Chapter Seven #2
He hadn’t suggested getting another housekeeper and she refused to ask for one.
Her days were spent doing housework, washing the dishes, making her bed, dusting the furniture, sweeping the floors, changing the linen, washing her clothes, hanging them in the kitchen to dry.
One mindless chore after another. After a few weeks of household drudgery, she had a new appreciation for the housemaids back home.
In her free time, she indulged her love of reading and painting.
She spent far too many hours thinking about Stefan, about the mysterious power that clung to him, the magic of his kisses.
Magic. He had told her that his mother was a witch.
Was it a magical spell of some kind that made her go so willingly into his arms?
She blew out a sigh as she put the last of the dishes away. He was a mystery to her, an enigma wrapped in a beautifully masculine form with a seductive voice that effortlessly bent her will to his.
She was contemplating what to prepare for dinner when she felt his presence behind her. Anticipation and trepidation warred within her when he slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck.
“Good evening, fair Bryony.”
His voice washed over her like liquid velvet, reminding her of the night past.
“I wish to go out,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Wh…where are you going?”
“To the bookshop. We can go to dinner first, if you like.”
Not cooking sounded wonderful.
“What say you?”
“I’d like that.” She had read all the books he’d bought her, save for Frankenstein. For some reason, she was reluctant to begin it.
He brushed a kiss across her cheek.
She felt it down to her toes.
“I will fetch the buggy while you get ready.” He kissed her again and left the kitchen.
Bryony blew out a breath, amazed, as always, by his effect upon her senses.
It took her only minutes to brush her hair and grab her cloak. Stefan was waiting for her at the front door. As she followed him outside, she wondered again what magic prevented her from leaving the house when she was alone.
He handed her into the buggy, effortlessly hopped up beside her and took up the reins.
It was a lovely night. Millions of stars smiled down on them from a clear, indigo sky. A soft, silvery moon lit the way. The air was fragrant with the scent of night-blooming flowers. In the distance, she heard the lonely howl of a wolf.
“No need to fear,” Stefan assured her. “He will not hurt you.”
Bryony stared at him, thinking he spoke as if he knew the animal personally. A strange man, indeed. “Tell me more about your mother. What kind of witch is she?”
“Kind?”
“Aren’t there different kinds?”
“Ah. Yes. Celtic witches focus on nature, divination witches foretell the future. Grey witches live in the neutral area between white and black magic. Lunar witches gather their power from the moon. Sea witches, cottage witches, kitchen witches. Most are white witches. A few practice black magic.” As his mother had.
“Some are born witches. Some merely learn a few spells.”
“What kind are you?” Bryony asked.
He laughed softly. “I rarely practice witchcraft,” he said, with a shrug.
“Is that the power I sense in you?” she asked, and bit down on her lower lip when he turned his hooded gaze on her.
“What power?” he asked, his voice razor-sharp.
She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, as if it would protect her.
“What power?” he asked again.
“I…I don’t know. I…I thought I felt…maybe I was wrong.”
Damn! He had been so certain he had masked his preternatural power from her.
How was it possible for her to sense it?
He had hoped that, by telling her his mother was a witch, she would attribute any of the supernatural powers he let her see to witchcraft.
But it wasn’t magic she sensed. He would have to be more careful in the future.
“Do you see your mother often?” she asked, thinking how much she missed her own.
“Alas, she passed away.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It was some time ago.” He reined the team to a halt in front of the restaurant. Alighting from the buggy, he dropped the reins over the hitch rack before he lifted Bryony from the seat, letting her body slide slowly down his as he placed her on her feet.
She shivered as she felt the muscular length of his body against her own.
There were few people inside the establishment. Bryony ordered a chicken dinner, noticing again that Stefan asked only for a bottle of wine. She glanced around, hoping to see someone she knew, although it was a slim hope at best. To her knowledge, her family had never visited here.
While Bryony ate, Stefan opened his senses, listening idly to the conversations at the other tables. He stilled when he heard someone mention the Barrett name.
“I heard from my cousin in River North that Lord Barrett’s youngest daughter is missing and he’s going out of his mind with worry,” a middle-aged woman said in a conspiratorial tone. “He has hired dozens of men to search for her. My cousin said he’s sorely afraid his daughter is dead.”
“Why would anyone kill the girl?” her male companion asked. “There’s no money to be made that way.”
“Well, at first, he thought she had been kidnapped for ransom. But it’s been weeks and no demands have been forthcoming.”
“I hear she’s a pretty thing,” the man said.
“So they say.”
“No doubt Barrett would pay a king’s ransom to get her back.”
“No doubt,” the woman agreed. “Good thing he can afford it.”
Stefan grunted softly. He wasn’t familiar with the Barrett family. Perhaps he would do a little checking on the father. If word was spreading of Bryony’s disappearance, it might be wise to keep her in the house from now on. Or take her farther away from here.
After dinner, they walked to the bookshop.
He found the book he wanted, a history of ancient Romania, then trailed behind Bryony as she looked at the novels, thumbing through one after another until she had selected four of them—Oliver Twist, Emma, Black Beauty, and Pride and Prejudice.
He grinned inwardly when she picked up a copy of Dracula.
Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you read this one?”
“No,” he said, after a moment. But I have lived it.
She thumbed through the first few pages, grimacing at the drawing of a coach traveling a dark road with skeletal trees lining both sides. “Chapter one,” she said, reading aloud. “Jonathan Harker’s Journal.” With a shake of her head, she returned the book to the shelf.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.
“My home,” he said, and watched the excitement fade from her eyes.
Bryony was quiet on the way back to the Stone House, her thoughts turned toward her family and how much she missed them, especially her sister, Veronica.
He really was a monster to keep her from her loved ones, Stefan thought bleakly. But surely even a monster who dwelled in endless night deserved a ray of sunshine once in a while.
That night, after Bryony had gone to bed, Stefan found himself wanting to know more about where Bryony had come from.
With that thought in mind, he went into the city.
He moved from tavern to tavern where he made several discreet inquiries.
Lord Leyton Barrett was a wealthy man who owned a large estate near the coast. He had a wife, Maida, a son and two daughters.
The youngest was missing. Barrett had offered a sizeable reward for information regarding the girl’s whereabouts, a larger one for her safe return, and one still larger for the capture of the man or men who had kidnapped her.
Moving with preternatural speed, it took him only moments to reach the Barrett estate.
Large, indeed, Stefan mused. The place resembled a castle more than a manor house. The yard looked like a park. Dozens of trees surrounded the property. Flowers grew in abundance wherever he looked. A large fountain in the shape of a mermaid was located near the front of the house.
Dissolving into mist, he transported himself to the back of the estate where he spied an ice house, three corrals filled with blooded stock, a large barn, and a gazebo. A buggy house held a cabriolet, a phaeton, and a buggy.
No wonder Bryony missed her home. He had traveled the world over. Her residence was the equal of some of the most luxurious dwellings he’d seen.
He was about to return to his lair when the back door opened and a young man stepped out of the house. Bryony’s brother, Stefan thought. The resemblance was easy to see. An older man who was obviously the young man’s father followed him outside.
The elder Barrett was tall and solidly built, with close-cropped, dark-brown hair, a prominent nose, and a thick mustache.
“Do you think we’ll ever find out what happened to her?” the boy asked, taking a seat on a wooden bench near the back door.
“I have to believe we will.”
“Veronica misses her more every day. So do I,” the boy confessed, with a wry smile. “But don’t ever tell Bry I said that.”
“Nay, lad. The good Lord willing, one day you’ll tell her yourself.
” Barrett lit a pipe, then sat next to the boy.
“I fear for your mother’s health if anything has happened to Bryony.
If someone has taken her, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll see the culprit or culprits hanged!
After I flay the flesh from their hides. ”
Returning to the front of the estate, Stefan resumed his physical form. He tried to outrun the pangs of conscience that plagued him as he transported himself back to his lair, but the guilt followed him all the way home.