ENGLAND, 1844

PROLOGUE

"He is beautiful, he truly is!" Ivy breathlessly confided in her two friends.

Lillian was no proof against the admission either, "Oh, I dare say you are right! How is one to deny it? He is splendid. He knows it, surely. Can't you see it in his gait, the commanding manner? He knows he leaves the female hearts ablaze in his wake!"

"Ah! Such a wicked, vicious heart! What a strikingly gorgeous man!" Ivy still sighed as she continued her pleasurable scrutiny of the male specimen from afar.

The two shared a sly smile when they saw him hold Lady Greta's hand and take it to his lips for a gentle kiss, he was merely welcoming her to the ball but the girls witnessed the telltale blush that colored the woman's face; she wanted him, just like every other woman present at the ball.

He had started chatting with his guests now, his back turned towards them. Not being able to see his face brought some clarity of thought to both the girls for the first time that evening, they realized the fact that Francesca hadn't shared her opinion of him with them. They looked at one another, and then stared at her, she knew they both wanted her to join in the conversation but she dexterously avoided eye contact.

"Well?!" they questioned her in unison.

She forced herself to look in their direction and replied with feigned innocence, "Well, what?"

"Well, what do you think about him?" asked Lillian with undue emphasis on the word him.

"I don't. That is to say, -er- it has never crossed my mind. I...I don't think about him." Francesca could feel herself melting away under their blatant inspection. The profusion of blood through her dilated veins made her feel as though her face was baking to a scarlet gold.

"Oh come on you! It is written all over your face. Why do you feel the need to hide it from us?" Ivy pointed out with friendly indignation.

Francesca desperately defended her disposition, "there is nothing to hide Ivy. I am not lying to you. I don't really think anything of him. He is not attractive to me."

"We can't believe you, you know. But if you have chosen not to admit it to us, it is your choice and we will never force you to say something you don't want to say." Ivy generously allowed her friend to exercise privacy in the matter.

The ball was suddenly appearing to be a dreary, dull affair, as Francesca scanned the faces of the ladies garbed in expensive muslin, chiffon and brocaded silk, she recognized plummeted spirits here and there and then she looked at her two friends and they had started registering the same symptoms. It dawned on Francesca then that he had slipped away from the ballroom. It was rather strange to her how the happiness of so many women was the doing of one man only. For him to have such a profound effect on so many hearts was a thing of immense fascination. It wasn't as though there weren't many other eligible bachelors in the vicinity, au contraire, there were several other very handsome and suitable men in this particular social gathering. Francesca wished the women would not have their hearts set on just the one man. She could, even now, see a few ladies dancing and enjoying themselves with their partners; she felt that the soirée still had a lot of life left in it. She, however, knew that several young ladies (and older ones as well) would love to disagree with her.

"Shall we go into the garden, ladies?" Lillian inquired of her two friends. Since the object of her desire was no longer in the room, she planned on looking for him on the outer grounds. Where else could he have gone? She asked herself.

"Oh yes, please!" Ivy replied with marked enthusiasm.

Francesca was about to object but Ivy clutched onto her elbow tightly and lightheartedly ordered her, "Oh come along, you! No excuses!"

Outside the night was black. The moon had hid itself away behind a veil of dark clouds. Francesca could feel an ominous message in the forcefulness of the breeze, her long, wavy red hair moved erratically at the command of the strong wind. Ahead of her Lillian and Ivy jauntily made their way down the back terrace descending four sizable, marble encrusted steps to enter the rear lawns of the stunningly spectacular Manor. The path on which they walked distributed the garden into east and west wings. On Francesca's right was a lawn with tall trees and bushes: Silver Birch, Hawthorns and Juniper- immaculately manicured in cone, spherical and cylindrical shapes. At the far end was a fountain, festooned and decorated with sculptures that were almost a century old. The fountain remained shrouded behind a mass of immense greenery, like a destination secret and unknown, but Francesca had been there before. There had been many a day when she had basked in the beauty and glory of the private sanctuary. The fountain side was where she came to rest when she wanted to escape life, she was not allowed there but she made it a point to be as discreet about her visits as possible.

On Francesca's left was a more open view, a number of trees

were planted at measured distance to give a symmetrical precision to the area. Small shrubberies had been sown and grown in intricate patterns which, during a clear day, were viewable from the risen portions of the land on which this estate rested.

When they entered the gardens Francesca chose to stand with her back against the tall trees that made up the right hand side of the lawns, while her friends chased after one another in the opposite wing. They ran about in the shadowy, windy night with gleeful abandonment. Ivy started chasing after Lillian, they both laughed when Lillian barely escaped Ivy's clutches, they ran about the sparsely populated lawns to their heart's content. Francesca felt joy in witnessing the scene from a considerable distance, they looked so beautiful, both of them, with their green and yellow gowns (which appeared dark in the night) flailing about them as they dodged one another. "Francesca you have again chosen not to join in on all the fun!" Lillian complained as she stopped to catch her breath but still kept a watchful eye on Ivy lest she make a hasty move in her direction.

Ivy also paused for a moment to enunciate the same complaint but phrased it in her own way, "Yes! You are staying away again. Come join us!"

"No, thank you! Please don't let me spoil your fun. I'll stand right here and enjoy looking at both of you." Francesca had always had a slight fear of the storms, with one approaching, she felt safer under the shadow of big trees rather than out in complete openness where the Natural forces would most assuredly be more pronounced.

They readily accepted her excuse because they were more engrossed in their play. They had always been better friends of one another than they were hers, the reason being, they were each other's social equals. Francesca, however, was not a member of their social circle. Theirs were the estates neighboring this Manor, while hers was a small cottage housed right in this vast estate. The three of them had grown up playing together- their parents were kindly souls who found no harm in camaraderie between their daughters and herself. And thus the friendship had bloomed and blossomed. Now they were all young women, time had done very little to strain their relationship.

Francesca smiled to herself thinking how quickly and joyously the years had passed in their company. It was because of them that she had been able to attend this ball like any other guest; they had made sure that an invitation be sent to her also. They had related the whole incident with a sense of personal accomplishment, how Lord Ernest had come to invite them to the ball and they had insisted upon the fact that an invitation be extended to her as well. Francesca, of course, had received hers from her sister. She had wanted very much to be a part of the grand gathering and had wished to enjoy it with her two friends; she exhibited no qualms and disappointment over the fact that she was probably an unwanted guest. She considered herself a guest nonetheless.

It was during the meditation of this assortment of thoughts that a hand shot up from the darkness behind her and wrapped itself rigidly around Francesca's waist. Shocked and dumfounded Francesca tried turning her head around to see who it was- all she saw behind her was a sinister, menacing silhouette of a man.

Warning bells started ringing in Francesca's head. Her first thought was that 'the Defiler' had grabbed hold of her. The tale of the Defiler was one that her sister, Elizabeth had related to her many a times. He was a dark, evil man known to wonder in shadowy places at night trying to grab and murder women. Francesca, however, didn't know that the tale was in fact just a myth constantly repeated by her sister to keep Francesca's midnight wanderings to a minimum. She turned around and opened her mouth to scream but before any voice could come out the other hand of the shadow clasped itself tightly over her mouth, at that moment her only thoughts were of the obscene death that awaited her. Francesca was doomed; she could see her friends proceeding with their merry play, utterly oblivious of what was going on with their friend. She couldn't even wriggle her hands free from the steel grasp of her assailant to signal for help. Tears of helplessness started to form in her eyes and she violently struggled. It was then that the shadow chose to speak.

"Be quiet and stop struggling! It's me!" the husky and masculine voice rang with authority. His breath was warm against her cold ear.

Francesca instantly recognized him, it was hard not to recognize a voice like his. She continued pushing against him in a demand for freedom but her struggle became less vicious, at least she knew she wasn't going to be raped or killed by some psychopathic stranger.

"Stop moving Franny...", she let his commands fall on deaf ears and continued to struggle obdurately. It was now his turn to get upset, she was making him angry. In a voice that shook her ear drum and terrorized her into immobility, he uttered a single word, "Cease!"

She stopped breathing and went rigid, as if he had told her to stop living. He was glad that she was finally listening to him, he, however, hadn't planned to scare her so badly.

"Franny breathe! I don't want you to suffocate yourself." He felt he was being considerate. She was like a puppet with its strings in his hands. She did his bidding. She inhaled and went limp against him. Satisfied, he picked her up as easily as if she were a sack of rice and retreated farther into the shadows. The spot where Francesca had stood was now empty, the girl had vanished, the man had been triumphant. The effort would have won him the title of Bartholomew Bosco of the nobility. Lillian and Ivy still chased after one another, utterly unaware...

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

Her back was supported against the wall of his chest, her feet inches away from the ground; he had backed up a few inches into the greenery, they were out of sight. He put her down there for just a second and took off his coat, throwing it down on the grass. Francesca looked down at the coat and then fixed a questioning glare at him, smiling, he replied, "I'll come back for it later, don't you worry!"

She nodded her head absentmindedly. He then extended his right hand forward, he wished for her to take it. She was still all questions, "Why?"

"You'll see."

She hesitantly gave him her hand (she didn't know what else she could do) and he took it, forcing her to come nearer to him. He then swiftly scooped her entire body up in his arms, he gave her a devilish grin and explained, "It would have been uncomfortable to carry you in the other position, my coat was also becoming a nuisance!"

Cradled in his arms like a new born babe she looked up at his formidable, metallic grey eyes and commented feeling wholly embittered, "You can just put me down! Walk ahead of me, show me where it is that you are planning to take me."

"You'll run away instead!" he accused her in a casual and careless manner.

She wanted to lie and tell him that she would stay- she didn't care about being intimidated by him. She opened her mouth to lie straight through her teeth but he held an expression on his face that told her not to even go there. She conceded and decided not to. There wasn't much she could do to alter the situation.

Without another word he started trudging through the twisting maze to the deep heart of it- he wished for more privacy. He wanted to take her near the fountain, where they'd be shut off from the rest of the world.

Francesca could feel intense heat radiating from his body, she felt scorched by her nearness to him, strangely it seemed as though he had actually been set on fire by something or someone. To be so close to him was not to be borne and yet circumstances were such that one wrong move from her side could cost someone dearly; she didn't want to take the risk. She felt so tiny and insignificant in his arms, he was gigantic in comparison. His shoulders stretched far and wide, being in his arms made her feel as though she were leaning against a solid concrete wall. He was built as hard as a Michelangelo statue- with limestone and granite. He might as well have veins of steel, she considered horrified. She was petrified but also furious with her two friends, they were the reason she was in this mess, and now it seemed like they still were busy with their play and in no hurry to search for her. She wanted to cry and tell him to put her down, she wanted to run away and never have to see his face ever again but she knew she could do none of the above. He was a tyrant; he'd always have his way.

They finally arrived at their destination. He put her down with care and gentleness. She looked around herself, recognizing the fountain, she smiled a little. He had brought her to a place she held dear to herself, it had been a surprise of sorts; her jubilation was, however, obliterated for the obvious reasons.

He had been openly staring at her all this while, he didn't need to appreciate or take in his surroundings, he rather wanted to indulge his sense of sight by gawking at her. A pleasurable torment- he didn't even mind being a masochist for a while.

She desperately avoided any eye contact with him, his incessant stare deeply perturbed her, she continued staring everywhere else but avoided looking directly into his eyes. He couldn't help but laugh at the comicality of the situation.

"What now?" she asked deeply offended.

"You are deliberately not looking at me! Do I scare you? Or is this place more agreeable to look at compared to my face?" he answered with good-natured humor but suddenly he wished that he hadn't asked her about how handsome she thought he was, there was no knowing what she could say, he was almost certain that her answer might distress him.

"You are correct...you do scare me," the admission had been so solemn and monotonic. He hadn't wanted to hear that. He strove to lighten the mood.

"Why beautiful? Is it my face? Don't say it's my face...is it? I look like a wolf, don't I? A big, bad one. With sharp, pointed incisors and large, round bloody eyes," he made a disgusting face to match the description.

She laughed looking at him. She knew he was well aware of the fact that he was not an ordinary looking man. She scanned his face, how had Lillian and Ivy described him?...Yes! They had called him beautiful, had said that he left female hearts ablaze in his wake. He was certainly interesting to look at. Attractive? She would never admit to that, not even to herself, the Earth would be standing still on the day such a realization crossed her mind. His face was certainly well-formed, she'll give him that. The eyes, a very jolting, hypnotic gray were a compelling feature to be sure. His lips were...weathered, yet smooth and slender, but in the right way. His features were chiseled, very well-defined. His face was the correct amount of jaw and bones, very proportionate- it complemented the rest of him. It was exactly how a man's face should be, very bold and extremely masculine. Even the nose was a perfect shape, symmetrical and straight. But in no way was he attractive to her. He was not bad to look at but he was all looks and no substance. He would never be attractive to her.

"I think you have had more than enough time to examine. What be the verdict, lady? Tell the desolate knight, for he awaits thy answer oh so patiently!" he swung both his arms in the air in a dramatic fashion and then bowed his head slightly in mock submission. He had felt so hot and cold all over when she had been looking at him; she had been part curiosity and part fascination. There were instances when she had looked at him as if she was seeing him for the very first time and then there were moments when he had felt as if she was shrugging away the all too familiar perceptions she had of him.

"You know you are not an ugly man," she was telling him that she knew he was very sure of his striking appearance.

"Do I?"

"Well don't you?" she replied rhetorically.

"I suppose I do but my charms don't work on you Francesca," she detected a note of regret in his voice.

"Why is that of any concern?"

"I would have thought It'd be obvious..." he let the sentence hang, he wished it would make her realize something. He wished for her to see the light, to take the bait, to solve the puzzle, to reach the conclusion...Oh, Franny reach out to me, his thoughts pleaded to her.

He didn't wish to overwhelm her with his ardor so he gently moved towards her; she took a step back. He didn't move then, he realized that in this moment, any intimacy would probably be a bad idea but he reflected on how he was all for bad ideas (he wasn't; but it was hard for him not to get side tracked in Francesca's presence). He decided to be casual and lighthearted about the entire situation. He stretched his hand to cup the side of Francesca's face, he sensed a rising revolt in her the moment his hands made contact with the cold, soft skin of her face. He did not get dissuaded.

He reminded himself to be very casual and then spoke up, "Francesca if you'd just let me kiss you, I'll be so... glad!" He could laugh at himself for the choice of word, he believed himself literate enough to use the right diction at the right time. Words had failed him- in all fairness, he had been the one to fail the words. He condemned himself over his complete lack of sense and understanding at the present moment and decided that he would kiss her now. He used his right hand to grab hold of her creamy neck and then his mouth descended on hers to claim a passionate kiss. He had anticipated a warm, willing mouth. She gave him the surprise of his life.