Echoes in the Darkness

“Eddie, are you sure we can afford this place?” I asked. He was more than audacious enough, I knew, to indulge to the full in all the luxury the hotel had to offer and then dash off at dawn without paying. A prison cell loomed. “They seem to think we are important guests.”

“Ah,” Eddie said with his irrepressible grin. “There is a reason for that, Dita. Something I keep forgetting to mention.” I raised my brows in a silent question. “My father is the Earl of Athal and, as his oldest son, I am the heir to the title and a substantial fortune. Actually, I already have quite a lot of money of my own. I don’t know why it is, but those things often tend to impress people.”

We dined in the hotel’s restaurant and, despite the season, it was a busy night. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the huge mirrors that lined one wall and knew that the rosy hue of my velvet gown suited the creaminess of my skin. The light from a dozen chandeliers lent golden highlights to my rich chestnut hair, which was piled high with loose curls framing my face. Eddie had already raised a mocking brow at the young waiter who blushed and stammered when he spoke to me. Many other admiring glances were directed my way. These, together with Eddie’s nonchalant, brooding good looks, confirmed that we were easily the most glamorous couple in the vast room.

“They say if you fall in love in Paris, your heart will remain forever there,” Eddie said. He sat back in his chair, twirling the amber brandy around in his glass while he studied my face. “What about you, Dita? Did you leave your heart behind in the city of light and love?”

I remained silent. I wanted to reassure him, and perhaps myself, that no part of me could be claimed by Paris. But, if I said that, I’d have been lying. The events of one drizzling never-to-be-forgotten night had made sure of that forever. But there was no point in repining. Memories were all that remained of that time now, so instead I answered him with a question of my own. “You are the poet, Eddie. Doesn’t your soul slumber in Paris?”

His laugh was a short, harsh bark. “My soul will never find a resting place.” Accustomed as I was to his dark moods, a strange sense of foreboding assailed me then.

When dinner was over, we bade each other a formal goodnight and went to our separate rooms. I heaved a sigh of relief at this arrangement, which left our platonic status unchanged. I wasn’t sure whether Eddie wanted to make our pretended love affair a reality. And I didn’t know how I would feel should he attempt to change things between us. Of course I had speculated about what it would be like with him. He was devastatingly attractive, after all. But I worried that, if we slept together, our friendship would be at an end. Another part of me was slightly bemused that, apart from that one wild attempt when we decided on this betrothal, he had never attempted to make love to me.

I was brushing out the long length of my hair, clad only in my nightdress, when the door to my room opened and Eddie paused on the doorstep, watching me. It was immediately obvious that I was about to find out how I would react to the suggestion of a new relationship. With a determined look on his face, he trod across the room toward me. Rising from my seat at the dressing table, I faced him, and he caught hold of one long strand of my hair. Winding it around his hand, he drew me closer.

“You are so beautiful, Dita,” he murmured. “If anyone can make me forget…”

It had been so long since I’d felt a man’s arms around me. I needed that comfort more than I had known. I lifted my face to meet Eddie’s kiss. His lips were gentle at first, and I shuddered with pleasure. My own lips parted with a little moan. Suddenly, shockingly, Eddie was tearing at the neckline of my thin cotton gown. His tongue was hard and intrusive, forcing my mouth wider as his hand grabbed my breast, his fingers digging painfully into the tender flesh. Then, just as quickly as the onslaught had begun, he stopped. His breathing was fast and hard. Resting his cheek against the top of my head, he murmured softly, “Forgive me, Dita. I’m a brute. Your friendship is the best thing I have, and I don’t deserve you.” Gently, he gathered the torn bodice of my nightdress around my shoulders and dropped a light kiss on my cheek.