He spent the night wallowing in despair, finding little solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle.

           He stumbled away from the window, his long limbs heavy with lethargy as he sank onto the floor of his study. The room was dark, as dark as his black heart, he thought bitterly.

            Brief fragments of the previous night rushed forward to plague his befuddled mind. He pressed a hand to his forehead, disgusted by the tremors that wracked his body, how the room spun uncontrollably even while sitting.

            He clenched his eyes shut, struggling to think past the throbbing of his temples and the heavy lump lodged in his throat.

            He had hurt her, he thought despairingly, and here he was, the epitome of Lord Clayton Ashford. He had not struck her, but the pain in her lovely eyes had been as though he had laid a hand to her delicate face.

            A violent growl surfaced deep from within his throat. His sudden remorse overshadowed by a fierce and menacing rage. She had betrayed him! She had given herself to Stefan, his own mercenary and the bastard had taken his woman for his own.

            The moment of his arrival he was stunned to hear of their betrothal, enraged by the rumors of a child and vague signs of grief of his supposed death and all the while, he wasted away in a blackened hell, thinking of naught but the beauty of the woman who had stolen his heart.

            He knew the moment the manor came alive with servants, the scuffling of footsteps outside the halls brought him aware but his thoughts remained cloudy as the pain of his inflicted wounds intensified intolerably, forcing his conscious mind deep into the depths of oblivion, just as his eyes grew heavy with lassitude, the door of the study swung open and wavering voices bellowed, “In here, milord is here!”

            Lucile paced back and forth, casting looks of disbelief and anxiety towards the master bed where her liege laid, unconscious and pale. She thought her eyes betrayed her for all this time, she had believed him dead, but he was alive and very much at death’s door.

            Her eyes strayed from her master to the small shadow sitting alongside the bed. Ginelle’s brown eyes gleamed with tears, a lingering thread of hope glistening in the subtle glint of her eyes as she sat rigidly in her chair, clutching tightly into the material of her skirt.

            Lucile knew something had transpired between her liege and young mistress but Ginelle had refused to say.

            A tall shadow fell in at her side and Lucile peered over at Lieutenant Cummings, his handsome face etched with evident signs of concern. “The doctor will be here shortly.”

            The older woman reached up and gently grasped his shoulder until his russet gaze settled on her. “Take your leave, Lieutenant. I will see to master Dorian.”

            He nodded grimly and started for the door, he paused halfway, his eyes settling on Ginelle. He was at her side, gently touching her elbow to lure her gaze to him. “Come mademoiselle, the doctor will arrive shortly, you mustn’t be here.”

            She shook her head, averting her eyes back to Dorian. “I do not wish to leave him.”

            His eyes left her momentarily and strayed towards the bed, he was startled to see cold, blue eyes observing him harshly.

            His hand fell to his side as he turned fully around, “Captain?”

            Lucile moved forward just as Belle opened the door, ushering the doctor inside. “The doctor is here, madam.” She exclaimed.

            “Don’t touch her.” The words were released on a deadly hiss and everyone in the room paused and there was a distinct, sharp gasp as his icy stare settled on Ginelle. “Leave me.” He growled his voice pitiless and stinging.

            Lucile stepped forward and gently took Ginelle’s arm. “Come, my pet.” And she wrapped an arm around Ginelle’s waist as the doctor stepped forward to examine his patient.

            Once in the hall, Ginelle stepped away from Lucile and pressed a shaky hand to the wall, her eyes on the floor to hide her unveiled tears.

            “Monsieur is in pain, is all.” Lucile said softly to console her young mistress.

            The older woman watched a shudder pass through her mistress’ shoulders. “He cannot stand the sight of me.” She wailed softly, turning to peer at Lucile, her brown eyes filled with sadness.

            Lucile froze, shaking her head as she reached out to grip Ginelle’s shoulder. “You mustn’t think that-“

            “He thinks I carry Stefan’s child!” she cried brokenly.

            Lucile blanched, “Surely he knows?”

            Ginelle shook her head as she pressed a hand to her rounded belly beneath the heap of skirts. “He will not listen to reason. He thinks I have betrayed him.” With that said, she swept down the hall, eager to flee.

*********

             The holiday went unnoticed for a state of melancholy fell upon Ashford. Ginelle was torn, pained by Dorian’s refusal to see her. The doctor visited often, tending his wounds that were horrible beyond imaging.

            Every night she cried herself to sleep, damaged by his hatred for her and the cruelty he showed her the night of his return and despite it all, her heart still yearned for his love.

            She wanted desperately to confess her love, reveal her undying heart and the passions he awakened in her, but she feared he would never think on her again, and never see her in the light as before. He had accused her unjustly of wrongdoings before, but these accusations hurt more than his unrequited love.

            The passing weeks she remained barricaded within her room, her heart growing heavy every night he did not call for her.

            She yearned for his embrace, his gentleness and sweet, tender kisses. She ached for his warmth and adoring affections.

            She pressed a hand to her growing belly. She smiled a tiny smile regardless of her pain, her heart blossoming for she had a piece of Dorian in the small form of her little blessing.

            Ginelle decided a nap might ease her saddened thoughts, but as she turned away from the window, a carriage came strolling down the widening path leading up to the front of the manor. She paused as she peered through the cold glass, a frown creasing her brow as her eyes rested on the unfamiliar carriage.

            A sharp gasp uncoiled from her throat as a woman materialized from out of the carriage, her striking red curls piled high atop her head as she extended a gloved hand to her coachman. Ginelle was suddenly breathless, the room tilting beneath her feet as the woman from the banquet who had danced with Dorian stepped down into the snow, her crimson skirts in striking contrast to the blanket of snow carpeting the plantation grounds.

            Ginelle stumbled away from the window, her eyes glazed with tears as she pressed a hand to her heart, her breaths coming quick and short.

            Dorian’s mistress.

            She crossed the room and settled languidly onto her bed as her heart sank heavily in her chest. Her heart twisted with misery. He didn’t love her. How could he love her and call upon his mistress?

           “What the hell are you doing here?” Dorian growled, his eyes flashing daggers of pain; gritting his teeth as sharp spasms darted throughout his limbs while he straightened his frame to sit upright in bed.

            “Are you not happy to see me?” Victoria asked, her brow arching as a small smirk curved her rosy lips, “Did you not ask your servant to see me in?”

            “You did not answer me question, woman. What are you doing here?” he growled as his eyes swept dispassionately over her curvaceous frame. 

            “Surely you know the heartache I suffered?” she said halfheartedly, her eyes glinting like deep sapphires. “But alas, you are alive, mon amant.”

            “And that pleases you?” he snarled, his eyes narrowing coldly.

            She stepped towards the bed, her dark eyes moving leisurely along his lean frame. Her red lips curled into a grin, “Considerably.”

            “What is it that you want, Victoria?”

            She settled onto the bed beside him, her gloved hand reaching across to trail slowly down the length of his muscled arm. “Haven’t I made that clear?” she purred softly.

            Dorian wrenched from her touch, “I’ve stated before, you’re affects are no longer of interest.”

            Her sapphire eyes darkened and her spine stiffened. “You are still smitten with her?” she hissed.

            He said nothing but turned away from her penetrating stare. “How could you love her, a peasant?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “When you could love me?”

            He turned and met her sharp gaze. “You do not have room for love in your blackened heart, Victoria. You seek only to climb the social ladder to satisfy your excessive taste because you know that spreading your thighs will gain you nothing but merely fancy dresses.”

            Her nostrils flared as she struggled to suppress her anger. “How very perceptive of you, mon amant.” She gathered to her feet and lifted her chin, “I have ruthless, social ambition, but it has gotten me all my heart desires, all but one.” She turned back around to face him, “I do not have you, monsieur.”

            “And you will never have me, Victoria.” He replied coldly.

            He was surprised to see a small flicker of pain in the deep set of her sapphire eyes, but as quickly as the emotion flickered aware, it vanished abruptly, her eyes converting to smoldering blue. “Leave my estate, Victoria. You are no longer welcome here.” He dismissed her with the simple wave of his hand and his rejection burned tenfold.

            She lifted her chin defiantly, her eyes sparkling like blue diamonds; her kindled anger propelled her towards the door. She paused, her hand lingering on the latch as she turned back to say, “You will regret it, monsieur, I assure you.” She said icily and than she was gone.

**********