Angel's Assassin (18 page)

The handle of the door moved and Aurora
jumped.

“Aurora,” Damien called through the thick
wood. “Let me in.”

“No,” she answered, trying desperately to
keep the tremble from her voice. “I will not open the door for
you.”

“At least let me in to search the room. Then
I will leave you.”

Aurora considered his request. But she could
just imagine opening the door and seeing him there. All he had to
do was look at her with those black, smoldering eyes and she would
be lost. His words reminded her of her situation and she glanced
warily around the room. Everything looked the same, but then so had
the mug filled with poison, so had the forest before the assassin
shot deadly arrows at them. She placed her hand on the bolt,
prepared to draw it back… But stopped. How would she be able to
resist his kisses? How could she stop her response to his
touches?

“Aurora?”

“I can not,” she answered and let her hand
drop away from the bolt.

The door shook with fierce rage. And then,
silence. She half expected shouting and cursing. Instead, there was
nothing. Aurora pressed her forehead against the door. Just knowing
Damien was out there was enough to bring her anguish. She wanted to
open the door. She wanted his kisses and his touches. Those were
the exact thoughts frightening her. With Damien, she could not
maintain her composure; she could not be Lady of Acquitaine. She
was betrothed to Count Ormand. She had to set an example for her
people. She had to be strong and…

A troubled groan escaped her lips.

First, it had been the dagger Damien pressed
so tightly to her neck. She guessed he had done it to teach her. He
had been telling her not to trust anyone, including him. But she
had known all along that he could never hurt her. And even with the
dagger pressed to her throat, she could only feel sympathy for
him.

Then came his touch, hot and demanding. And
frightening because she had wanted him to continue.

There was quiet on the other side of the
door.

Aurora wondered if the silence through the
thick wooden door was some sort of trick on Damien’s part to make
her open the door. She stroked the door gently, imagining Damien’s
skin beneath her fingers. Did she love him? Were these thoughts and
feelings love?

Muted conversation came from the other side
of the door. Aurora pressed her ear to the timber. She heard
Damien’s low voice and then… Then, she heard an answering voice. A
woman’s voice.

Dread and fear snaked up her spine.
Helen.

Silence spread through the hallway once
again. Had Damien greeted Helen? Some niggling feeling inside
Aurora’s chest made her reach for the bolt. Her hand hovered for a
moment. Was he there waiting for her to open the door?

Aurora did not think so. She heard the rumors
of Helen’s licentious appetite. Aurora had tried to ignore the
vicious gossip. Now the gossip rose to bait her imagination. She
had seen the way Helen looked at Damien.

Aurora slid the bolt aside and eased the door
open. Through the crack, Aurora saw a sight that tightened her
chest. Helen’s hand was twined around Damien’s arm as she led him
down the corridor.

Aurora stood, unsure. She didn’t know whether
to follow them or command Helen away from Damien immediately.
Slowly, she opened the door wide and waited for a moment. Helen
must be giving Damien some valuable information about the attempts
on her life. Maybe Helen was taking him to see her father. Aurora
tried to rationalize their companionship.

Helen continued to lead Damien down the
hallway, toward her chambers.

A crushing grief filled Aurora. She didn’t
want to admit the truth. But she knew.

She watched them round the corner and stepped
out into the hallway. Quickly, she moved to the corner and peered
around it. The hallway was empty.

She started down the hallway, quietly. Moving
slowly. Nothing. No sound.

Aurora stopped just before Helen’s room. The
door was ajar. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see the
sight she was certain would greet her. The light of a candle danced
on the stone floor of the room. Like a finger wagging back and
forth, it beckoned to her.

She should not be spying. It was unlady-like.
It was beneath her. She should not care what Damien did with other
women.

Aurora moved to Helen’s door as if compelled.
A cold knot of dread coiled in her stomach. She had to look. She
had to see. She had to know.

Aurora peered into the room, being very
careful not to touch the door lest it squeak. She thought she was
prepared. She thought she was strong enough. But the sight of Helen
wrapped around Damien, his lips smothering hers in a heated kiss,
was more shocking than Aurora could have imagined. She watched for
a moment, unable to tear her wounded gaze from them. Nausea rose
violently inside her as she stumbled back from the doorway. The
pain in her heart became a sick and fiery wrenching.

The sight of the two lovers pressed so
intimately together mocked her. Damien had only been toying with
her. He never meant their kiss to mean anything.

Aurora’s throat closed tightly as her vision
blurred and she whirled, running smack into a man’s chest.

H
elen tasted
of fish and ale, not of the sweet honey he had tasted on Aurora’s
lips. Damien set Helen back from him with a firm hand. He stared
down into Helen’s brown eyes. Like many female eyes he had gazed
into before, they were wanting, lusting, vindictive. There was no
redemption for him in her eyes. “You said you had information
regarding the assassination.”

“I have ample knowledge. Maybe you should
interrogate me.” She jutted out her ample breasts.

Damien stared at her breasts. Helen’s
mountainous bosom seemed like a gross aberration compared to
Aurora’s perfectly sized breasts. He cursed again. “I must return
to Lady Aurora.”

Helen’s full lips pouted a practiced curve
while her eyes flamed with annoyance. “She will remain in her room.
There is no need to hurry back to her.”

Damien shook his head.

Helen scowled. “Yes, I understand. You have
to run back to her side.”

A sudden suspicion pulled at the edges of his
thoughts. “You don’t like Lady Aurora, do you?”

“Like her?” Helen took a deep breath, and
crossed her arms as if embracing herself. “I don’t have to like
her. She gets enough adoration from everyone else.” She grinned
viciously, running a hand across Damien’s chest. “Imagine how she
must feel now that I have something she wants.”

Damien scowled. “What are you talking
about?”

Helen lifted her face to him, stepping in
close to press her body against his. “You.” She lifted her lips for
a kiss.

Damien’s jaw clenched tightly. He didn’t like
the malice in Helen’s tone.

Helen wrapped her arms around Damien’s neck,
smiling up at him. “She pretends like she has no interest in you.
But I know.” She pressed a kiss against his stiff jaw. “She’s never
looked at any man the way she looks at you.” Helen grinned coldly.
“And now I am here with you.”

“You are doing this to punish Lady Aurora? To
hurt her?” Damien asked in shock.

Helen pouted. “No one wants to hurt my dear
cousin. Least of all me.”

“Except for you,” Damien corrected. As he
spoke he realized how right he was. The beast rose inside him,
angry. He reached up and disentangled her hands from his neck so he
could move away from her. “She is kinder than you are. She is more
beautiful.”

Helen straightened her back, her eyes
narrowing, snapping with fire and hate.

“You can not stand living in her shadow.”

“You can’t imagine how it is. Every man
looking at her first. Every man speaking with her as though I do
not exist. All she has to do is smile and they fall over themselves
to get to her.”

Damien saw the true ugliness of jealousy in
Helen’s narrowed eyes. He saw the evil in her, the hate and
bitterness.

Helen’s chin dropped. “All I’ve ever wanted
was for one man to look at me. To speak to me. Not as a way to get
to Lady Aurora, but because they truly wanted to.”

Damien felt no sympathy for her, not when she
was using him to hurt Aurora.

“But she is always there,” Helen added as if
to herself. “So beautiful. So kind. When they cannot have her, they
come to me. Do you know that some of them even call out her name as
they are making love to me?” She turned suddenly to Damien and ran
a hand up his arm. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Damien suppressed a shudder. “No,” he
answered. “Because I have no intention of bedding you.”

Helen snatched her hand away from Damien.
“You are just as bad as the rest of them. You pretend to be so
strong and so indifferent. But you sniff after her skirts, too.
Don’t you know by now that she is the immaculate angel? You won’t
be able to touch her anymore than the rest of them. She is the ice
maiden.” Helen’s grin was sardonic.

Damien knew how wrong she was. Aurora was no
ice maiden. He had glimpsed her fiery passion, tasted her hot
desire.

Helen touched his chest, moving her hand
slowly across the expanse. “Come to my bed. Call my name.”

Damien took her wrists and removed her hands
from him. “I will not be a pawn in your plan to hurt Aurora.”

Helen folded her hands before her. For a
moment, she appeared truly vulnerable. “If it had nothing to do
with her…would you come to my bed?”

“No,” he answered. “You are not appealing to
me. Your malice has made you ugly.” He turned his back on her,
leaving the room.

“I don’t need you to make love to me,” Helen
called out after him, “for Lady Aurora to believe it is so.”

The spiteful wench. She would tell Aurora
they had been together. Damien clenched his teeth. Just to hurt
Aurora. Just to harm him. Just because she could. Because of
Aurora’s innocence, because of her trusting nature, Aurora would
believe her. Damien had no doubt of that. He had been foolish to
believe Helen had information about the attempt on Aurora’s life.
He should have known it was a ploy to get him away from Aurora.

Damien rounded the corner and a sudden surge
of terror speared through his heart. The door to Aurora’s room was
open wide. He quickened his pace until he was running at full
speed. He burst into the room, throwing his arm around the
doorframe to stop himself at the room’s threshold. “Aurora!”

The room was quiet, eerily quiet. The bed was
neatly made and there was no obvious sign of disturbance visible
anywhere in the room. “Aurora?” he called out again, quieter this
time. He took a few steps deeper into the room. “Aurora?”

A red-haired servant woman strolled by the
room, carrying an armful of dirty linens.

Damien approached her. “Have you seen Lady
Aurora?”

The servant stopped and looked at him. She
puckered her lips, shifting the linen in her arms. “No. I have not
seen her since yesterday morning.” The servant looked at him
earnestly. “Have you misplaced her?”

Damien’s hand shot instinctively to the sword
at his waist. Damn insolent wench, he thought as his fingers curled
around the leather handle of his weapon.

Her eyes widened and she took a step away
from him.

“Don’t you have linens to clean?” he said
through gritted teeth, keeping his voice even.

The servant woman nodded and scurried away
down the corridor.

Damien hurried on. He moved quickly through
the castle, searching for Aurora. He did not ask anyone else if
they had seen her. He was determined to track her down on his own.
She was his responsibility. He tried to push down the concern
eating away at his stomach. He had done this. He had frightened
her. He went into the kitchens, but there was no one there except
for an older man baking bread with an apprentice.

Damien searched everywhere he could think of.
The chapel was dotted with praying castle folk, but no Aurora. The
solar was empty. With every second, the feeling of impending doom
knotting his stomach grew.

After an hour’s search, he headed outside
into the inner courtyard, desperate and anxious to find her. He
passed a perpendicular hallway and noticed Rupert standing with his
arms crossed at the doorway to one of the rooms. What the devil was
he doing?

He moved down the hall and stood in front of
the guard. Rupert stared back with a bored expression. The door
behind him was ajar. Damien eased it open.

Aurora sat behind a desk in a dark room lit
only by one candle, its golden glow washing over her delicate skin.
Her hand was on her forehead as she stared down at a piece of
parchment. Muted firelight reflected over her golden hair. She had
braided her locks again, hiding the glorious treasure in a tightly
bound rope. The rebuff did not miss him. That simple rejection
wounded him. He stepped into the room.

She lifted her eyes.

Damien almost gasped. The vulnerability in
her red eyes stabbed his gut, taking the breath from him. Black
rings lined her large eyes. Lines marred her forehead.
Instinctively, he stepped toward her.

Her back straightened, her lips closed into a
firm line. Her fingers tightened around a quill. “Go away, Damien,”
she whispered.

The agony in her voice tore at his heart.
What had he done? This couldn’t be in response to his touch, could
it? He didn’t move. He couldn’t. “You should rest,” he finally
suggested. “Come.” He held out his hand to her.

She took her gaze from him and looked back at
the parchment. Her jaw angled in stubbornness. “Rupert will take me
where I want to go. You are no longer needed,” she said with a tone
of regality.

Damien looked over his shoulder. Rupert stood
by the door, his arms crossed over his chest.