. He grabbed hold of her hair and held her face close to him inching his way deeper into her hungry mouth. When his release was near, he lifted her to her feet and carried her to the bed. It creaked and tilted beneath their weight as he lay down on his back and she straddled him, her dress now up above her waist. He reached up and lifted it clean away from her body and her nipples tightened instantly beneath his gaze. He reached up and traced them lightly with his calloused fingertips.

  “My angel,” she whispered, “my beautiful angel.” Then he drove into her and she moaned softly, clawing at his shoulders until her scream of release came again. Angel’s thrust grew faster and harder until his release was imminent and he quickly lifted her off before spilling his seed in her. She crumpled next to him with a shuddering sigh and the bed once again protested with a loud creaking sound.

  Ruby rested her face on his chest and draped her arm and leg across his body. His fingers tangled in her soft red waves. “What brought you here today, Soldier? As much as I would love to think you came with the sole purpose of seeing me, I know I’d be fooling myself.” It was the first time he’d heard sadness in Ruby’s voice. He’d never given it much thought, her lonely existence, pleasuring men for money just to have a warm meal and a room to sleep in. Sometimes his selfishness astounded him. He must have inherited the trait from his father. “What has you so upset, Angel? Something has you in a bad way,” she pressed her face harder against his chest, “I can hear it in your heart.”