Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

E ster felt herself to be a heroine in a fairytale. One of those with a grim atmosphere that didn't necessarily end on a happy note. She was a prisoner in a rambling, dark castle, seemingly populated only by a Duke who believed himself cursed, a maid, butler, and cook.

In this fairytale, the tall, dark Duke would surely be the villain. There would be a handsome woodsman who would come to Ester's rescue from his dastardly clutches. Except, Ester was not sure that she wanted to be rescued. She knew that she ought to and whenever she thought on the fact that she could not leave of her own volition, it grated. In fact, it sent resonances of panic through her. It was too close to the assault perpetrated on her by the Viscount Kingsley.

But the fact was that here, for just a few days, she did not have to worry about scandal. About stealing from her father to pay for Kingsley's silence. She could surrender to the whims of the Duke and pretend that her troubles belonged to another.

It was a relief.

Julian seemed to like the idea of showing her around the house, smiling, and beginning with the breakfast room. He waved his arm about the room, tea sloshing in the cup he held.

"Well, this is the breakfast room, looking eastward over what I laughingly call a garden. Hardly the English school I'm afraid."

Ester looked out across the overgrown and neglected space. There were outliers of the forest impinging at the far end and the wall that was supposed to separate the garden from the forest was almost buried beneath ivy. There was no color to it, as one would expect perhaps in winter. The stone was gray and mottled with lichen. The ground was brown and green where new weeds climbed over old. Statuary dotted the garden, also in the process of being claimed by nature.

"I presume you are not a lover of the natural world," Ester remarked.

Julian looked out of the window with a frown. "On the contrary. I just do not know where to begin. And I do not have the staff. Some of my formative years were spent roaming the hillsides of Cumbria."

"You mentioned that before, I think. Cumbria . And you are the Duke of Windermere?"

"I am," Julian replied.

"I have seen Windermere Castle from afar. It looked a splendid place. Very…"

"Gloomy," Julian finished.

"I was going to say atmospheric ," Ester replied with a giggle.

Julian grinned ruefully.

"That is why I assumed you did not care for nature. Windermere Castle looked such a lonely place. High up on its hillside overlooking the lake. For you to choose to live so close to London, I assumed that was your preferred environment."

"It is not. I should like nothing better than to find a place as isolated as Windermere. This has been suitable for five years. As far from Windermere as I could find and still be away from people."

"So your preferred environment is running away from your environment?" Ester asked, brow arched.

"Hm. Something of that nature," Julian replied, taking a drawn-out sip of his tea.

"But why be away from people at all?" Ester wondered aloud. "And why away from Windermere? It seems to satisfy all your needs for isolation."

Julian's expression darkened. "It was my father's house. And always will be." His voice held the weight of a closed door. Abruptly, he stood. "Anyway. Shall I show you the rest of the house? There are some parts of this drafty old pile that are quite special, even in the depths of winter."

Ester rose also. This man intrigued her. The more she spoke to him, the more mystery seemed to be unveiled. And the more questions presented themselves to be answered.

She walked around the table to stand beside him, and for a moment, waited to be offered his arm. Then she remembered why that was not going to happen. Julian seemed to think about it though, before clearing his throat and taking a step away from her.

"Follow me," he said somewhat awkwardly, with all the grace of a man leading a funeral procession.

Ester followed along hallways which were precisely as he had described. Draughty and somewhat dark . Dust had a hold in most places it seemed, though they came across Molly dusting as they entered the Great Hall.

The ceiling was high overhead and vaulted with massive beams of dark wood. The floor was of ancient flagstone and dark gray. At one end of the room was a set of doors, and at the other, a staircase of polished, dark red wood. Paintings hung on the paneled walls leading to the front door. These struck Ester over and above the grand dimensions of the room. She was drawn to one in particular, which depicted a young woman with golden hair and blue eyes that shone from the dark background of the painting.

"Oh my," she breathed, approaching the portrait. "That's… quite an impression."

"My mother," Julian said, stepping up beside her. "There is very little of her in my appearance. I take after my father, as you can no doubt see."

Ester tilted her head, looking closely at the playful, secretive smile that the beautiful woman had been depicted with. She took in the eyes especially, and then looked at Julian. In the dim light, he looked dangerously handsome, his jawline sharp, lips just a hint away from a smile that could steal her breath if he so wished. His icy-blue gaze was steady, intense, and when it landed on her, it was like a touch itself—commanding and disarming all at once.

"I see a great deal of resemblance," she managed to croak, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's a kindness in her eyes. I think you have it too. Was she... a kind person?"

Too late she remembered what Julian had already told her about his mother passing away in childbirth and she wished for the words back. Julian's face went blank, a mask to hide his emotions. Ester called herself every kind of fool for not thinking before she spoke.

"I do not know. I have always imagined so. I never knew her… and how she came to marry my father, I cannot imagine. He was much older than her, and… a force for darkness. A learned man with a depth of esoteric knowledge and mystic apothecary. There can have been few men in England with his depth of knowledge in such a range of subjects. He was also afraid of the light, kept it out of the house and himself locked away in the shadows of his library and study. But perhaps that was only after she passed. I don't know."

"She is beautiful," Ester said softly, feeling the weight of his words. "I can see why you keep her portrait here."

Julian didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the painting as though he were trying to see something in it he'd never quite been able to. Then, with a movement so subtle she almost missed it, his hand rose to his chest. His fingers brushed against something small and silver. Her eyes followed the gesture to a delicate cameo pendant hanging just beneath his collar, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"The cameo you wear…" she murmured, her eyes tracing the slight piece. She glanced back at the portrait. "It is the same as the..."

He looked down at the pendant, his jaw tensing. "Yes," he said quietly, then met her gaze. "It belonged to my mother. Passed down to my brother. I usually keep it in my study, hidden away. My father…" His eyes darkened. "He never let me have anything of hers. But I took this when I was a boy. Stole it, really, after my brother passed. I hid it for years, afraid he'd take it back. I felt I should wear it today."

Ester's hand moved before her mind could command it to stop. She reached out, her fingertips grazing his arm with a feather-light touch, feeling the heat of his skin radiate through the thin barrier of his tight shirt. It was like touching fire—intense, forbidden. She felt the strength beneath the fabric, the hard muscle that spoke of power and control.

His eyes snapped down to her hand, and for a moment, just the briefest of heartbeats, she thought she saw his resolve flicker. But then his expression hardened, the desire in his eyes turning to a stormy darkness, and he stepped back, severing the contact.

The abrupt distance sent a pulse of disappointment through her, and she realized with a sharp ache how much she had enjoyed being so close to him. His scent lingered in the air around her—rich and heady, a mixture of woodsmoke and leather, with a musky undertone that made her mouth go dry. Being near him brought every one of her senses to life. Made her want to bury her face against his chest and inhale him.

He towered over her, all strength and restraint, the kind of man who looked like he could break mountains if he chose. And yet, when he spoke, his voice had a quiet vulnerability that pierced the facade, making him all the more irresistible.

"You shouldn't touch things that can kill," he said, his voice a low rasp, as though he was speaking more to himself than to her. His eyes flicked briefly to her hand, still hovering mid-air, then back to her face, hard and unreadable. "It is not safe."

Ester let out a small, humorless laugh, though her pulse still hadn't quite returned to normal. "I do not think anyone here is under any illusions about your... volatility." She tilted her head, her eyes catching his with a glint of dark amusement. "But truthfully, Julian—you are not exactly a raging inferno. More like... a slow burn. Dangerous, perhaps. But only to those —"

"—foolish enough to linger," Julian finished, the corner of his mouth twitching into a wry smile. " Shadows Beneath the Serpent Star , chapter four, page seventy-nine, was it?"

Ester blinked, caught off guard. "You have read it?"

"I am quite the scholar of tragic, esoteric, romantic nonsense. My father was a collector of several thousand tomes of the ilk," he reminded. "But you… Are you that foolish?"

"I have not decided yet," Ester said with a soft smirk, lowering her hand but keeping her gaze locked on his. "But I shall let you know when I do."

He smiled mirthlessly, tugging his sleeves lower before casting his gaze back to the portraits on the walls. On the surface, it seemed a casual gesture, but now she understood there was something deeper at play.

Strangely, she desired to comfort him, to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and hold him close, to soothe whatever pain lay beneath his stern facade. But more than that… she yearned to be in his arms, to be claimed by him. The idea of yielding to his control sent a shudder through her, a heady mix of anticipation and need thrumming through her veins. She wanted to give in, to be dominated, to be shown what it meant to submit to his power…

These were not acceptable feelings. Were they? Decent people did not have such thoughts, did not give in to such lusts. Had the Viscount Kingsley done something to her? Tainted her? She felt guilt at possessing such feelings toward a man ever again.

Her breathing quickened as she thought that all she had to do was lean close for just a moment. Lean towards Julian and his hand might brush her…

"I will show you the chapel," Julian burst, allowing his hand to drop at just the moment that Ester had decided to throw caution to the wind.

The loss of his proximity was a wrench to her. Suddenly, she thought that he must have bodily carried her back to this house from the mere, after dragging her from its depths. She had been cradled in his arms. It made her giddy with desire but also chagrined that she could not remember that night.

She followed him through the hall and along more dusty hallways. Sunlight spilled across their path, dust motes dancing in its beams.

Finally, they arrived at two doors with iron rings in their center. Julian seized them and pushed at the doors. They opened with a squeal of rusted hinges, and Ester gasped at the sight unveiled.

The space beyond was drenched in color and light. Stained glass windows at the far end scattered the sunlight into a cascade of reds, blues, and greens. Tall pillars supported a stone vaulted ceiling that seemed to touch the sky. The cool air pressed against Ester's skin and her footsteps echoed in the space. For the first time in months, Ester felt a strange wash of calm as Julian closed the doors behind them.

"I am not especially spiritual," he confessed, "any son of my father would be hard-pressed to be such. I grew up steeped in the lore of the ancients. Dark and mysterious." He glanced around the space, his voice softening. "But this place... it has always captivated me. I come here when I wish to..."

"Quieten your mind," Ester finished, speaking her own truth.

Julian looked at her in wonder for a long moment, then nodded sharply. "I was going to say soften the blow of drink, but you seem far more poetic with your phrasings," he said with a faint smile.

Ester smiled too. She drifted forward into the gloriously colored space, her fingertips grazing the tops of pews that had gathered dust over the years since they had last held a congregation. A thrush flitted over her head and out of a small hole in the stonework of a side chapel where the wall met the ceiling. She beamed, envying the little bird and its freedom. If the same opportunity for escape was available to her though, would she take it?

At this moment… she could not say.

The sense of unreality lingered, as though she were wandering through the pages of a fairy tale. A part of her yearned to see the story unfold to its end. Unlike the thrush, her escape would not lead to freedom, but back to a life that stifled her.

"I have not asked, and you have not volunteered why I found you on that road last night," Julian finally broke the silence.

Ester frowned and she spun to face him. He stood on the edge of the play of light from the stained glass. The shadow of a pillar held him in its embrace. His hair was as black as the shadow, and his face, white. She could see the blue eyes he had inherited from his mother though, clear, and vital.

How would he react if she told him everything? Told him the truth about herself. She was going to die, after all. What harm could it do? The instinct to be open with him was tempered by the fact that she had been sworn to secrecy about Kingsley by her father. It had been a solemn promise made to protect her, her sister, and her family. In everyone's best interests.

But more than that, if she revealed the truth, would this stranger regard her as tainted as everyone else seemed to? She found she desperately didn't want that.

"I was to meet a man," she said finally.

"Oh," Julian replied, looking away.

"Not for that reason," Ester added hurriedly.

"It is none of my business," Julian replied, equally hastily.

Ester rushed to his side and raised her hands, instinctively reaching to take his arm, desperate to communicate her honesty. It was as though there was an invisible barrier between them. She paused, aching to touch him.

"He is a man of rank, but not a gentleman . I was to… pay him for his silence. To protect my family's name," Ester muttered.

She could not bring herself to admit to the assault she had been victim to. This was close enough to the truth but without breaking her promise or challenging his untarnished view of her.

"That is the reason you were carrying a bag full of gold? I did wonder."

"How did you know about the money?" Ester suddenly asked. "Did you find it? Or the man that took it?"

"I thought him to be a highwayman. He ran into my horse and fell down the embankment. Then he ran away along the lake shore," Julian explained.

Ester sighed. "For a moment, I hoped that you had recovered the bag I was forced to give to him. But, it would be too much to hope for and likely foolish."

Julian hesitated, frowning. "Actually, I did find a satchel," he admitted slowly. "It is in my study. I was originally planning to have Caramond deliver it to the justice of the peace and have it returned to its rightful owner, but now I suspect the rightful owner is you."

Her eyes widened again, this time in surprise and relief. "You did? I—I…" But her smile slowly slipped, replaced with a deathly frown.

Julian's brows furrowed. "What is it? I could go to retrieve it for you now if it might offer you peace of mind."

"N—no, it is just—" she stammered for a response. If Julian had the satchel, that would mean it was not in the viscount's possession. Would he blame her for it, even if she fulfilled her end of the bargain? She hoped, if anything, it might buy her some time to think of a better solution than letting herself drown in an endless spiral of blackmail. When she noticed Julian's eyes linger on her in want of an answer, she quickly composed herself. "I appreciate it, truly. It is just not a concern for the moment, I suppose."

"Then if you would follow me," he bowed with a flourish and a smile. "Time for the main event."

Biting her lip, distracted, she followed Julian from the chapel and back into the dusty, dark castle proper. He led her up staircases, wide and narrow, straight, and spiral. Ester found her burgeoning cough beginning to afflict her more, feeling herself out of breath during their little excursions. She fought to keep the instinct under control, seeing the distress it caused Julian.

Finally, he stooped to open a tiny door, barely large enough for Ester to pass through without hunching herself. Beyond the threshold, a rush of frigid air struck her, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and the hint of frost. She stepped out after him and found herself atop a tower. It was encircled by a rugged stone parapet, with a narrow walkway extending all around the perimeter.

Ester's breath caught in her throat as she looked out over the endless expanse of forest below, gaping. "By heavens, this is… magnificent…"

Julian leaned casually on the parapet, his eyes fixed not on the stunning panorama but on her. She found it intensely flattering as the view was breathtaking.

Tentatively, she moved to the edge of the parapet, gripping the stonework and focusing her gaze straight ahead, refusing to glance downward into the dizzying drop.

"Careful now…" Julian rushed to her side, hovering a hand an inch from her waist in case she lost her balance.

"I am not a stumbling child, Julian," she exclaimed with a laugh, her voice carried away by the breeze as she tugged her auburn locks free from their coiffure to let them sway in the wind. Everywhere she looked, the forest stretched like an ocean of emerald waves, dense and mysterious.

In the farthest reaches of the horizon, there was the suggestion of something large and dark—a shadowy hint of a city. London, she guessed. Occasional spires of smoke rising from the mass of trees belied the existence of hamlets and villages.

To the west, in the near distance, remnants of structures stood scattered amidst the trees, ancient and broken, like relics pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. Crumbling towers and twisted arches stretched toward the sky, giving the landscape an almost fantastical quality.

"I have seen this view from my chamber. Those structures… they look like they belong to another time," Ester exclaimed, her hair whipping against her cheeks. "Why haven't they been restored? They're enchanting, like something painted from a storybook!"

Julian's eyes followed hers, narrowing slightly as he considered her question. The silence hung between them, filled only by the low howl of wind. "Restoring such ruins is no small undertaking," he replied at last, his tone pragmatic. "It requires an immense sum and considerable effort. They are more than a picturesque folly; they would need to be made sound again before they could be useful. I have had other concerns that took precedence."

Ester turned to him, frowning. "But surely, someone with a mind for such things could bring them back to life," she pressed, unable to hide the wistful note in her voice. "Why not sell them?"

Julian sighed, his gaze distant. "It is not that I wouldn't." He smiled pensively. "In truth, I very nearly did. Crammond informed me some years ago a young couple were interested in purchasing the land. The Earl and Countess of Undercliffe . They had grand designs to make it into a country retreat, a secluded haven for summer months." He hesitated, glancing away. "I could not bring myself to sell it to them, and until this day, I am not so sure why. Perhaps... perhaps I was envious of their freedom."

The awe Ester held began to fade too, agonizingly slowly, replaced by an immense sadness that settled in her chest like a stone. This beauty, this marvel of nature, was forever lost to her also.

It would have been enchanting to appreciate it, savor it alongside a man she loved and wished to share the rest of her life with. But, Kingsley had destroyed that for her. Now, all that remained was a life spent fleeing scandal, hiding away in fear, and paying off an insatiable scoundrel who would never be satisfied. Happiness felt like a distant, unreachable dream.

Tears blurred her vision and she turned away from the view, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as sobs overwhelmed her. And then, without warning, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her, pulling her close.