Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance
Fairydale: Part 1 – Chapter 8

By the time Caleb pulls up to Astor Place, I’m still shaken from what happened. So much so that I only want to close myself in my bedroom, away from everyone around me.

Yet more than anything, I resent the fact that I agreed to remain in Fairydale. Why in God’s name did I have to accept the clause?

Because you’re petty. And because it’s one million dollars.

The pettiness is technically out the window since Vicky is no longer a contender. But it’s one million dollars.

One. Million. Dollars.

What fool would give that up? And for two months of living in this godforsaken place.

Although this morning I would have said that I could bear to stay two months, now I’m not sure anymore.

Odd deaths? Just how many odd deaths can be in a small town?

Add to that the many unusual things that have been happening around me, and I’m either truly losing my mind, or there is something really off about Fairydale.

What had Caleb said, that the town is acquainted with the occult?

A shiver goes down my back at the thought. Yet I can’t not consider the possibility.

Not anymore.

‘I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here, Darcy. You should come stay with us,’ Caleb says as he helps me out of the car.

I shake my head.

‘I told you I won’t. I’ll be fine here. If the sheriff calls on me for a statement, then I will go. But I didn’t do anything, so why would I hide?’

‘I’m not saying you did anything. I know you didn’t. But they don’t. You saw how those people reacted…’

‘I’m aware. But that doesn’t mean I have to hide like I’m guilty,’ I sigh.

‘Let me stay over at least,’ he suggests, and my brows shoot up in surprise.

‘You know I can’t do that,’ I tell him softly, fighting the blush going up my cheeks. ‘It wouldn’t be proper. And I don’t want to feed the gossips even more. I have to stay here for two more months.’

He purses his lips, clearly not pleased with my decision.

‘I’ll sleep in another bedroom,’ he probes further, but I remain firm in my decision.

‘I’m already embarrassed that you had to take care of me last night. That you…’ I pause, undoubtedly red from head to toe. ‘That you undressed me,’ I add on a whisper.

A knowing smirk flashes across his face.

‘If it makes you feel better about that, Darcy darlin’,’ he says as he takes a step forward, his hand slowly trailing down my face. ‘I tried to preserve your modesty.’

‘You…did?’ I blink in surprise.

He nods slowly, his lips tugging up.

‘I did my best to not make you uncomfortable,’ he whispers as he leans forward. ‘Although I have to admit. The temptation was…agonizing.’

‘Well,’ I clear my throat, my entire body humming with awareness, ‘I’m glad you were so circumspect,’ I say as I swallow hard.

‘For now,’ he murmurs, wickedly winking at me.

‘What?’ I squeak.

‘You make it very hard for me to be a gentleman, Darcy. But that’s what you want, do you not? A proper, virtuous, boring gentleman.’

‘Doesn’t everyone want that?’ I counter in a soft voice—one that doesn’t seem convincing even to my ears.

‘That’s what you think you want, darlin’,’ he drawls, his voice a combination of decadence wrapped in seduction. ‘But I know what you need.‘

My pulse accelerates from his nearness and intense perusal.

‘And what is that?’ I ask slowly, fighting to keep my voice unaffected.

‘You need a bad man, not a gentleman,’ he rasps as his gaze connects with mine. ‘You need corruption and sin, Darcy darlin’. You need someone to worship your innocence and despoil it at the same time.’

I stare at him, unable to find a proper reply. Not when despite the alarm bells sounding in my head, my body is aflame at his nearness, growing hotter with every spoken word—every threat that sounds like a slow seduction.

‘Despoil? You make it sound so…violent,’ I laugh nervously. ‘We’re not in the middle ages anymore,’ I mumble quietly.

‘No. Pity we’re not,’ he replies in a serious tone.

Suddenly, he leans in, his lips brushing against my earlobe.

‘Violence and sex are inevitably interlinked. They have the same urgency. The same impetus to drive forward,’ he murmurs softly. ‘The same desire to plunder and possess.’

‘I… I wouldn’t know,’ I gulp down, feeling myself in entirely foreign territory.

‘But you will,’ he says as he draws back.

I expect to see amusement in his features at making me flustered, but instead all I see is a frightening intensity that leaves me breathless and wanting.

‘Good night, Darcy darlin’. Dream of me,’ he brings my hand to his lips, kissing it like he did before, all the while not taking his eyes off me.

His lips curl up when he senses my erratic pulse, but he doesn’t comment further. He simply urges me on, getting in his car only when I’m inside the house with the locks in place.

Just like the first day, I hurry to my bedroom window, pulling the curtain aside and watching his car disappear up the hill.

My heart is still beating loudly in my chest, and as I bring my hands to my cheeks it’s to feel them hot to the touch.

‘Drat it,’ I mumble, heading to the bathroom to splash myself with some cold water.

Yet as I turn the faucet off, I hear a very familiar sound.

‘Meow!’

Following the meows, I come face to face with Mr. Meow. Right in my house.

He’s on my kitchen table, casually licking his paw and giving me a satisfied look.

‘How did you get here?’ I ask, startled to find him here.

‘Meow…’ he comes closer, nuzzling his cheeks against my waist.

It’s then that I remember the first time I’d seen him had been by the Old Church. Maybe that’s the area he frequents since he doesn’t seem to have an owner.

But what was he doing around the cabin then? That’s at the outskirts of Fairydale, quite a distance from here.

My thoughts are a whirlpool of confusion, but as I gaze into his big eyes, I can’t find it in me to toss him out.

Didn’t I want to keep him before?

He must be pretty smart since he found me first.

My lips tug up in a smile as I grab him, tugging him to my chest.

‘Well, it’s good that you’re here, Mr. Meow. I’m going to feed you and take care of you from now on,’ I tell him gently as I go to the cupboards, removing a few cans of food and heating them up.

Some, I choose specifically for him, and some for myself since I didn’t get to eat earlier.

When the food is ready, I go against dining etiquette and allow Mr. Meow to eat at the table with me. In fact, I’m surprised by how well behaved he is. He doesn’t even try to sneak his snout into my plate, keeping strictly to his own serving.

‘That’s a good boy, aren’t you?’ I smile as I pat him on the patch of white hair.

Turning, he licks his lips, giving me a loud meow to suggest that he enjoys that gesture. So I repeat it.

What I expected to be a lonely meal turns into quite an animated one. Maybe I can’t exactly understand what Mr. Meow is saying to me, but his body language is quite clear. He leans into me when he likes something and shies away from my touch when he doesn’t.

He’s smart like that.

When we’re both done, I clean the plates and place them up to dry. Then I take him in my arms and head upstairs to the bedroom.

Taking some paper and a pencil from my purse, I make a list of things I must do now that I’m going to spend the next two months in Fairydale.

The first thing is to find a telephone and call the school, Allison and the nuns. I wouldn’t want them to worry about me.

I doubt the school will want to keep me with such an extended vacation, and if they decide to let me go then I will agree with their decision.

For God’s sake, it’s one million dollars. At the end of it all, I don’t even know what I’ll do with that type of money.

Maybe buy a house and settle somewhere, get a part-time job and invest the rest?

Hmm… The choices are infinite. One thing is for sure, though. I’ll need to be careful with the money. I’ve seen cases where people lost the money as easily as they got it.

After I’ve made a to-do list, I chat a little with Mr. Meow—though he can only meow his reply. And as nightfall is upon us, I start preparing for bed.

I carefully take off my bandage, inspecting my wound.

To my surprise, I don’t see any of the skin abrasions the doctor had described. In fact, as I stare at the mirror, I have to wonder if the light isn’t faulty because I can’t see anything.

My skin is as unblemished as it was before.

Frowning, I take my dress off, inspecting the other places on my body—finding them equally as pristine.

No wonder my rib cage had stopped hurting after some time. As I look at it now, I can’t find any bruise—not one discoloration.

Even the gash on my thigh is gone, the skin absolutely flawless.

‘What…’ I mutter to myself.

Was it all in my head?

But it can’t be. Caleb himself saw the injuries, and Dr. Bailey treated my head wound. He inspected and dressed it.

That was only hours ago.

How in God’s name are all my injuries gone now?

Thinking a relaxing bath would help, I run some hot water and get in the tub to soak my body.

Yet it’s all in vain.

My muscles are still tense, my mind rattled by all the events that had happened to this point.

I have absolutely no injuries! And this morning my body was teeming with gashes, scratches and bruises.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so worrisome if it had been an isolated incident—though let’s face it, it’s absolutely unusual—but combined with everything that’s been happening, and I can’t help but feel I’m missing something.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath as I go back to the beginning in an attempt to understand what’s happening.

The first red flag is that I’d been called to Fairydale under the assumption that my biological father was dead, but he was only pretending. No matter how much I think of it, it has to have been a premeditated act.

The question is why…

Then there are the sadistic murders. First Mr. Pierce. Then Vicky and the two men.

I’d already established that I was the link, but not why.

And the answer comes easily. All of them, at one point or another, had tried to harm me.

Mr. Pierce had threatened me, as had Vicky—on top of attacking me. One of the men had stolen my luggage while the other had leered at me and pinched my bottom.

All four of them had done something against me.

But if it’s clearly not me who is doing this in some twisted game of revenge, then someone out there is.

Who?

The only person I know in Fairydale that I am on good terms with is Caleb. And he had been with me at the medic’s office.

But what about before?

I blink, the thought suddenly crossing my mind.

There’s no telling for how long those bodies were hung there.

Caleb had arrived at the Pierce House right after the will reading, but where had he been before that?

Suddenly, I’m scared to entertain that thought. Surely, he’s not capable of something that heinous…

But Mr. Vaughan had said he’d been in the war, and I’m certain he’d had to do…things there.

There is also the matter of yesterday—or what I remember as yesterday.

Despite him being on his best behavior today—playful, flirty, and seemingly having my best interests at heart—I can’t stop thinking about the other side of him… The one he says was only a product of my imagination.

But how could I possibly imagine him behaving in such a manner? How could I entertain the thought that a man could treat me like that?

Something doesn’t fit…

Yes, he appeals to me on a deeper level. But he also scares me all the same.

‘Meow…’

Mr. Meow pushes the bathroom door open with his head, sneaking inside and coming to the edge of the tub.

‘Do you want a bath as well?’ I smile, banishing all doubts.

Leaning over the tub, I grab Mr. Meow and I bring him inside, wetting him just a little before he releases a startled meow and jumps on me.

Luckily, his claws are sheathed, so he doesn’t end up hurting me. He’s just holding on to my neck with his little paws, his body fitted to my torso.

‘A little water won’t harm you,’ I chuckle.

A few moments in his presence and I already feel invigorated.

Bit by bit, I manage to submerge him in the water, cleaning him and rubbing his belly as he likes it.

When the water grows cold, I take him in my arms and we both get out. I dry him first before I dry myself and put on my nightgown.

‘It’s not too late but I’m exhausted,’ I murmur as I lay a kiss on his forehead. ‘Shall we go to sleep?’

With a meow of confirmation, I take him with me in bed, snuggling with him as I drift into sleep.

June 1790

Essex, Great Britain

‘You just got out of mourning, mama. We shouldn’t go to a house party and pretend everything is alright,’ I try to convince my mother as our carriage rattles into the majestic estate of the Duke of Essex. ‘It’s not proper.’

‘After all the ignominies your late father made me suffer over the years, this is not in the least improper, dear. I’m going to that house party and I’m going to have fun for once without looking over my shoulder. It’s already been a year, and considering Haversham’s reputation, no one will blame me,’ she huffs her nose in the air, snapping her fan at me and thereby closing this discussion.

I release a weary sigh as I burrow myself in the velvet cushion of the carriage.

After my father’s sudden death, we’ve had to forgo the London season due to mourning. And though the requisite period has technically passed, I still think it’s too early to show our faces in society—particularly after the nasty rumors that my mother had a hand in father’s death.

My older sister is already married and settled at her own home, so now it’s only my mother, my brother and me. And with my mother’s tyrannical bent, even though the title came down to my brother, she is in charge of everything.

‘And here we are. Our new chance at life,’ my mother breathes out in awe as the opulent estate comes into view.

‘Maybe yours,’ I grumble under my breath.

It’s not that I don’t love my mother—I do. She’s been my champion growing up, trying to make everyone see past my eccentricities and accept me for who I was. But she’s also an extremely strong willed woman who is used to getting her own way.

Even during her marriage with my father, though she abhorred the public humiliation, she was happy to be left alone to her devices as the mistress of the manor. She took her duties seriously and made Haversham the most profitable it had ever been. The staff liked her, the villagers loved her and she was seen as something of a fairy godmother to all her acquaintances.

‘Elizabeth!’ She gasps, horrified. ‘This is your true chance at making a proper match. Not the ones your father would have chosen for you,’ she chides. ‘He only cared about his own interests, not your wellbeing. But don’t worry. With me by your side, I’ll make sure you have only the best suitors,’ she nods to herself, pleased with her reasoning.

I force a smile, barely stifling the urge to roll my eyes at her.

She’d done this with my sister, and though she’d matched her with a wealthy viscount, I doubt my sister is very happy. At least that is the impression I get every time I see her and she complains to mother that her husband is still visiting her bed despite having given him two sons.

My mother, of course, had told her to listen to her husband and given her some type of potion to make the entire situation more bearable.

I’d eavesdropped on their conversation, of course, since mother would never allow me to know things that pertain to married life yet—ironic considering I will experience it at some point, too.

Yet seeing the wretched state of my sister doesn’t give me a lot of confidence in what mothers consider a good and proper match. She might have my interests at heart, but ultimately, she holds her own even closer to her heart.

The carriage draws to a halt, and when our door is opened, my mother is the first to get out, with me next.

‘Can you believe we’ll be here for the next fortnight? No more exile, Elizabeth,’ she tips her chin up, her eyes closed as an expression of pure happiness descends upon her face.

‘Of course mother,’ I nod, going along with her.

For her it might be a fortnight of fun, but for me it will be one of wasting my time in the nursery. Father died right as I was about to make my debut, and we entered mourning immediately after. As such, I have not made my official entrance into society, and though I am allowed to attend the daytime events, the same cannot be said about the soirees or the balls that are the highlight of the Duke of Essex’s house parties.

We’re soon greeted by the hosts before we’re led to our rooms. Oddly enough, we’re separated, my mother having a room in the east wing, while I am in the west.

Mary trails behind me as we head to the room, one of the footmen walking alongside her as he’s carrying my luggage.

Leaving the bags in the room, Mary tips the man as she shoos him out of the room.

‘Come on, he’s probably ill from the confines of the trunk,’ I say frantically as I take one of the smaller bags, laying it flat on the floor as I unlock it.

Not a second later and Mr. Meow makes his appearance, thrusting his head forward just as he emits a loud meow when he sees me.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Meow. You know how mama gets when she sees you.’

How I’ve managed to hide him for close to a year, I don’t know. Since finding him in the backyard, I couldn’t find it in me to part with him, so I’d stolen him into my room, giving him food and taking care of his needs.

In the time we’ve spent together he’s become my greatest friend, always there for me, always ready to give me an understanding meow or a comforting pat.

Maybe our languages are not compatible, but I feel as though we understand each other better than if we spoke words.

He jumps on me, thoroughly licking my face and I know he’s not upset about being confined in such a small place.

‘I have a treat for you,’ I whisper as I remove a small piece of food from the inside of my dress, holding it to Mr. Meow’s face.

His eyes go wide before he leans forward, wolfing the piece of ham in one go.

‘I’ll steal more from the kitchens for you,’ I promise him, finally putting him down.

In the same trunk, I’d packed him a small cushion on which he can sleep—although he always ends up in bed with me—as well as a necklace I’d had custom made for him. Removing the necklace from the silk pouch, I’m once more reminded I’d used all my pin money to commission the engraving. Yet as I place it around his neck, I can’t find it in me to regret it.

A white leather strap—to complement his patch of white hair—goes around his neck, with a small silver pendant hanging from it, which has an engraving on it.

Lizzie’s Mr. Meow.

A wide grin pulls at my lips as I look at him.

‘Oh my, but aren’t you dashing now Mr. Meow?’ I ask playfully.

Like the smart cat he is, he walks straight to the wall-sized mirror on the other side of the room, stopping to admire his reflection.

Until Mr. Meow, I’d never realized that cats can recognize their own reflection, much less look for it of their own volition. It all proves that my Mr. Meow is no ordinary cat.

‘You like it, don’t you?’ I move to his side, dropping to my haunches in front of the mirror.

I swear I detect a nod before he jumps up at me, giving me another lick.

‘You’re officially mine,’ I tell him proudly, taking him in my arms and patting him on the head.

For the next few hours, I get ready to meet the guests, taking a bath and dressing up to perfection as mother instructed.

Though she hasn’t specifically said so to me, I am aware that this house party will be a perfect opportunity for her to scout a potential husband for me. In fact, if she manages to marry me off before I’m due for my season, she won’t have to act the matronly chaperone and she can go on her marry way and do things as a widow that she was never permitted to do while married.

Despite knowing her wishes fully well, I can’t get on board with her idea.

I am aware I must at one point get married. But how can I when I am still hung up on one person?

Amon d’Artan.

It’s been more than a year since I last saw him, and though I doubt I’ll ever see him again, I can’t help the way my heart skips a beat as I remember his sharp features, or his naturally white hair.

It hadn’t been only his looks that had forever seared themselves in my heart. It had been his act of kindness, and the way he’d tended to me after a vicious attack.

He’s been kind, sweet, and ever so gentle.

Despite the fact that he disavowed the term as applying to his person, he’d shown me kindness and consideration—more so than the distinguished gentlemen of the ton who only see me as a broodmare.

But then there was his appellation for me—Lizzie mine.

I still dream about it, and sometimes, in the silence of the night, I could swear I hear him whisper that in my ear.

A year has passed, and he is still always on my mind.

‘There you go, My Lady,’ Mary’s voice startles me from my thoughts.

I give her a nod as I examine myself in the mirror. She’d done my hair in a simple style with a few curls down my side.

Rising from the chair, I pat my hands down my gown, smoothing out the wrinkles before I ultimately don my gloves.

If there is one thing I am happy about for having missed my debut the year before, it’s the change in fashion. No longer the big hoops, heavy wigs and ostentatious styles of dress, now everything is minimalistic; simple but elegant.

It certainly aids movement more than the odious contraptions I was supposed to wear before.

‘Thank you, Mary. Now wish me luck,’ I smile at her before I’m out the door.

A servant soon intercepts me, leading me to the drawing room where I’m supposed to meet my mother and Her Grace, the host. It is my understanding that Her Grace has decided some outdoor games would be the best way to get everyone familiar with each other, though I doubt the option is still on the table considering the gathering of clouds I spot out the window.

‘There she is,’ Fiona, my mother, rises to come greet me.

Placing her arm around my back, she pushes me forward.

‘Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Lady Elizabeth Montford,’ she adds in a buoyant tone, going around the room and doing the introductions with everyone present.

‘Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,’ I curtsy to the Duchess before I do my best to politely interact with everyone.

It’s only after a lengthy series of inane small talk that I am allowed to take a seat.

‘There’s only one person missing,’ the Duchess suddenly says. ‘Oh, there he is. And right on time,’ she brings her hands together in a clap just as thunder resounds in the sky. ‘Good thing we have the Dowager Duchess,’ she adds lightly. ‘At her age, she can feel the storm brewing in her bones,’ she laughs, prompting everyone else to do so as well.

Straining a smile, I look around the room until my eyes suddenly meet…his.

‘This is Amon d’Artan, Marquis d’Ombre,’ the Duchess starts, ‘a relative of my husbands. He has decided to make England his home permanently after what happened in France last year.’

‘Good afternoon,’ he nods to everyone. ‘Of course I couldn’t stay,’ he flashes the Duchess a smile. ‘I predict it’s going to get quite nasty. Better run while I can,’ he winks at her.

The Duchess blushes profusely, and I can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy in my gut.

What follows next are the same inane introductions as before, and when it’s my turn, I give him a small smile and a curtsy.

‘Pleased to meet you, Lady Elizabeth,’ he drawls, his voice making the hairs on my body stand to attention. Yet I can’t tell whether he recognizes me or not.

No, what I’m feeling is purely a result of his presence and of his utterly ethereal looks.

Just as I remember him, he has long white hair, currently tied to his back. His eyes are the lightest blue I’ve ever seen, and at times I get the impression they are glowing—an unnatural light that makes him seem as otherworldly as I remember.

Sadly, I’m not the only one noticing this.

Every woman in the room, married, unmarried, or widowed, nearly swoons when he directs his attention to them.

Already, one second in his presence and I know everyone is scheming on how to get him to the altar—if he’s not already married.

My eyes widen at that thought, but just as if he could read my mind, Amon brings his hand to his temple, showcasing an empty ring finger.

I swallow uncomfortably at the glee that erupts in my chest when I realize he is unattached.

When the storm shows no sign of abating, the Duchess declares we must all gather for tea and cakes.

No sooner does she place the order than a sea of servants enter the room with a variety of cakes, sandwiches, and most importantly tea.

It becomes immediately apparent that the Duchess has thought about everything, with several spare plans to use in case the former fails.

As the staff arranges the mini-buffet around the room, everyone starts to mingle and interact with one another.

Seeing that my mother is involved in quite the animated conversation with a General, I leave her side, going to peruse the selection of food.

‘Are you a fan of sweet, or savory, Lady Elizabeth?’

I don’t have to look to know who is speaking to me, my heart already jumping in my chest from his deep rumble.

‘Both,’ I answer in a soft voice. ‘I find that they complement each other, wouldn’t you say so, My Lord?’

Coming closer than it is proper, his breath is on my cheek as he whispers.

‘Have you missed me, Lizzie mine?’

The words have their intended effect on me as I become short of breath and rather dizzy, but I cannot allow him to see that.

‘Whyever should I miss you, My Lord?’ I half-turn, giving him a small smile. ‘We don’t have that type of acquaintance where I’m allowed to miss you, do we?’ I murmur.

His mouth is set in a grim line as he regards me mutinously, clearly not pleased with my words.

‘Perchance I haven’t proven that to you, and I accept it as my fault.’

‘Proven what, My Lord? You’ll have to be more clear,’ I smile.

‘That you’re mine, Lady Elizabeth,’ he adds with a mischievous smile. ‘But I’m sure I’ll enjoy proving it to you.’

‘Hmm,’ I turn from him. ‘You speak pretty words to a lady you’ve only met once before. How am I to know this is not your modus operandi? That you’re not charming every lady you meet the same way?’

‘You wound me, Lady Elizabeth,’ he brings his hand to his heart. ‘Alas, you would be wrong to make such an assumption,’ he says in a playful voice before dipping his head lower, his mouth close to my ear as he continues, ‘There is only one woman I wish to claim, Lizzie mine. Past. Present. Future—and for an eternity to come.’

‘Why now? Why seek me out after so long?’ I demand on a whisper, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

‘It wasn’t my intention to do that,’ he sighs. ‘Things…have kept me away. Abroad,’ he clarifies, moving closer. ‘I would have come sooner for you had I been able to.’

Deep down, all I want is to believe him. Even realizing how foolish it is to yearn for someone as much as I have him, I cannot stop myself.

One meeting and he imprinted himself on me.

‘You made me no promises,’ I shrug, the words burning on my tongue.

‘The blood I spilled for you was promise enough,’ he murmurs. ‘The blood I would spill again, and again. Just to keep you safe. Happy. Mine.‘

I swallow hard, his voice sending shivers down my back just as his hand accidentally brushes against my gloved one. Despite the lack of skin to skin contact, the surge of electricity is immediate. So much so that I can’t help but turn to look at him, my eyes on his, my breath coming out in tandem with his.

For a moment, one short moment, everything stills.

There’s no one else in the room but he and I, lost in each other’s gazes and the timelessness of time. The air hums with energy, the storm raging outside only serving to emphasize the precarious storm taking shape within my breast.

He’s close, yet he’s so far away, and though I know I shouldn’t, all I want is to reach out.

‘Elizabeth!’

The spell is broken as my mother reaches my side, giving Amon a deadly look before all but dragging me away from the buffet table.

‘Don’t talk to him again,’ she orders me. ‘I don’t want to see you ever talk to him again.’

My eyes widen with shock at her vehemence. I’ve never seen her act like this with anyone before.

‘Why?’ I frown. ‘He’s a friend of Her Grace’s.’

‘He’s bad news, Elizabeth. He’s the worst news and I prohibit you from talking to him again,’ she grits her teeth. And as she glances back at where Amon is sitting, casually looking at me with unabashed hunger, my mother becomes even more erratic. ‘Go to your room. Don’t come out tomorrow either. I’ll arrange something with Her Grace…’ she drones on, but I easily find myself gazing back at Amon and his knowing smile.

Winking at me, he turns to leave the room. True to his word, he doesn’t engage with anyone else.

‘Are you listening, Elizabeth?’ My mother snaps.

‘Of course,’ I nod. ‘You said to not talk to him again.’

‘Exactly. It’s for your own good dear. He’s not for you,’ she gives me a tight smile before she sends me back to my room.

Crossing the corridor to my room, I barely realize when a door to my right opens, a hand curling around my wrist and tugging me inside.

I’m about to scream when I come face to face with Amon.

‘What…’

‘There’s a ball two nights from now,’ he whispers, and in this position I have to crane my neck to look at him. ‘Come.’

‘I can’t,’ I sigh. ‘I’m not allowed, and my mother would never let me,’ I explain, disappointed at the missed opportunity.

Despite being a little wary of Amon due to his previous disappearance and my mother’s warning, I can’t ignore this want inside my chest—this inexplicable desire to be near him, always with him.

For a year he has persisted in my thoughts, with just one interaction irrevocably claiming my heart—though I am reluctant to admit as much.

I want to dance with him, touch him, feel his breath on top of my skin and hear his voice rumble in my ear.

I just…want.

‘And you’ll have it, Lizzie mine. You’ll have all of it,’ he says, his words cryptic. ‘It will be a masquerade. I’ve persuaded the Duchess to throw one. That means you will be able to attend and no one shall be the wiser.’

‘But how? I don’t have anything to wear and…’

‘You will. I’ve sent for a package to be delivered to your room. In it you shall find everything you might need,’ he smiles, his eyes roving over my face as if it’s been eons since he’s last seen me.

‘Why?’ I ask softly. ‘Why me? Why are you doing this?’

Why now?

His smile deepens.

‘Precisely because you’re you. And because that makes you mine.’

I barely get to process his words and I’m back on the corridor, moving towards my room.

Yet despite all the confusion, there’s a giddiness that overtakes me as I’m finally alone in the confines of my room.

Amon d’Artan is back.

Although I’d suspected my mother had simply warned me off Amon because he is reputed to be quite the rogue, I’m surprised to see how vehement she is that I stay away from him.

Barely one day has passed since she issued the first warning, and now she’s back to reiterate it—this time calling me to her chambers for an important discussion.

‘I don’t understand you, mama. I’m sure the Marquis would have no interest in me.’

‘I saw how he was looking at you,’ she hisses. ‘You don’t know him, or his kind, my dear child,’ she sighs when she sees my perplexed expression. ‘All my life, I’ve tried to protect you and your siblings from this side of the world.’

I shake my head.

‘What side of the world?’ I frown, not understanding her.

She waves her hand, dismissing the topic.

‘It’s not important now. But I need you to keep your distance from that man. This is for your own good, dear.’

‘But how? If you don’t tell me, then I won’t know how to protect myself.’

‘Come here,’ she says, tugging me into her arms and giving me a heartfelt hug. ‘You’re special, Elizabeth. More so than you’ll ever know. And because of that, I must do everything in my power to protect you. Do you understand me?’

I nod slowly.

‘Promise me you won’t seek him out,’ she whispers against my hair.

‘I promise,’ I reply, the lie making me physically ill.

My mother has never been so decisive about something, and though the logical part of me knows I should heed her warning, the fickle, romantic side of me has already decided I will not.

Not when Amon isn’t just the reprehensible rogue my mother portrays him to be.

He is my savior. The man who’s haunted my dreams—during the night and daytime.

As such, when the night of the masquerade arrives, I proceed with my plan.

‘Are you sure, My Lady?’ Mary asks as she regards me with worry in her eyes.

‘You can retire, Mary. I just have a slight headache. It should be fine once I go to sleep,’ I tell her, feigning a tired voice.

‘If at any point during the night you feel ill, please call on me and I’ll fetch the physician.’

‘Of course. Good night, Mary.’

She lingers for a moment longer before she sighs and leaves the room.

I wait a few more minutes and I jump out of bed. Lowering myself to my knees, I grab on to the big box I’d hidden under the bed, sliding it towards me.

My lips tremble with excitement as I take the top off, revealing a glamorous black dress accompanied by a simple lace mask featuring a black feather.

I first put on the dress, marveling at how easy it is to do it by myself. In fact, I have to wonder if Amon took that into consideration when he picked it…

As soon as that thought arises, it dawns on me that he must have planned this for far longer than he let on—otherwise how would he have had a dress on such a short notice? And one that seems to have been made for me, too.

Despite the fact that my first instinct should be to be suspicious, I can’t help but feel flattered. The fact that he’d thought of this in advance must mean that his words were true. He was biding his time…

A blush appears on my cheeks.

It seems that our fateful meeting a year ago hadn’t been one sided. Maybe he had been equally affected by the moment—equally fascinated by me as I’d been by him.

Fanning myself, I realize I need to get to work on my hair if I am to make it to the party on time. It always happens that the moment I think of him I lose track of time, just as I lose myself in the maze that is my imagination of him.

Given that Mary isn’t here tonight, I have to do my hair myself, so I go for the simplest style. I braid a few strands while leaving the rest of my hair unbound down my back. A scandalous style for a debutante—but an accepted one for a more seasoned lady. And since no one shall know my identity tonight, I can be a little more risqué.

When my hair is done, I put on the mask, carefully securing it in place with pins.

And the last step—rouge.

Since I’m about to be quite scandalous, what could be more so than red lips?

Applying some red tint to my lips, I can’t help but admire myself in the mirror and imagine what Amon will think when he sees me.

The black of the mask accentuates the blue of my eyes, while the red pops against my pale skin and black hair.

I’m not immediately recognizable, but if you looked closely enough, you could tell it was me by my eye color alone. But that is easily remedied. I will just not interact with anyone but Amon.

When I’m done, I put my slippers on and I’m out of the room, walking briskly towards the stairs to avoid detection.

The music from the orchestra resounds through the entire house, the melody lulling me closer just as a sigh escapes my lips. Excitement thrums through my veins and for some reason, I know this night will irrevocably change my life. Like a seed planted in fertile soil, this, too, feels like the beginning of something

Once I enter the ballroom, it’s quite easy to get lost in the throng of people—but quite hard to find Amon.

My first inclination is to look for his white hair, but there are many men wearing wigs, making it hard to differentiate among them.

Grabbing a champagne flute, I let my gaze roam about the room, surprised at some of the costume choices. Some had resorted to extravagance, their costumes embodying historical or mythological. I think I spot a Cleopatra, an Aphrodite, a gladiator, and a Roman Emperor. Most people, however, had simply opted for simple masks and a change of hairstyle, not wanting to be entirely unrecognizable.

A low hum of energy travels down my back.

‘Looking for someone?’

I feel him before I hear him, his body heat surrounding mine, his presence never failing to make every inch of my skin radiate with tension.

‘Maybe,’ I reply saucily, suddenly turning.

My eyes widen as I take him in.

His hair has been dyed black, just like the mask that’s hiding his perfectly sculpted features. Like me, he’s dressed entirely in black, his light eyes the only contrast.

‘You look spectacular as always,’ he takes my hand in his, laying a kiss on my gloved knuckles.

My pulse accelerates, and I find myself tongue-tied before him.

If for the past year I’d kept imagining thousands of scenarios in which we would meet again and what I would say to him if that happened, now that he is here, in flesh and bone, I do not know what to say.

What do I know about flirting, or being charming, or witty when I’ve rarely had the chance to interact with anyone—let alone men.

‘You don’t have to say anything witty to have my full attention, Lizzie mine,’ he murmurs against my hand, his warm breath penetrating the lacey glove and meeting my naked skin. ‘You only have to exist and you’re all I see,’ he continues, coming closer and tugging a strand of hair behind my ear.

His proximity makes me feel light-headed—though maybe that’s the champagne, too?

‘Let’s dance,’ he suddenly suggests, and without waiting for my reply, he whirls me towards the dance floor.

Seeing him against the sea of people I can admit to myself that there’s nothing inconspicuous about his height and build. Even without his signature white hair I would have been able to find him—I’ll always find him.

‘And I you,’ he says, his eyes flickering with intensity.

‘Hm?’ I blink.

‘Wherever you are, wherever you go…’ he pauses as his gaze pins me to the spot. ‘Whoever you are. I will find you. That is my promise to you. Always.’

My lips tug in a smile as a blush creeps up my cheeks.

Can he be more charming?

Following the cue of the music, he spins me in the middle of the dance floor, the physical exertion making my heart pound and my cheeks flush. Yet it’s the little touches that set me more aflame than anything, the small brush of his chest against mine, the feel of his big hands swallowing mine, or the way our bodies seemingly fit together like they’d been cut from the same mold.

A giggle escapes me when the music changes to a brisk tune and he leads me into another dance, twirling me continuously. Our eyes connect, our lips moving in tandem as a smile appears on both our faces. He’s laughing, too, enjoying the moment as much as I am.

Despite the intensity I’ve come to expect from him, there’s a levity to his expression, a blithe smile that I don’t think many have gotten to see before. He looks right at home—comfortable, light, carefree.

We both laugh as we throw ourselves fully into the music, simply enjoying the freedom of the night and this one moment of pure serendipity.

By the time a slower melody comes along, I’m breathing hard, yet he seems completely unaffected, swaying to the notes with innate fluidity.

He’s watching me intently, and it doesn’t escape me the scathing looks he sends to every other male that dares come closer.

Yet he’s not the only jealous one. Not when all the women in attendance are gazing up at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. The whispers, too, reach my ears—the fact that everyone knows it’s Amon, but no one can tell who his mysterious partner is.

Amon is unbothered by all the interest he’s generating in the female population, and the fact that his attention is solely on me—not even once swayed by a show of skin, or a too low bodice—thrills me to no end. More than anything, it gives me a confidence I’ve never had, making me feel beautiful—desirable—for the first time in my life.

‘You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, Lizzie,’ he compliments me as he draws me close. ‘Never doubt that.’

And there it is—that uncanny ability of his to guess my thoughts. If I had a superstitious bent like my mother, I would have said he wasn’t entirely human. Alas, I prefer a more realist approach, rooted in evidence and facts.

The man before me might be mysterious and too alluring for his own good, but he is flesh and blood, muscle and sinew coiling right under my fingertips.

‘I still haven’t quite figured you out, Amon d’Artan. Are you a roué, trying to steal my virtue? Or are you after something else?’ I inquire languidly, studying him in an attempt to decipher him.

‘Oh, I will categorically steal your virtue. But you are correct. I am after something else,’ he pauses, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

‘And what is that?’

‘Your soul. Your very essence and everything that makes you, you. Will you give me that? Lizzie mine? Will you surrender everything that you are to me?’

I blink, suddenly taken aback by his request and the severity of his tone. No longer playful, his entire countenance changes as if everything depends on one answer.

‘Will you deserve it?’ I ask in a small voice, lost in the way his light blue eyes seem to turn even lighter—so much so they are almost white.

‘No one will ever deserve it, Lizzie,’ he rasps. ‘No one,’ he states emphatically. ‘But I would devote an eternity to earn the right to call it mine.’

I stop in the middle of the dance floor. Time stops as everything fades away until there’s only he and I. My eyes on his. His on mine.

Slipping my glove off, I bring my hand to his cheek, cupping it gently.

He seems startled by the gesture, but he doesn’t move to stop me. In fact, something akin to a purr escapes him as he sighs in pleasure, his own hand reaching out and covering mine, keeping it firmly in place.

His skin burns where it touches mine—a forbidden caress.

Yet as he slowly moves my hand, leading it to his mouth as he lays a chaste kiss atop my wrist, my heart simply stops in my chest.

My lips part of their own volition, my pupils becoming so enlarged as if I’d used copious amounts of belladonna.

He doesn’t move.

His lips are on my skin—on my naked skin. In the middle of the ballroom.

It’s with a marked delay that I realize people have stopped dancing all around us, everyone gawking at us. Their whispers become louder and louder, the question of the identity of the masked girl with Amon pervasive on everyone’s lips.

Yet it’s only for a moment. As if compelled, everyone suddenly turns their attention to their dance partners.

‘Shall we go somewhere more…private?’ He asks, and I find myself unwittingly nodding.

I only know I am caught in his spell—ready to follow him everywhere.

Taking my hand in his, he steers me towards the French double doors that lead to the Duchess’ gardens.

The night air surrounds us as Amon shows me a secret spot deep within the maze-like garden.

‘We shouldn’t be disturbed here,’ he starts, though his mouth curls into a smile, ‘or stared at.’

‘That was quite scandalous, wasn’t it?’ I chuckle, waving my ungloved hand in front of him.

He grabs it, the hold gentle, as is his touch when he swirls his thumb over my skin in circular motions.

‘That’s nothing compared to what I want to do to you, Lizzie mine,’ he whispers as his other hand comes to my face. He strokes my cheek lightly before moving further into my hair and pulling on the pins that keep the mask together.

When it falls to the ground, he takes a step closer, his own mask seemingly falling, too.

Our gazes meet again. This time, our expressions are naked, our faces bared to one another.

‘But I won’t. Not now. Not until you trust me wholly and irrevocably,’ he says in a low voice. A sad smile pulls at his lips, and an odd feeling of déjà-vu overtakes me.

‘So no ravishing for me tonight?’ I joke in an attempt to dispel this unusual melancholy that suddenly comes over me.

‘Don’t sound so disappointed, love,’ he drawls, pulling me closer. ‘You might just change my mind,’ he says as he leans in, his breath caressing my cheek.

‘Is this your way of proving to me that you’re not after my virtue?’ I raise a brow.

‘No, this is my way of showing you that it’s not your body I want, Lizzie, though that is always an added bonus,’ he chuckles. ‘I want all of you. I want to slowly unpack you. Know your likes and dislikes. Explore your mind as if it’s the first time.’

I blink, surprised at his choice of words.

Before I can speak, though, he swoops me in his arms.

A small gasp escapes me, but when I see where he’s taking me, my eyes widen just as my pulse accelerates.

We reach the end of the maze. A white blanket has been laid on the ground, and on top of it is a bottle of wine with two glasses and a selection of finger sandwiches. On both sides of the blanket are lit candles, creating a dreamy atmosphere that simply leaves me speechless.

‘You… You prepared this? For me?’ I ask incredulously.

‘I meant what I said, Lizzie. I want to earn your trust first. And I want to show you I am no roué, though everyone undoubtedly thinks that.’

Slowly, he lays me down on the blanket, taking a seat next to me.

‘Why do they think that?’ I frown.

‘Because they only take into account what they see,’ his lips curl up, though it’s not the smile of someone who is infatuated with his appearance—it’s the smile of someone who is aware of how attractive he is but thinks it’s a burden rather than a blessing. ‘And of course, because they don’t know me. So they would rather speculate and create mythical scenarios,’ he laughs.

‘They do that?’

He purses his lips.

‘They always do that.’

Shrugging his coat off, he throws it to the side, popping a few buttons on his shirt and releasing a sigh of pure contentment.

I swallow hard as my gaze travels from his exquisite face to his Adam’s apple and the hint of skin peeking through at the top of his shirt. Even in this poor lighting I can see the contours of his muscles and the way they mold to his clothing.

He’s strong. So much bigger than me.

It dawns on me then that I’ve placed myself into a truly terrifying situation with someone who could crush me. Yet why is it that in his presence I feel safer than I’ve ever felt?

‘What is the truth, then?’ I suddenly ask. ‘Who is the real Amon d’Artan?’

That pleasant smile lingers. And as he slides his elbows back, resting on them, he tips head towards the sky.

‘Who is he indeed?’ he muses. ‘He’s a lonely man, Lizzie,’ he says in a low, sad tone as he turns to look at me. ‘He’s a weary man who has seen and lived through too much. A man who has done too much. Some good, some bad. Some reversible, some irreversible,’ he wets his lips. ‘He’s a man who’s waited all his life for something,’ he pauses, intently watching me.

‘For what?’ I whisper.

‘For someone to call his own,’ he states.

I fall silent, wondering if the implication is as clear as I perceived it.

But it’s a second later that his hand is atop mine, threading our fingers together as he shifts on his side to have a better view of me.

‘You,’ he says.

One word.

One word and my breathing intensifies.

One world and he claims my heart as his—irrevocably.

My cheeks heat up as I glance at him from beneath my lashes.

‘But you don’t know me that well, do you?’

‘I know you sneak out at dawn every day at Haversham to feed your strays. I know you rescued that blasted cat and have been hiding it in your room for over a year. I know you pretend to hate certain foods so your maid could eat them instead,’ he pauses when he sees my shocked expression. ‘I may not know everything about you, but I know your core, Lizzie mine. And it’s the most beautiful thing in existence.’

‘But… How…’

‘I know what’s important, and the rest I wish to find out.’

I’m still speechless at his revelations and the fact that he knows too much.

‘Have you been spying on me?’ I inquire in a low, slightly hurt tone.

‘What’s paying a servant or two for details?’ He shrugs, but he doesn’t deny it.

‘How long?’ I bite my lip. ‘How long have you been doing this?’

‘Since the day we met,’ he answers honestly. ‘I told you I didn’t stay away because I wanted to. It was because I couldn’t come to you sooner. But I wish to rectify that, if you’ll let me,’ he squeezes my hand.

My mind is a whirlpool of confusion as I try to make sense of everything. Yet despite the circumstances surrounding our acquaintance, I can’t help but feel like I am where I’m supposed to be.

Here.

With him.

There are a thousand reasons why I should not entertain any relation with him, yet I pick the thousand-and-first one which says I should.

‘You’re an odd man,’ I tell him. ‘But maybe I’m odd too, because I’m falling for you one second at a time,’ I admit slowly.

‘Lizzie,’ he releases a harsh, tortured breath.

He brings his hand to my neck, softly caressing my flesh before his thumb moves to my lips, brushing lightly against them.

Once. Twice.

My lips part of their own volition, and he pushes his thumb inside—the gesture making my body grow hot and taut.

He’s staring at me with such reverence, that I know I wouldn’t deny him anything.

If he wishes to kiss me, I’ll kiss him back.

If he wishes to do more, I’ll open myself to him, letting him do anything and everything to me.

As long as he continues to look at me like that—like I’m the only one in the world for him.

Like I’m the only one.

Like I’m…his.

‘Those are dangerous thoughts, Lizzie,’ he murmurs as he leans forward.

My mind blanks just as my eyes flutter closed, anticipation building in my blood.

Any moment now, his lips will be on mine.

My first kiss.

With him.

Amon.

My Amon.

Yet it never comes.

Instead, a shot rings through the stillness of the night, so loud, I fear I’ve become deaf for a moment. Opening my eyes, confusion swirls in my mind as I take in Amon, on my lap, blood gushing out of a wound in his chest.

My hands are soaked with red, as he gives me one pained glance before his eyes flicker shut.

Turning in horror, my eyes connect with my mother’s unyielding ones.

‘Die, you bloody monster,’ she spits before she shoots again.

She won’t rest until he’s…dead…

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