The Secret Kiss of Darkness (3 page)

Eliza felt fragile in his embrace, but so soft and womanly. Although small in stature, she had a luscious figure, and he was acutely aware of her full breasts pressing against his chest. Jago tried not to hold her quite so close, but she clung to him as if he was the only thing in the world that could save her. He tried to think of other things, but the longer he held her, the more he wanted her. It was impossible to stop his body’s reaction to her.

She smelled divine, like honeysuckle and roses combined. Not just her person, but her hair and her skin, too. Jago breathed in deeply, storing her unique scent in his memory. He was sure he’d never forget this night for as long as he lived.

He knew what she looked like. He’d seen her once or twice peering out through the window of the carriage as it passed through the village. She had wispy ash-blonde hair and hazel-green eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes, set in an enchanting little elfin face. There was no doubt that it had been her beauty which had captivated his half-brother, for she had no dowry to speak of, or so Jago had heard tell. And now she was in his arms, her lovely hair hanging loose over her shoulders, caressing the back of his hands as it was blown about by the breeze from the sea.

When the sobs turned into sniffles, he turned her face up to his with a large calloused hand and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her as gently as he knew how. A secret kiss in the darkness that no one would ever know about. He was well aware he shouldn’t have done it, but the urge to kiss her was too strong to resist. In her weakened state she didn’t fight him, but neither did she kiss him back. He had the strange feeling she had no idea how, indeed had never been kissed properly before, but that couldn’t be? Or could it?

‘Eliza,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me what troubles you. Perhaps I can help you.’

‘No. No one can help me,’ she whispered back in a voice as bleak as the sea in winter. She held on to him and he breathed in her fragrance again, then fought to control his desire so he could concentrate on her words. ‘Marriage is for life. I swore to love, honour and obey, and although I struggle with the first two, I have no choice about the third.’

‘I see.’ So she didn’t love her husband. Well, that wasn’t unusual. Most marriages were made for convenience, at least for women of her kind. But there was something else here that wasn’t right. ‘What is it John wishes you to do? In what way do you have to obey him?’

‘He wants me to give him a child. An heir. And I can’t. The Lord knows we have tried for two years now. Continuously.’ Her voice caught on a sob again, and he quickly kissed her once more to stop another flood of tears. It had the desired effect and this time she responded timidly, her lips moving softly, almost questioningly, under his.

‘Do you … er, does he not give you pleasure in the process?’ he asked, stroking her hair absently.

‘Pleasure? I don’t understand.’ She twisted in his arms as if to try to see his face, but the darkness was almost impenetrable.

‘No, perhaps you don’t.’ He sighed and let go of her. His arms felt empty. ‘There should be pleasure in the marriage bed, Lady Eliza, whether there are any children or not, but you were right. In this I can’t help you. My brother is a fool.’ After a short pause, he added, ‘Look, I was serious about the other men. They wouldn’t hesitate to attack you and, believe me, it would be worse than anything John could do. Please, go home now and forget we ever had this conversation. It should never have happened.’ With a supreme effort he turned away from her and bent to pick up the kegs of brandy. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

‘Mr Kerswell? Jago?’ He heard the hesitation in her voice and held his breath, waiting for her next words, wondering if she had understood him. ‘Could you show me?’ She put a small hand tentatively on his muscular forearm. He felt her touch burn him like a branding iron and drew a deep steadying breath. He let go of the rope binding the kegs together.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’ He emphasised her title to make her realise the folly of what he thought she was suggesting.

She stood her ground. ‘Just once? Could you show me that pleasure? Perhaps it would make it more bearable next time.’ Her voice was pitched so low he almost doubted his hearing, but both her hands were feeling their way up the length of his arms now, driving him almost insane with desire.

This was utter madness. He knew it was a plea born out of desperation. John had driven her to the brink with his selfish behaviour. She was obviously not in her right mind and it was Jago’s duty to protect her from herself. He clenched his fists. When her searching fingers reached his face and traced its outline it took all his willpower not to drag her into his arms and show her then and there, but he couldn’t. He must not.

He seized her by her slight shoulders and shook her roughly. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, woman? Do you know what you’re asking?’

She giggled, a slightly hysterical little sound which ended on a sob. ‘Yes, I believe I do, but if you don’t want me …’

Not want her? She was tempting him beyond reason. ‘Why me?’ he ground out from between gritted teeth. ‘You don’t even know what I look like.’ He knew he was clutching at straws, but his mind refused to function properly when the mere scent of her was tantalising him, distracting him.

‘Does it matter? I know that you’re an honourable man or you would have used me already. You are also kind and compassionate and honest. What more do I need? I sleep with a man who is none of those things every night.’

He struggled with himself for perhaps another ten seconds, but it was no use. He knew she had won the battle even before it began. There was no way on earth he could resist her invitation, even though he knew he should. He was only human.

‘Very well, Eliza, it will be as you wish. I am honoured that you trust me.’ He took her tiny soft hand into his and laced his fingers with hers. ‘Let us go to the summer house and I will show you the meaning of making love. But only this once. It must never happen again. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes, Jago Kerswell, I hear you.’ The words were meek, but in her voice he heard excitement and hope.

‘Come then.’

Kayla had almost decided to give up on that particular auction when, out of curiosity, she wandered into the final room which seemed to contain only portraits of various sizes. And there in the corner she found it.

The painting she had to have.

A tall, dark man looked down at her almost defiantly, with his arms crossed over a powerful chest and one foot nonchalantly perched on a rock. As she stared into his eyes Kayla found herself unable to turn away. His gaze kept her rooted to the spot, utterly mesmerised, and a strange languor crept into her body as if he had somehow sapped her of all willpower. She wanted nothing more than to stand there and stare at him for the rest of the day. The noises around her faded into the background and nothing existed in that moment except the two of them.

Of an intense, piercing blue colour those eyes seemed to penetrate into her very soul as they gazed into hers in silent challenge, holding her spellbound. She noticed that they’d been painted in such a way that whenever she moved her head, even slightly, the eyes followed her. It was as if he were standing in front of her, watching her. Kayla shivered. It was uncanny. With difficulty she blinked and moved back a few paces to better study the rest of the portrait. She was quite sure it hadn’t been included in the catalogue, because she would have noticed it immediately.

She simply had to have him.

She peered at the card on the wall next to the frame.
‘Portrait of a Gentleman. English School, late eighteenth century.
’ Incredibly the estimated sale price was a mere £10,000, which was much lower than most of the other portraits on sale. Even if the bidding went higher she should be able to afford him. For a long time Kayla stood staring at him, then rational thinking reared its head.

‘Where on earth are you going to hang a painting that size?’ the little voice inside her asked reasonably. It was a full-length, life-size portrait with quite a lot of background, making it over seven feet tall and at least five feet wide. Impossible. She and Mike were going to share his two bedroom flat in Battersea after they were married and, although it was quite spacious, there wouldn’t be anywhere suitable to hang a picture of this magnitude. Besides, Mike’s taste ran more to modern art than eighteenth century portraits. She knew even a pretty landscape would probably be relegated to their bedroom.

Mike! Good grief …
He would think she’d gone mad if she bought this. Kayla took herself severely to task and, after a last regretful glance at the man, she forced herself to leave the gallery.

The following two days, however, had seen her return again and again to gaze at the portrait. She spent her lunch hour there, all thoughts of food forgotten, and popped in on her way home from work. The unknown man occupied her every waking thought and even invaded her dreams at night. She started to wake up each morning feeling bereft, as if something vital was missing. She forgot about Mike, relegated all thoughts about her forthcoming wedding to the back of her mind and performed her duties at work like a zombie. And she couldn’t keep away from the auction rooms.

There was a woman on duty at a small desk in one of the viewing galleries and Kayla asked her for more information about the painting.

‘Lot three hundred and four did you say?’ The woman was very friendly and keyed in the number on her computer to find the necessary data. ‘Oh yes, I remember this one, a late addition to the sale. He’s that dark-haired man in a red velvet coat, right? Isn’t he just divine?’ She giggled conspiratorially. Kayla grinned back. The man wasn’t classically handsome, but he was definitely attractive. There was something arresting about him, some indefinable quality which drew the eye. His obvious self-confidence perhaps, the ‘bad boy’ glint in his eyes, or the way he looked as if he could read her innermost thoughts.

‘Yes,’ Kayla replied. ‘That’s the one. Can you tell me anything more about the actual painting, though? The artist, its provenance, that sort of thing?’

‘Not much, I’m afraid. There was a bit of a to-do about it, I remember. Our experts thought at first it might have been by Gainsborough, or possibly his nephew. But although it looks like his style, it’s a bit sloppy in places as if the artist was trying to finish it quickly. There’s no signature. We have dated it to around 1780 because of the man’s clothing, but there were no other clues to his identity. In fact, it says here the background is “a rather hazy seascape with dark cliffs”, which could be anywhere. And the only other items that could be distinguished were some barrels and a pistol. Perhaps the man was a retired soldier turned vintner? I’m sorry, but your guess is as good as mine.’

‘I see. Well, thank you very much.’

‘Not at all. Good luck in the sale.’ The woman smiled broadly and Kayla turned away, blushing like a schoolgirl caught having a crush on the current sixth form heart-throb.

As she headed back to the far gallery, a thought struck her – she
did
have a crush on the man in the painting, in the same way she’d swooned over pop stars during her teens. Just looking at him made her heart beat faster and her legs turn to mush. It was like being hopelessly, passionately in love with the man you wanted to marry.

Like Mike?

She stopped in front of the painting yet again and gazed at that enigmatic face. No, what she felt for Mike didn’t even come close to the crazy sensations that washed over her every time she came here. So what on earth did that say about her? About her relationship with her fiancé?

What the hell is wrong with me?

Kayla swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She and Mike would be fine. This was a temporary aberration. Like all crushes it would run its course and she’d return to normal life and her future with her husband-to-be. Her love for him was more ordinary perhaps, down-to-earth, but at least he was real. The man in the painting could never be anything other than a fantasy. Everyone had fantasies, didn’t they?

She knew it was crazy, but she just couldn’t let anyone else buy him. Although she had tried to stay away from the actual auction, it hadn’t worked. And now he belonged to her.

‘So there you have it, a full confession of my recent crimes,’ Kayla said with a sigh the following evening and took a sip of her drink. She looked at her best friend, Maddie, and waited for the verdict, but for once, uncharacteristically, Maddie remained silent for a long time.

They were seated in a small booth in one of the new wine bars near Maddie’s office and thankfully the music hadn’t yet been turned up to the level where conversation became impossible. Kayla had poured out the tale of the painting without leaving anything out. She and Maddie had been inseparable since they’d first met on a course for legal secretaries and they didn’t have any secrets from each other. If anyone could understand her feelings, it would be Maddie, so her friend’s continued silence unnerved Kayla slightly.

‘Well?’ she prodded anxiously, watching Maddie twirl a long coppery curl around her middle finger.