Amber Lights

Amber Lights - Chapter 1, Part 2

Here we go with another section.  Enjoy....

Kevin Barry lounged comfortably near the roulette wheel, savoring his champagne.  To be honest with himself - he was bored.  Overindulgence was fine when he was young; but at thirty -two, this kind of entertainment had long since ceased to amuse.

Eyeing the clubs opulent surroundings with distaste, Kevin considered his options.  This was supposed to be business.  Young Lord Darley had indicated an interest in investing in one of Kevin's shipping lines.  In fact, he might be of a mind to buy the whole damn thing, and Kevin was definitely of a mood to sell.  Traipsing around the ocean was well and good while he needed the money, but had lost its luster of late.

So the fleet was for sale – every sail and spar of it - if Darley was interested in buying.  Unfortunately, business these days was invariably done over some form of ‘gentlemanly pursuits’. 

Kevin glanced upward at the thin, blue spirals of smoke dodging in and out of the rafters.  Not all of it was due to the cigars most men held.  A sweet, heavy smell accompanied the regular puffs of smoke that wafted down the wide central stairway.

Opium, for the most part gave Kevin a headache.  Not that he was a prude, heaven forbid.  It was just that he preferred his mind clear and his body ready for action.  Lord Darley was, at present - one of those currently indulging in the hookah.  After that, the man would pursue amusements Kevin found even less palatable. 

It wasn’t the lifestyle choice that bothered him – rather Percy’s approach.  The man lusted after anything in pants – Kevin included.  It was the same with every other self-styled ‘fop’ these days.  English style had recently given way to French style - cards, clothes and morality.  It was as if the war served as an aphrodisiac.  Everywhere he looked men and women were engaged in some sort of vice - gambling, drugs, orgies.  Pleasure at any price.

 

Even the clubs unofficial ‘title’, De Sade’s, paid tribute to an imprisoned French libertine.  An entire wing was devoted to the ‘joys’ of Apollo.  There was even a secret section, with its own entrance, one block over.  One needed a password to gain admission to that particular establishment.  Nick–named ‘Justine’s’, it housed reprobates of the first water.  Rumor had it the notorious Hellfire Club was once again active and met there in secret.

 

Swirling his glass, Kevin watched the bubbles fizz and break against the surface of the wine.  He was disgusted.  This so-called 'gaming house' was nothing more than a dressed up bordello.  A paean to Palladian overindulgence.  Overstuffed chairs and overstuffed women.  Many ‘Ladies’ of distinction attended revels here, behaving for all the world like the whores that they were.  Decorative eye masks supposedly maintained anonymity; but in truth, no one was fooled. 

The more censorious members of the ton avoided the place as if it housed hogs.  To be seen at either hell smacked of licentiousness - hence the attempts at disguise.  Problem was, even those sofits to convention were not nearly enough.  Especially considering the latest fashion in dress ran to transparent gauze – a fad most women steered clear of – thank the lord!  Shocking; really.  Kevin was singularly unimpressed with modern London values. 

Stretching, Kevin shifted his lithe frame around in an attempt to take better advantage of the chairs plush upholstery. 

He was decidedly uncomfortable.  Percy still hadn’t returned, leaving Kevin alone to fend off the advances of any number of intoxicated women and men.  He really hadn’t anticipated the turn the evening had taken.  Business was supposed to be tonight’s fare.  Gadding about London from club to club getting stoked on gin and opium wasn’t on the agenda.  Not to mention being inappropriately dressed for the occasion.  His lawn shirt and worn chamois pants were more suited to visiting dockside pubs and chatting over a beer.

   

Kevin’s preference ran to severe black – no gaudy frills or expensive materials.  Comfort, as opposed to show.  He would, when necessary, don brighter colors - but black suited him best.

"Black hair, black eyes, black heart," or so his enemies said.  Since Kevin was a wealthy man, enemies he had, though few still bothered to try and thwart him.

‘God’!  Kevin sighed, bored out of his skull.  He was now quite alone.  No one had even approached him for at least a quarter of an hour.  Which was a bit odd, actually; considering there had been a steady stream since he walked in the door.

Kevin looked around.  There – over by the twenty-one tables.  What in hell could pique an interest in this jaded crowd?  Might be worth investigating.

"Anything's better than sitting around waiting for Percival to get himself buggered"; Kevin muttered.

Retrieving his wine from the table, Kevin wound his way past various groups of people until he stood on the outside of what was fast becoming a small crowd.  It didn’t take long to spot the attraction.

 

A woman, by god - and quite simply, the most breathtakingly beautiful woman Kevin had ever seen. 

Thick auburn curls spilled loosely across her shoulders.  Small beads of amber and diamond twined through her hair - no feathers or turban to spoil the effect.  Her skin was fair, with just the hint of ivory about it.  She stood out like a living jewel.  Even her dress shimmered, reflecting gold and red light.  It was sleeveless; leaving her shoulders nearly bare – a bit daring for civilized society - but the style suited her admirably.  A single velvet strap anchored the gown in place.  Kevin longed to break it, and watch all that glittering cloth slither to the ground. 

Her gaze was fastened upon the cards, so Kevin couldn’t see the color of her eyes; but they were framed with dark, lush lashes.  No mask for this one; she seemed not to care what everyone thought.  An ornate ring worn on her left hand caught Kevin’s attention.  Amber again, and diamond - fashioned in the shape of a horseshoe. 

Ah - married, then – how disappointing. 

Just then she looked up, and Kevin saw gray eyes brushed with tears.  His chest tightened.  Whatever could be troubling her?

The dealer leaned forward and touched the lady's hand, his address reproachful.  "Madame, do you wish to stand pat?”

Amber opened her mouth to reply, when a strong, male voice answered.

"The lady favor's taking a chance; don't you my dear?"

There was a caress in that tone, and not just in the endearment.  Amber looked around the table. 

Standing across from her stood a tall, black shadow with the devil's own smile.  Thick black hair, held back by a clip of silver, skin browned by exposure to the elements - long, lean, elegant and dangerous; all this Amber registered in an instant.  He was looking at her in a familiar way, as if he knew her; but she had never laid eyes on him before tonight.

"Well, my dear, do we play?” he asked softly, moving around till he stood at her side. 

Amber found it hard to breathe, as if he consumed all the air in the room.  The thrumming that had disturbed her mind all day pitched higher.  There was something about him - something she felt she should recognize.  Whatever it was - it held her immobile, staring like an infatuated schoolgirl. 

Finally, her sense of propriety got the better of her.  Tearing her eyes away, Amber opted for retreat.  If she ignored him, he would surely go away.

"I'll take a card on each, and play them up". 

The dealer resumed play.  Now the man was standing directly behind her.  She could feel his body press against hers.  The jolt of it set her skin on fire.  It was as if he were touching her naked, as if her clothing didn’t exist at all.  What was he up to?  Did he think her one of the whores that frequented the place?  Amber’s heart began racing. 

"And have you made your bet?” he breathed into her ear, sending shock waves tingling down her spine.  "I know I've made mine."  This time his hair tickled her neck, almost startling her out of her chair.

"My bet, sirrah, is no business of yours," Amber moved her head aside, trying to avoid further contact with him.  "Please leave off, and let me continue play."

"I'd like to make it my business," Kevin leaned in closer trying to catch another whiff of her delightful fragrance.  The scent even clung to her hair. 

And her voice!  Low, husky, sensual.  His eyes followed down the line of her neck.  Full bodied, yet slender - not a bit overblown, as were most of the women present. 

And what was that scent?  Whatever it was, it smelled expensive.

All the bets were in.  More patrons drifted in to watch the hand being played.  The first card went down.  The ace of clubs!  Twenty-one!

This made the dealer a little nervous.  There was a lot of money on the table.  If she won the split, his cash reserves for the evening would be sadly depleted.  Perhaps it was time to stack the odds in favor of the house. 

Hidden in a pocket under the table lay several cards put aside for use against such a situation as this.  Before he could grasp the replacement, a large brown hand covered his.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”; Kevin had noticed the mans surreptitious movements.  “Imagine the stink if it became known that cheating was allowed in this ‘fine’ establishment.  Why, it would be closed in an instant.  And you would lose more than your position, my friend”. 

A thin film of sweat appeared on the dealer’s brow.  Truly, he would be held responsible by the clubs owners if he were turned in.  And they were not the kind it was wise to cross.  Although cheating was encouraged, you were never supposed to be caught doing it.  Employees who had been ‘disciplined’ sometimes disappeared without a trace.  Smiling nervously at Kevin, the dealer moved his hand out from under Kevin’s vice-like grip. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”  The dealer was really sweating now.  What if this gentleman made a case out of this incident!  And what about the lady?  The dealer looked down at her.  She seemed frozen – waiting for the game to continue.  He glanced up nervously at the tall man menacing him. 

“May I continue the play, sir?”  The dealer’s hand hovered above the top card in the deck.

“Just make sure you play the cards in your hand, fellow”.  Kevin’s stance relaxed a bit, though his eyes never left the table.  “The lady deserves a fair chance, don’t you agree, my dear?”  With that, Kevin’s hand came to rest lightly on Amber’s shoulder. 

The shock of it was like winter static. 

Amber shrugged him off.  A delicate flush worked its way up her face.  First he harassed her - now the dealer!  Whatever his motive, the man was interrupting her play, and she wanted him gone.

“This is my hand, and I would appreciate you backing off!”  Amber didn’t dare look up at him.  Her skin still tingled from his touch.

The dealer cleared his throat.  “Shall I continue, Madame?” 

Amber took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair.  “Please do”. 

The dealer moved forward.  A second card was placed on the table.  Amber began to breathe again.  The Ace of Spades!   

Kevin stiffened when he saw it. 

It was an omen – it had to be!  This particular card held special significance – each time it turned up, Kevin’s life had changed radically.  Well, well, well!  Who knows what the rest of the evening could bring? 

He was just about to suggest they share a supper, when Darcy finally stumbled into view. 

"Kevin, darling," Percy effused, "you must meet my dearest friend," Percy looked at the rather vague young man standing next to him.  “Whatever did you say your name was, lovey, I've quite forgotten?" 

Percy swayed a little as he clung to his most recent conquest.  Kevin was forced to put out a restraining hand to prevent disaster.  By the time Percy detached himself, Kevin’s mystery woman had evaporated. 

"Bloody hell!"  Kevin swore to himself, pushing Percy and his friend aside in his haste.  Where had she gone?  She couldn’t have disappeared.  He quickly scanned the room.  Damn!  Not a sight of her,

Kevin turned back to the table.  The final hand of cards was still there.

"You, dealer," Kevin grabbed at the dealers arm.  "Do you know who that lady was?  Does she play here often?"

The man shrank back in panic.  "No, sir, I mean yes sir I’ve seen her here, but no sir I don’t know who she is.  May I close up now?" 

The dealer moved to clear the table.  People had already left the area, searching for different amusements.  He had to shut down – all his ready cash had just walked out the door.  That and he had some heavy explaining to do when he turned in his receipts.

Kevin reached down and picked up her final card, the Ace of Spades.  This, at least he would keep until he found her again.  Kevin’s personal fortune had begun on the turn of this card.  He had won a ship from an old pirate, and turned that win into a business whose concerns reached as far as India and the Americas.  The Ace of Spades was a symbol of luck, and Kevin took it to mean that this woman was meant for him.

Never had any woman intrigued him enough to pursue her.  Usually he was besieged by more than willing females of all types and ages.  His position as well as his fortune made him a target for every marriage-minded mama in London; despite the scandal attached to his name.

Most were willing to overlook that little item, provided he marry one of their daughters.  A title - especially that of Duke could wash away a great deal of dirt.  Then there were the widows and other, married women who sought him out for more direct pleasures, though he tended to avoid those.  No, Kevin had never suffered from lack of companionship. 

This woman was different.  There was a direct emotional impact.  Kevin was intrigued.  That and he felt the need to find out what troubled such a lovely woman, and sweep it away, along with her in the process.

Kevin felt a hand on his arm.  Turning to shrug it off, Kevin saw Percy step back into the arms of his clinging amour.

"Lord ha’ mercy, my dear friend," Percy hiccupped.  He had, after all, consumed vast quantities of opium that evening.  "Pray tell us what has your knickers in such a twist?"

Kevin hauled Percy up so far his feet left the floor.  Unwilling to interfere, Percy’s companion beat a hasty retreat.

"You know, I've about had it with your simpering, imbecilic attitude and your stupid observations.  The only reason you are not now lying in twelve separate pieces on the floor is that I am otherwise occupied!”

"Well, now; no need for that, old man," Percy extracted himself with some difficulty.  "You don’t have to be so precious about it!  Perhaps I can help, don't you know?" 

His lovely coat was covered with wrinkles and he was sure there was a tear in all that lace by his throat.  Kevin was such a brute.  And now his evening’s entertainment had flown the coop.

Kevin looked down at Percy.  "The lady at the twenty one table; the beautiful redhead dressed in gold - do you know who she is?"

Percy was still fussing with his clothes.  "Really, do you expect me to notice every tart that comes into the place?  That’s not exactly my style, you know."

No sooner had Percy finished speaking than Kevin grabbed him again.

"All right, all right, old man.  Leave off!  I do happen to know who she is, but I can't tell you while you're holding me by the throat!"

"Then be quick about it or I may do more than that,” Kevin put Percy down. 

"Oh very well”.  Percy fussed a bit over the condition of his beautiful jacket.  This was really too much.  Titled or not - the man was an uncivilized oaf, and his manners were deplorable. 

“The 'lady' in question is the wife of a very dear friend of mine, Lord Harold Randall.  At least, I know him as well as any.  Old Harry keeps much to himself, don’t you know.  Anyway, they have a small house here in town, and a rather large estate in the country near the coast.  She usually accompanies him on his little escapades, though she never indulges in anything other than gambling." 

Percy leaned forward with a conspiratorial tone; "He's a member of the 'family', if you catch my drift.  Married her so he could inherit both title and estate.  Seems his father had his doubts about Harry's ability to carry on the family name and all that.  Amusing what?"

Percy fanned himself with a rather large handkerchief.  "Warm in here, wouldn't you say?  What about a little libation to soothe parched throats?  I understand the ‘green fairy’ is kept available for - shall we say - ‘special’ guests"?  Percy turned to secure the refreshments.

"As soon as you have finished telling me all about your former friend and his lovely wife."  Kevin steered Percy toward a couple of unoccupied chairs at the end of the roulette table.

"Whatever you say, old man," Percy arraigned himself comfortably, producing a small snuffbox.  Ornately carved mahogany, adorned with a ram’s head, it was referred to as a ‘grotesque’.  Percy found this highly amusing - but then Percy often found things amusing without any real cause.

Without offering Kevin any, he opened it and with a flourish, inhaling a somewhat copious amount.  Fine white particles mixed in with the tobacco clung to his upper lip as he tapped at his nose with his handkerchief. 

Kevin's disgust was tempered by his current need.  This new fashion in snuff was proving to be the scourge of London.  Kevin refused to traffic in it despite his holdings in the Americas.  Its effects were insidious – worse even than opium.  Percy’s use of it was constant and debilitating, often interrupting any attempts at clarity. 

"Well," Percy settled comfortably into a gossipy tone.  "It seems that Harry may have gotten himself into quite a fix.  Due to the terms of his fathers will, he must produce an heir by his thirtieth birthday, or the estate goes to some obscure cousin.  Harry retains the title, of course; but you know how much that will mean if he's penniless."

Kevin knew all too well.  He had inherited his title from a profligate father who had frittered away the family fortune.  Only going into trade - a practice looked down upon; but a necessity nonetheless - had bankrolled his current holdings. 

Being Duke of Covington opened doors for Kevin; keeping them open was a constant occupation.  Shipping meant money, and lots of it.  Real wealth, however, came from pursuits less legitimate.

Percy rambled on.  "That thirtieth birthday is just around the corner – this summer, in fact.  It’s been all the talk.  What’s Harry going to do?  I’ve even put a fiver on it myself.”  Percy’s nose started twitching.  Kevin found it distracting.

“So this Lord Randall’s the target of gossip.  Tell me something useful Percy or I’ll keep you here all god-damn night!”  Kevin didn’t have to try very hard to sound threatening.

“All right, old man; all right!  It affects the lady as well as her husband.  Even with daddy dear dead and buried, his will was very specific about the inheritance.  Every penny and every stick of furniture is entailed.  Harry, and his sweet little wife, will be on their ass without a brass farthing, and no prospects for any income at all”. 

More snuff made its way up Percy’s nose.  Kevin recoiled slightly from the unappetizing sight. 

“Trust me, darling – this would be a catastrophe.  Harry’s very into living life at the edge.  Why, I’ve heard rumors that would make your hair stand on end!  Old Harry there is quite the libertine.  Goes just a touch too far, don’t you know.  Not my taste.  I never looked good in red.” 

What he meant by that Kevin couldn’t imagine.  More of the snuff mixture made its way up Percy’s nose, causing him to cough and sniffle.  After taking a liberal sip of Kevin’s wine to wash it all down, he was ready to continue.

“On occasion he has had to pay off some of his ‘amusements’ or they wouldn’t hold their tongues.  Why I’ve even been told that ----- well, never mind.  Can’t believe all that you hear.  Anyway, this has cost lots and lots of money.” 

“So - faced with an absolute impossibility, producing an heir and all, Harry has been spending the family fortune like water.  And lately, he has had help wasting every penny." 

Kevin glanced toward the twenty-one tables. 

Percy laughed.  "No, you silly goose, not the wife.  Percy has a new playmate.  Plays high priest to Harry’s demon lover.  Way beyond the pale, but that’s what old Harry is in to these days.  Amazing what money can buy.  And this little leech clings to Harry’s money like new flesh.  It is he who has encouraged this riotous spending.  Not to mention tons of lavish gifts"

Percy turned his head aside for a moment and sneezed violently into his lace handkerchief.  Kevin noticed traces of blood against the white lace.  "Nasty stuff, snuff - but what can I do, it's so addictive."  He wiped his nose vigorously, and continued his narrative.

"This bounder doesn’t even have the proper pedigree.  Dutch or German I believe.  Claims noble decent, but we all feel he's really just a peasant who's managed to reach above himself.  I’ve heard his father was in trade, and, after all, doesn’t that truly define a man’s character?"

Percy caught himself and looked up rather embarrassed at Kevin.  "Present company excepted of course, Your Grace."

Kevin smiled grimly and proceeded to light another cigar.  He was used to being looked down upon - even by someone of lower rank.  People of his class just did not enter the trades.  It was more accepted to allow ones family to fall into poverty and decay than it was to salvage the situation through enterprise and ability.  This prejudice was what kept Kevin as far away from the ton as possible.  Many held his nouveaux riches against him.  Coupled with the scandal of his father, it proved a formidable obstacle to any participation in what passed for polite society.

Kevin acknowledged Percy's apology with a nod.

"So - we have quite an intrigue here;" Percy continued with relish.  "The situation is ripe for anything." 

A young man dressed to the hilt in the latest fashion - swallowtail coat, pointed toes and oversize hat to boot - caught Percy’s attention. 

“I say," He unconsciously sleeked back his hair and straightened his attire.  "Did you see that?  Love the shoes!  I wonder who the new boy is?"  Percy moved as if to follow the source of his attraction.

"Her name, you haven’t told me her name."  Kevin caught Percy, stopping him where he stood.  "Just tell me her name and where I may find her and you can hurry off and indulge yourself to your hearts content." 

The sticky sweet smell of opium wafted across the table where they sat.  Percy looked longingly up the stairs.

"Amber, her name is Amber," Percy replied, gathering up his snuff and tucking it into his sleeve.  "The former Amber Raleigh of Huntington Heights.  She is now Lady Randall.  You can probably find her at their country estate somewhere near Cornwall.  They usually spend the week there after being in town.  I can't say where they'll be after that."

Kevin watched Percy head toward a gaggle of young fops near the bottom of the staircase. 

No matter, he had the information he sought. 

Cornwall?  Kevin’s own estate, Covington Hall lay near Helston on the Cornish peninsula.  One of many ancient estates that dotted the coast.  He had heard the Randall name spoken of in passing; with some notoriety, in fact.   

And the name Raleigh – it tugged at his memory.  Something he should know.  The tendril of thought escaped him.  Well - he would be in Cornwall and home before the night was out – no matter how hard the ride.  One of his private vessels was moored not far from there.  Just in case.

Just in case of what?  Kevin gathered up his cloak and headed for the door.  Just what did he intend to do when he got there?  She hadn't seemed interested in his advances; so an affair was probably out - not that he necessarily intended on starting one.  The woman was married!  Married to a fop, that was true, but married nonetheless.  Still, the way his body had reacted! 

Kevin walked outside the building and drew in a deep breath.  The air was thick with fog.  Much better than the atmosphere he had just left.  Walking toward the end of the street he hailed a cab, pondering his next action.

A series of fast horses could get him to his ship, 'The Ace of Spades' by early morning.  The ship could serve as his base of operations till he was through. 

Through with what?  He still had no clear idea what he was going to do about the beautiful Lady Amber Randall when he found her.  All he knew was that he had to see her again no matter what the risk. 

Speaking to the driver, Kevin settled back into his seat.

The cab moved through the night with the muted clip clop of the horse's hooves on the cobblestone streets.  Hours separated him from his goal.  Come hell or high water; this time tomorrow night Amber Randall would be his.  No matter what the risk.

Amber Lights Chapter One - Part One

And here we are at the very beginning.  As I plan on posting various sections - chapters will be out of order, I fear.  But I wanted you all to see who the characters are, and where they all come from.  Fasten your seatbelts!  You're in for a very interesting ride!

Rules – how Amber hated them! One must look just so, speak just so – never, ever set so much as a toe out of line. God forbid anyone try anything different! Well - as far as Amber was concerned, the entire beau monde could go up in flames whilst she stood on the sidelines selling chestnuts.

What did it matter, anyway? It was only a card game. And it wasn’t as if she were violating a damn thing! On the contrary - were she a man, she would be lauded as daring. So Amber didn’t understand the meddling. Especially that blasted dealer. So help her, if that man rolled his eyes and sighed one more time, she was going to smack him! Besides - strictly speaking - if any of the ton were there to pass judgment, they couldn’t exactly admit it. ‘De Sade’s’ was wickedly outside the norm. Not that it really mattered as far as Amber was concerned. The hoi polloi of haute society had cut her adrift years ago.

Amber looked down. One red Queen, one black. The accepted option (the safe one, at any rate) was to play them both together – that is, according to the entire table - all of which couldn’t help but proffer up yards of helpful advice.

But where was the challenge in that?

After all, according to those vaunted rules, she shouldn’t even be playing twenty-one. Piquet was the only accepted game for women – and betting was a great big no no. Few clubs or gambling hells would even serve women patrons, preferring to cater to an all-male clientele (sans the demi-monde, of course). Here, however, Amber could gamble to her hearts content without interference. Usually, that is. Though not tonight, it seemed. Everyone seemed to be giving her the eye – including that oh so snobby dealer. Not that it made one whit of difference. Amber had plans. Rules, such as they were, would no longer apply. This game was important. If she won enough, it could mean her freedom.

So to hell with convention! What was that saying? In for a penny? Well the goddess of chance was about to be given a whirl.

Finally remembering to breathe, Amber nodded at the dealer.

He immediately stopped the play. Despite hints to the contrary, it looked like the lady meant to split the hand. What in bloody hell was she thinking? Several thousand pounds were on the table! Anyone else would simply stand pat. Patrons rarely took chances – at least in his experience. Even regular customers refrained from anything smelling of risk.

Not this lady, however. Downright unusual, she was – and not just because of her sex. Sitting at his table for the past hour, playing like a sharp - sober too - which in itself was a novelty. Well, if the woman were serious, perhaps he could turn her seeming lapse of judgment to his advantage. Leaning forward, the dealer lightly tapped the table, centering attention on Amber’s play.

As excited snippets of conversation winged around her, Amber remained tightly focused. She really needed the money; her desk at home was overflowing with bills. If she won, there would be enough to pay the servants as well as most of her creditors – along with a little something left over for herself. If she lost…….Well – Amber took full responsibility for all the choices she made in her life - even those she regretted.

Speaking of regrets –

Out of habit, Amber looked over at the billiard table. Harold, Lord Randall was, as usual, surrounded by his coterie of 'friends'. Amber sighed. My god - the lot of them resembled nothing more than a full-page advertisement for whatever the latest rage happened to be. Peacock hues, pumps in lieu of boots – they literally filled the room with colors bright enough to make any reasonable persons eyes bleed. Someone must have dropped a particularly amusing bon mot, for Harry’s laugh rang out as he let his hand slide negligently down the leg of his latest paramour. Amber’s gaze hardened as she watched her husband fondle the young man in full public purview. Reggie accepted these attentions with some relish; leaning into Harry’s side and nibbling on his ear.

A mainstay in her husband’s usual entourage, Reginald, Viscount Bentley cut a fine figure in his short emerald green velvet jacket and tight satin pants – at least, he felt he did. Reggie fancied himself to be on par with Brummell himself; taking great pride in even the tiniest sartorial detail. What with his white-blond hair and ever so fair skin, Reggie could have been mistaken for an angel - unless you knew him well. And unfortunately Amber knew Reggie very, very well.

As if sensing her appraisal, Reggie raised his head. Sighting her, he smiled, baring painted white teeth. Caressing his lovers back, Reggie trailed kisses down Harry’s neck. Amber looked away, her stomach knotted and sore. She could barely stand to look at them any more. That was part of what tonight was about - a one-way ticket out of hell.

God, what was the adage about time and wounds? Well they hadn’t healed, just turned into a living nightmare. Armed with her present knowledge, Amber would almost rather have gone destitute than endure the last ten years. Oddly enough, she was almost happy the first few months of her marriage, considering the circumstances. Harry had been a close friend since they were children. Both understood the loneliness of being different, respecting the others peculiarities – and God knows Harry was damned peculiar; even back then. Affection, such as it was, had grown from constant proximity - Harry practically lived on the Randall estate. So, their marriage was, in its own way, just as inevitable as their friendship. They even shared the same birthday, though some years apart (she was just sixteen, Harry twenty). Unfortunately, the similarities ended there.

Harry was always a selfish child, tending toward petulance and self-indulgence. Amber was warm and loving - a wild little thing, all tangled hair and muddy feet. There were other differences as well, but they just didn’t seem to matter – at least to Amber. Yes, his reputation had been reprehensible, but Amber could have cared less about that - ignoring warnings from everyone - including the local pastor. Looking back, she should have realized. It wasn’t just his preference for men that was objected to (some schoolboy homosexual behavior had always been accepted). Nor even his continued, limitless involvement with older, married men.

No - Harry was spiteful – targeting anyone who crossed him. He seemed to revel in his own wickedness, flaunting his indiscretions. This produced one or two genuine scandals, the kind Old Lord Randall had to pay good money to hush up. When the years passed with little change, his father despaired of ever welcoming a grandchild into the family. So, in the end, an ultimatum was laid down. Harry must marry, and produce a legitimate heir.

Amber had always been aware of Harry's predilections. Secrets were hard to keep from the gossips that littered their small community, and Harry’s exploits were legend. Though Harry never spoke of it to her, Amber accepted it as just part of who he was. What he did with his nights didn’t bother her in the least. Sex and all the other mysteries that men and women exchanged held no interest, so she understood and sympathized with Harry's predicament.
Then, suddenly, Amber was alone. When Harry came to her with the suggestion that they both marry, she was more than willing. He offered safety and companionship. What could be better than marrying her best friend?

"I'll never hurt you, pet," Harry had promised with his proposal. "You go your way and I'll go mine. I'll never force you to do anything you don’t want."

"But children, Harry? Your father wants an heir." Amber was not convinced that this was the perfect solution.

"He'll forget about that once we're married." Harry seemed so sure. "All he wants is for me to have a wife. Children can always be put off till later. Come on, what do you say? What an adventure we'll have!"

Amber shook her head, the memory still painful. 'Well, Harry, my sweet - your father didn't forget about those children’. She could trace the final disintegration of her marriage to the reading of her father-in-law's will.

It was simple. No heirs, no estate, no exceptions. Everything – income, residences, even furniture – was entailed away. Why the old man had done that, she couldn’t say. There had been some screaming matches between father and son just prior to the old mans death, but Harry never would tell her what had passed between them. Now the fabric of her marriage rested solely upon her tolerance of her husband’s increasingly reckless and outrageous behavior. And Amber had long since passed the point of no return.

Once again the dealer tapped the table. Amber started. Good lord, her thoughts were scattered tonight! The man must think her a fool. He certainly looked displeased. What on earth was he waiting for? Ah – she had yet to lay down her cards.

Amber hesitated. She could still play it safe and limit her losses. But was that the right thing to do? Her mind had been itching all day. She knew something was going to happen. Amber had long since learned to listen to her inner voice. Her father had taught her that – to rely on her special intuition.

Now why did she have to think of that? Here, of all places? Unable to stop them, warm memories flooded in – images of her father. She could even smell the sea air. It was as if she were reliving every moment.

Papa - old clothes, tobacco and peppermints. Every day was summer and life consisted of wild rides, the dueling scents of warm seaweed and honeysuckle and watching dragonflies hover lazily over deep cool ponds. Sixteen – dear god – was it really almost ten years ago? Her birthday. The last pure memory she had of her father. Amber hadn’t thought about it in years. What a wonderful day that had been. The best day of her life.

Perched high atop Black Sunday, Amber was eager to let him run. Her father worried constantly, but Amber wasn’t afraid. The day was clear, the weather warm, and the beach was calling.

"Hold on tight, girl!” he bellowed, catching the reins as the great stallion fretted and shied.

"As if Sunday would throw me," Amber laughed.

The big black danced sideways as he anticipated his morning run. Amber rode astride, more comfortable bareback than with a saddle. Her skirts rode high up her legs revealing somewhat large feet; but then Amber was a tall girl.

"Throw you he will if you don't calm him down." Patrick Raleigh’s frustration with his only child had reached its limit. That girl had the devils own ability with animals, but all it took was one mistake. Her mother had been an accomplished horsewoman as well, and still met with tragedy.

There had been questions about that – Patrick could never quite believe that his wife’s death had been an accident. But that was long ago. His daughter was here – now - and he didn’t want to lose her as well. Too confident by half, this one. Always thinking she knows best. It was exasperating. Letting loose the reins, Patrick stepped back, watching the fractious stallion prance around the yard. Looking up at Amber, he smiled as she tossed her own wild mane of red hair out of her eyes. So like her mother.

"Why so glum, Father?" Amber pulled her horse in close, calming him with a stroke of her hand. "It's a beautiful day, and besides, today’s my birthday. Nothing sad can happen today."

"Of course not, lass. I was only thinking of how proud your own dear mother would be of you."

Amber leaned forward and touched her father's shoulder. "I miss her too, father,” an unruly curl pushed forward and framed her face. "But she wouldn’t want us to be unhappy though, would she? I mean, not on my birthday and all."

Clear gray eyes met clear gray eyes.

Amber Raleigh may have inherited her mother’s height and thick red hair; but she had her father’s wide-set gray eyes. Stormy gray, and as changeable as the weather, shifting from pale blue to dark tones shot with silver. Stormy was her father’s pet name for her as it was descriptive of her temperament too.

"Speaking of both your mother and your birthday, I have a present for you, lass. It was your mothers and her mothers before her - going back many generations. When she died, I put it aside for your sixteenth birthday. Hold it fast, Stormy, and never let it go. Legend has it that it will always protect the wearer."

With that, Lord Raleigh pulled a silk wrapped parcel from out of his pocket, offering it up to his daughter.

Curiously, Amber took her father's gift. As she shifted the delicate silk aside, glints of red and gold peeked out from within her hand. Strands of amber nuggets separated by tiny white diamonds caught the light. Amber gasped with surprise.

"Father, this is beautiful!" She held the precious stones up so they caught the sun. Light reflected off the necklace and shimmered onto her hair. Amber laughed and swung the beads around so they seemed like pieces of molten sunlight. "I love it - oh you are really a dear!"

Her father smiled as he watched his daughter's delight. "Your mother prized it above any jewel in her collection. It’s called ‘The Lights of Killarnen’. There’s a tale that goes with it. Do you want to hear?”

Amber smiled. Her father was a consummate storyteller. She never knew what was truth, and what was fiction, and she doubted he did either, but getting there was wonderfully entertaining.

Lord Raleigh stroked Sunday’s velvety nose. “I’ll tell it to you as she told it to me.”

“Many generations ago, long before even the Romans visited these islands, a druid was watching the skies on midsummer’s eve.” Screwing up his face, Patrick looked up into the china blue sky.

“That’s today, in fact - your birthday, lass! Ah well.” Time had passed quickly. Mary was dead now five years.

Putting it out of his mind, Patrick continued with his story.

“This druid, it was his duty, you see. Charting the heavens. Many a night he climbed high upon the tor, noting the constellations as they danced across the sky.”

“This night was different, however. He had a premonition - a presentiment that something momentous was going to happen. Runs in your family that does. Your mother always knew when something important was going to happen. Matter of fact, she knew I was going to propose before even I did.”

Amber wasn’t surprised. Her father was very easy to read sometimes.

Patrick cleared his throat. Thinking of Mary was hard.

“To his surprise, a star fell, streaking across the sky, trailing fire in its wake. Right at him it came, flying low over his head toward the sea and crashing with a great explosion that knocked him to the ground.”

“Drawn to find where it lay, the druid traveled a day and a night, without stopping for food or water, until he heard the sound of waves crashing.

“There, on the beach, he saw a deep hole in the ground surrounded by small glittering stones, both white and yellow. Thinking them a gift from the gods, he fashioned those stones into this necklace.”

“The first woman to wear it called herself Amber. Thereafter it became known as ‘Amber’s Lights’. You were named for it, once we saw all those copper curls.”

Amber was bemused. Sure that her father had made the whole thing up, it never the less made the gift all the more precious. ‘The Light’s of Killarnen’ indeed!

“That’s the story told me by your mother on our wedding day. She wore them in her hair.” He paused for a moment, lost in the memory.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there. Even if all else failed, I could never have sold it. By rights it is yours and your daughters after you."

"Oh, father," Amber realized what this had cost. "We really need the money, don't we?" Ever since her mother’s death, her father had drank and gambled himself into near penury. The situation was dire, and Amber knew it. Black Sunday was the last of their stable, and even he was promised to a neighbor for stud. It wouldn’t be long before the estate went as well.

She held the necklace against her heart. "Perhaps you should sell it. This is much more than I deserve this birthday. Here - at least we can pay off the debt on the stable." Reluctantly she handed the costly gift back.

"No, lass. Your mother wished you to have this and have it you shall.” He pressed the necklace into her hands, and closed her fingers around it. “Tis too young you are to worry about bills and mortgages. Enjoy your life while you have it. Time flies by all too quickly, and sooner than you think you will be all grown up. Take your mothers gift. I'll die happy knowing you have joy of it."

"Oh, father, you're not going to die." Amber laughed and gathered up both necklace and reins in her hands. "I know you're going to live forever."

It was the third tap from the dealer that broke her reverie. Amber found herself shaking like a leaf. What on earth was wrong with her tonight? Mooning over what was past never helped the present - especially not thoughts about her father. The man was dead, and that was that. His heart had given out within a week of her sixteenth birthday. No - that part of her life was long gone, and it was high time she got on with the here and now.

Amber looked up at the dealer and smiled, hoping to cover her seeming lack of attention. She gritted her teeth when he sighed, willing herself to remain mute, ignoring the inevitable titters that followed. It was obvious the man was exceedingly irritated – and with good reason. Amber had yet to indicate her intentions. Till she did, all play would remain suspended – and his patrons were a restless sort. It didn’t take much for this crowd to move elsewhere.

Chapter Five, Part One

Here's a snippet of my first completed novel.  As soon as the editing process is finished, I will be looking for a publisher.  I plan on publishing bits and pieces as I finish my work.

Amber ran.  Terror drove her - across the lawn, past the stables, through the garden and down toward the cliffs.  Fear pumped through her with every wild beat of her heart.  Suddenly she fell; tangled in the length of her skirt, now sodden with the morning dew.  Sobbing, she clawed at the ground, hauling herself up by her fingernails, tripping forward and careening into a tree.  Dawn had scarcely broken – and she could barely see a hands-length in front of her eyes, let alone where to place her feet.  Unfamiliar sounds erupted out of her chest and she could feel droplets of moisture clinging to her lips as her breath misted in the early cold.  The situation couldn’t be more desperate.  It wouldn’t be long before the entire countryside was up in arms looking for her.  She would be branded a murderer, and cast into prison or worse.  The cries of murder! still rang in her ears.

Dead, dead, dead!  Amber tried to focus her, but her thoughts were chaos.  What do I do?  She imagined she could still hear the maid’s cries following behind her.  Murder!  Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled the scream welling up from her clenched stomach.  Tears cooled on her face, mingling with the stinging sweat that blinded her eyes.  Oh God, help me – help me!  What did I do?  Leaning against the tree, Amber felt its rough bark crumble underneath her hands as she slid down its length.  The stitch in her side sent sharp pains stabbing into her lungs with each mouthful of air.  She sat, knees pulled into her chest, mind racing to understand the enormity of the last few hours of her life.  The last few hours!  Well, they very well might be, mightened they?

Amber looked toward the indistinct lights of the main house, imagining she could hear the hue and cry.  People were hanged in England for the crime she was accused of.  Even women.  Terror once again shook her, racking her body, fists stuffed into her mouth to quiet the sobs shaking out of her.  No one will know, no one will understand.  How can I explain this?  That girl saw him fall, saw his body pitch over the railing - heard the sickening thunk as his head hit the floor.

So much blood!  She had never seen that much blood.  Not even when her mothers shattered body had been carried into the living room, twisted and broken from rolling down the cliff after being thrown.  Unconsciously, Amber wiped her hands down the front of her gown, as if that could erase the evidence.  Light broke over the rim of the cliff face.  A single ray glimmered in Amber’s hair.  She sat, rocking back and forth, trying to sort through the images.  They would find her here soon enough if she didn’t move on.  She had to escape.  The only problem was, where too?  Another scream threatened to claw its way out of her throat.  She had no friends, no relatives to secret her out of the country.  God knows she couldn’t do it herself.  She hadn’t the funds.  How could she live?

The jewels!  Amber’s fingers moved swiftly to her corset, fingering the hard little beads of gold and diamond.  Yes, they were still there!  Amazing, considering how many times she had tripped as she ran.  Well, she had salvaged her patrimony at least.  They ought to fetch a pretty penny.  Perhaps she could sell them for passage on a ship.  The thought of parting with this last tie to her childhood wrenched at her gut.  No – not that.  She would sell herself before parting with the only thing left of her mothers!  Somehow, she must find a way to traverse the rocky countryside alone and on foot until she could find a safe haven.  The problem was - no such haven existed.  Terror filled her once again.  She knew her very life was at stake.  Think, Amber, think!  Pounding her fists against her temples, Amber reached back to the previous night.  What could she have changed, why did she provoke him?  She should never have let him corner her like that.  Whatever could have persuaded Reggie to attack her like that, and then why, oh why did she go back for those damn keys!

**********************************************************************************************

It had been a perfectly ordinary day.  Well, ordinary by Randall standards.  Whispers of sex echoing down the hall from her husband’s room.  Perverted sounds of whips and cries for mercy.  The situation deteriorated daily, both men unashamed in their exploration of the unusual, caring less and less about what was overheard.  Everyone avoided the upper level when Harry and Reggie were abed.  Still, the constant stream of pornographic sounds prompted a visceral response from Amber.  She found herself thinking about that man who had touched her the night before.  The rough texture of his skin, the smell of tobacco clinging to his clothes - she couldn’t stop seeing him.  Finally, exhausted and frustrated by her own thoughts, Amber decided to try lying down again for an hour or two.

Her bedroom was warm and stuffy, overheated by the afternoon sun, making Amber feel claustrophobic.  The seemingly endless drudgery involved with keeping the household, and enduring Reggie’s constant sniping had taken their toll.  A nap was needed.  Just another nap.  Escape from the pervasive evil that always seemed to fill the house.  Amber knew she slept a lot, but it was the only way she could maintain her sanity.

Loosening her stays, Amber stretched out on the bed, kicking her slippers onto the floor.  Nothing felt comfortable!  Pounding the lumps out of her pillow, Amber buried her face into its musty folds, banished all thought of her secret passion from her mind, and fell into a light and fitful slumber.

The room was dark when she awoke, afternoon having stretched into evening.  Amber struggled awake, sleep scratching at her eyes as she rubbed them vigorously.  She had been troubled by dreams, incoherent and confusing images of a man standing over her bed.  An overwhelming presentiment of disaster hung over the room like a miasma, though she couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.  Her breasts ached, as before her menses, but the date was wrong.  An odd sensation tickled her stomach, reaching down into her privates.  Maybe she was off on her timing.  Bloody great!  That’s all she needed to make the day just perfect.  Reggie and cramps!  Her nap had been unfulfilling, though longer than intended, adding to her sense of exhaustion rather than dispelling it.  Wearily, she attended to her toilet, giving up when she saw how dark the rings were under her eyes.

“You’re getting old, my girl”, she murmured, gazing silently at her reflection in the silvered glass.  Oh well, there was supper to attend to, along with a myriad of other duties.  Time to get moving.  Collecting her winnings from their hiding place, Amber headed downstairs.

None of the lamps were lit in the hall (per usual), so she had to feel her way down the stairs.  Probably best, she thought – saves on the cost of oil. Amber noted with satisfaction neither light nor sound coming from her husband’s room.  With luck they were exhausted after their afternoon revels, and would leave her in peace.  Reaching the main floor, she paused, still weary and depressed.  Cook was getting slow and often needed prompting to complete even the simplest of tasks.  There was much to be done before seeking her final repose, not that it ever made much difference. 

Amber dreamed of an uninterrupted nights sleep.  It had been years since she rested easy.  Constant tension kept her perpetually on edge.  She often woke up, frightened for no reason, unable to fall back asleep.  It was slowly driving her crazy. Amber lit the downstairs candles and lamps herself.  The glow cheered her, as she went about organizing the few remaining servants.  She made sure that each was paid in full, according to their duties, along with sums for various tradesmen in town.  When she was done, barely two sovereigns were left.  Oh well, there was never enough.

The smell of food drifted in from the kitchen, leaving her slightly nauseous.  Her appetite had fled with her nap, her mind too occupied to register hunger.  Despite regular trips to London’s gaming establishments, Amber knew that her financial situation was precarious.  Harry’s thirtieth birthday was fast approaching.  The issue of the inheritance had to be faced and discussed.  Time was almost up.  She needed to speak in private with her husband, if she ever found him sober, and could pry him loose from the clutches of that blasted devil!  What to do?  The question haunted Amber as she struggled through menial tasks.  Exhaustion leadened her limbs, making every little movement tedious.  Even her clothes felt heavy.  Maybe she really was coming down with something.  The thought filled her with dismay.  She couldn’t afford to get ill.  It would leave her too vulnerable.

The crash of crockery and some choice swear words brought Amber back to reality.  Cook and the other servants were busily preparing the evening repast.  She really should be there to ensure the meal was completed, but Amber held off.  Privacy in the Randall house was a choice commodity, and not to be wasted.  There was something she had been planning to do for some time, but the occasion had never presented itself.

‘Why not’, she thought?  No one is about.  This could afford her the opportunity she needed.  Not a peep had been heard from either Harry or Reggie so far.  Shaking off the lethargy plaguing her, Amber took the advantage.  Grabbing a lamp from the hall table, she moved swiftly.  Time was an issue.  Soon supper would be on the table, and the evening’s farce would begin.  Harry and Reggie could be up at any time.  She headed toward the rear of the house.  Amber stole into her husbands study like a thief.  Carefully, she placed the lamp on his desk, turning it so she could see the drawers.

‘We may all well be out on the street before years end, if a solution cannot be found’, Amber thought as she rifled through every nook and cranny.  For the life of her, Amber couldn’t ferret out where Harry had hidden that copy of his father’s will.  At one point she thought she might have found it, but all she had was a sheaf of papers covered with a strange symbol.  Amber had seen it before – on some of the books in the library.  A Moorish scimitar with a half moon and star hanging from it.  Irritated, Amber continued to sift through what other papers she could find.  If she could put her hands on the will, she had every intention of taking it to a solicitor, hoping to find some loophole they could slither through.  None of his papers were where they used to be, though.  Probably in the possession of that little shit upstairs, Amber thought as she slammed the drawer shut in frustration.

“Looking for something, my dear?”  Amber jumped, so startled she nearly knocked over the lamp.  She hadn’t heard him coming.  Reggie fairly dripped with sarcasm, his slim frame propped against the frame of the open door.  He was dressed for the evening, resplendent in crimson satin.  She could see he was itching for a fight.

“Damn!” Amber swore softly, her eyes searching the desk for anything she could use as a weapon.  This could get nasty.  She had no idea where her husband was, and the study was isolated.  All of the servants were in or near the kitchen.  No one might hear her if she cried out.  She was on her own.  Reggie had her trapped, blast the man!

“That’s no affair of yours”, Amber replied shortly.  Her hands were braced against the desk, body taught with caution.  She would just have to bluff her way out.  Picking up the lamp, Amber swept past Reggie with all the dignity she could muster.  Before she could dash down the dark hallway to safety, Reggie reached out and grabbed.  Within moments, he had jammed her against the wall - one arm pinned behind her, the other encumbered with the lamp. Drawing her face in so that only inches separated her from his lips, Reggie smiled, his breath redolent with whiskey.

“What’s the matter, sweeting?  Is Little Red Riding Hood caught all alone with the Big Bad Wolf?”  With that, he shoved his tongue so far down her throat she gagged.  His hands viciously twisted her breasts, crushing her nipples.  The more distressed she became, the more it inflamed Reggie.  Amber could feel the evidence of his erection pressed hard against her leg, and it disgusted her.  He was sucking her tongue so hard it hurt.  Amber struggled to free her trapped hand, hoping to shove him away, but it wouldn’t budge.  Reggie continued with his assault.  She felt his hand thrust down the front of her bodice, pulling on breast free, raking his long nails across her nipple so hard it brought tears to her eyes.  He was finally going to do it.  He was going to rape her!

Reacting instinctively, Amber swung the lamp at him with all her might.  The base shattered against his temple, spilling hot burning oil onto Reggie’s face and down his arm.  Amber had one brief glimpse of his eyes, startled and incredulous.  Then he screamed, freeing Amber, his hands to his face, violently brushing the oil away.  Amber didn’t even wait to see if he was badly injured.  The oil hadn’t caught the rug afire, so the house wouldn’t burn down.  Aside from that, she could care less.

Down the hall she ran, away from the cursing and threats.  Let him be damned!  She hoped she had blinded the nasty son-of-a-bitch.  This was all she could stand.  Harry had to listen to her entreaties now.  She could no longer spend one more minute in the same house as that demon.  Either he went, or she did and to hell with the cost!

Reggie’s cries of pain and anger faded as she reached the main staircase.  Amber could hear the clinking of tableware as dinner was being set in the main dining room.  Thank God the servants hadn’t heard the scuffle.  As she feared, the back of the house was too isolated.  Well – considering - that was for the best.  The charade was well and truly over now.  There was no way in hell she would sit down to eat with that vermin, if he was even up to it.  If she could just brazen it out, she could beard Harry in private and then retreat to the safety of her room and deal with the aftermath come morning.

Adjusting her clothes and hair so to hide any trace of her attack, Amber composed herself, and entered the room.  The new maid (Tillie?) was laying out what little was left of the family silver, while the housekeeper set up the buffet.  Surprised, both stopped work immediately upon her entrance.  Amber took a deep breath.  It was important that the servants didn’t see how upset she was.  A certain delicacy was required in hiding the troubles of the house.  Her housekeeper was the only one who had stayed since her marriage, and even she was obviously troubled by the events of recent months.

“Put it all away.  We won’t be dining in this evening.”  Amber could see the knowing glance the two women exchanged.  Had they heard?  Well, there was nothing she could do about that.  Her main focus was getting up to her husbands room with her version of the confrontation before Reggie.  “What won’t keep can be shared by you and the rest of the servants.  I will let you know about breakfast.”  Amber didn’t wait to see their reactions.  Backing out of the room, she turned, intending to run right up and confront Harry.  Before she could even close the doors behind her, Reggie appeared.

Amber was stunned by his appearance.  She hadn’t realized just how much damage the hot oil had done.  He looked a perfect horror.  One side of his face was already blistering, bloody streaks torn down his cheek from where he had clawed at it.  His clothes, usually impeccable, were ripped and stained, the crimson of the material making him seem steeped in blood.  His left hand was curled against his side, the skin so eaten away it resembled raw meat.  Pure venom shone from his every pore, as he hunched before her.  Dear God, what had she done?  Amber felt nauseous, barely able to look at the man.  He looked like some hideous dwarf.  Gore rising in her throat, Amber reached up a shaking hand and removed one of the lit candles from a sconce on the wall.  Holding it out before her, she eased around Reggie’s menacing figure and began moving up the stairs. Neither said a word.  His eyes tracked her.  The hatred emanating from them made her head swim.  She knew she was in mortal danger.  If he attacked, nothing could save her.  This time, he would kill her.  She knew that with certainty.  He would kill her, and no one would come to her aid.  None of the servants would brave a madman.

Resisting the urge to begin screaming, Amber stumbled up each step, never taking her eyes off her assailant.  A slight movement caught Amber’s attention.  Was that the new maid peeking out from around the dinning room door, what’s her name?  “Tilly!” Amber almost shouted out for help.  Hope flared for a moment.  But the girl had fled.  Amber was alone in hell with the devil.

Reggie followed her slowly up the stairs.  His labored breathing filled her ears as he stalked her up to the landing.  Amber backed toward her room, the candle splashing hot wax on her gown as her hand shook with fear.  Only a few more steps and she would be safe. The hall loomed dark behind her.  Safety seemed miles out of reach.  Both knew that this was the final straw.  No more games.  Only one would survive this encounter.  Wildly, Amber wondered if she should try for Harry’s help.  His door was only feet away.  But would he believe her when he saw the ruin of Reggie’s face?

            

No – she couldn’t take that chance.  It was more likely he would blame her for the grievous injury to his paramour.  All she wanted now was the safety of her own bedroom, and the comfort of its four walls.  Amber kept moving, her eyes locked on Reggie, as he crept forward, his one good hand balled into a fist, what was left of his mouth moving without words.  He would surely kill her if he got his hands on her.  The only thing keeping him off was the tiny flame of the candle.  Reggie’s clothes were soaked with the oil.  One touch, and he would go up like a torch.

            

Reggie could barely think for the agony of his burns.  Wave upon wave of pain shuddered through him.  It was her!  This bitch!  She was responsible.  He would make her pay.  She would pay through the nose for ruining him.  One way or the other.  To hell with Harry and his precious plans.  He would get her.  He would get her good.  Repeating this in his head like a prayer, Reggie forced himself to keep moving forward.

She had reached her door.  Never once turning away, Amber fumbled with the handle until she cracked it open.  Reggie stopped, his gaze fixed, almost looking through her.  Blood stained the Brussels lace now hanging limp around his neck.  Cherubic looks destroyed, what now could he offer to the rich men he depended on for his livelihood?  Perhaps Harry would throw him out, repulsed as Amber was by the destruction of his looks.  With one gesture, she had shattered Reggie’s future.  What would he do?  And how would she be made pay?

Frozen, Amber stared into the face of madness.  The pain must be tremendous.  She could see his teeth where part of the lips had been eaten away.  He was grotesque; still, she couldn’t look away.  The moment stretched into eternity.  Suddenly, Reggie smiled, and straightened up.  Amber could see the effort nearly felled him.  Removing a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he deliberately wiped the blood from his face – slowly, tearing open tender blisters as he did so.  Affecting his most formal posture, he bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving her face.

Shaken out of her reverie, Amber swiftly entered her room, and slammed the door behind her, shoving the bolt into place.  She listened; frightened that Reggie would somehow gain entry.  For a while, she could still hear his uneven breathing.  Then, after what seemed forever, his footsteps receded.  She heard him move down the hall, a door open and then close.  When Amber didn’t hear her husband’s voice, she assumed Reggie had gone into his own room.  Trembling with exhaustion and fear, barely able to move, she blew out the candle and collapsed on the bed in tears.