Captive Bride (11 page)

“They passed beyond the boundaries of the castle grounds,” Lady Bronwyn whispered.

Tip’s gaze was glued to Bea. “I believe Lady Bronwyn is correct, but I cannot say for certain.”

“Of course you can,” Thomas exploded. “We told you
—
”

“Thomas, that is enough,” Lady
Marstowe
commanded. “What are we to do now?”

“Call for a doctor, I should say,” Thomas spluttered.

“Speak to
Iversly
.” Tip’s gaze shot to Lady Bronwyn. “Is he here?
Now?”

She glanced around the small chamber. Her agitated gaze returned to him. She shook her head.

He strode toward the door. “I will find him.”

“Lady Bronwyn,” the dowager intoned, “
remain
here with my sister and see to Beatrice. If she moves or worsens, alert us immediately. Thomas, come. You are useless here, but you may help us root out Lord
Iversly
.”

Tip went straight to the parlor, the other two following.

“
Iversly
,” he called out, moving through the door.

No answer came.

“Well this is dashed inconvenient,” Thomas cursed. “He ought to be here. Isn’t this what he wants, after all?”

“He wants a living woman,” Tip snapped, swallowing over the break in his voice.

Lady
Marstowe
cut him a swift look,
then
peered around the chamber. “Lord
Iversly
, reveal
yourself
now.”

“He won’t come, Aunt Grace.
Cheriot’s
right. He doesn’t want Bea. He wants Lady Bronwyn.”

“Then why
—
” Tip caught his tongue. He could not control the steadiness of his words. He pivoted toward the door.

“Where are you going, my lord?” the dowager demanded.

“Where I must,” he growled and left them behind. If
Iversly
would not reveal himself here, Tip would try his bedchamber, where the ghost had spoken to him last night.
Then every other crevice of the castle until he found him.
He headed for the stairs.

“She may not recover.”

The ice-cold words hit him like a battering ram. Tip stopped short and swung around.

“Where are you?” he ground out.

“
Here.
”

The corridor shone with early morning sunlight filtering through a trio of windows onto gray stone, softening the severe architecture.

“If I could see you, I would kill you.”

“Endeavor not to become as foolish as that boy, my lord. I am already dead. You called. I came. You should be pleased. I am rarely so accommodating.”

“What can be done?”

“Naught.
She transgressed the terms of the curse. She now pays the price for it.” His voice seemed harder than usual. Tip barely registered it through the panic sluicing through him.

“She does not deserve this.”

“Perhaps not.”
 

“How can I help her?”

“You cannot. You must simply wait.”

“That is not acceptable!” The empty corridor reverberated with his anger. “Damn you,
Iversly
, tell me what to do.”

“I am already damned, my friend,” the ghost said evenly. “And I can only offer you consolation.”

Tip’s heart clenched.
Silence stretched, long and hopeless.

“You might have had her.”
Iversly’s
voice was suggestive, man-to-man.

Bile rose in Tip’s throat, his hands fisting. He would not be baited.

“You have wasted your opportunity,”
Iversly
continued. “You might have saved her.”

“And you might yet burn in Hell.” Tip strode toward the stairs.

“You might still have her.”

Tip swung around. “She will recover from this?”

“Possibly,” the ghost said slowly.
“Probably.”

“Which is the lie?”

“Neither. I never lie.”

“Then you must not know for certain.”

“Will you?”

Tip knew he shouldn’t respond, but the mingled fury and frustration in his blood urged him on. “Will I what?”

“Take her.
If she recovers.”

“I have no words for you,” he was barely able to utter.

“You could. You might.”
Iversly
paused.
“Unless I do first.”

Tip made for the stairs.

“She is intrigued by me,” the voice pursued. “She is . . . aroused.”

Tip halted. “How did you die,
Iversly
?”

Hollow hush filled the corridor.

“How did it happen?” Tip persisted.
“At sword point?
Cannon blast?
Poison?
A rope about your neck?”

Iversly
waited a lengthy interval to reply.

“Much worse than all that you have suggested.”
His voice echoed like a grating mill wheel.

Tip took a hard breath. “Since I cannot serve you as a man deserves for his roguery, do me a favor, if you will. Spend some time thinking on the details of that death today. Think on it and suffer it again.” He turned and made his way up to Bea’s bedchamber.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Bea awoke in her soft, musty bed, her face nestled in a damp feather pillow. She shifted and pain knocked through her head. She groaned but little sound came forth.
Her mouth tasted wretched
.

“Oh, she is awake. She is awake!” Lady Bronwyn’s voice fluttered across the chamber. “Do you see, Miss Dews? Oh, Beatrice, you must have a sip of this. We were so worried about you. Oh, Cook, do go tell Mr.
Sinclaire
, Lord
Cheriot
, and Lady
Marstowe
that she is awake.”

Cook?
What on earth was the cook doing in her bedchamber?

Bea opened her eyes to a pretty face filled with distress. Lady Bronwyn hovered over her, twisting her hands together.

“Cook brought you some tea and soup, if you should wake. And you have awakened. Would you like some? It is
Grandmama’s
favorite.” She held forth a spoon.

Bea struggled to clear her vision. Aunt Julia sat in a chair beside the bed, her usually cheerful face anxious.

“What happened?” Bea managed to mumble before she fell into a fit of coughing.

“Oh, how dreadful it all was,” Lady Bronwyn exclaimed. “But I told you, Lord
Iversly
said not to leave the castle grounds, and you did and then this happened.”

“This?” Bea repeated. She remembered Tip saying something that made her heart reel—she could not recall what precisely. But of course nearly everything he said made her giddy. Then she’d begun to feel absolutely horrid.

“Oh, yes. It was terrible,” Lady Bronwyn nodded. “But now you are awake and you will recover. Lord
Iversly
told Lord
Cheriot
that you would probably,” Bronwyn added. “Now you have and all is well. How do you feel?”

“Somewhat shaky.”
Bea struggled to sit up. Bronwyn propped a pillow behind her shoulders. A fog lifted from Bea’s head. “But oddly better each moment.” She took a bigger breath and swallowed, this time successfully. “I went beyond the castle grounds?”

“Oh, yes. Your brother and I thought you and Lord
Cheriot
were behind us as we entered the orchard.” The girl’s cheeks grew red. “But you continued on the path when we left it, and through the gate to the village.”

Bea did not remember any gate, only Tip’s intent expression and his hand deliciously around hers.

“I called out to you,” Bronwyn continued, frowning, “but you were both entirely heedless of my warning.”

Bea’s heart tightened. “Is Lord
Cheriot
all right?”

“Oh, yes. The curse only affects virginal women, of course. But he is very anxious for you. Shall I show him in?”

Bea shook her head, but Bronwyn had already hurried across the chamber. Bea lifted a heavy hand and patted about her head hastily. Her hair seemed to be in awful disarray, but at least she was still wearing her walking gown.

“You look lovely, Beatrice dear.” Aunt Julia smiled. “He will still admire you.”

The door opened again. In two strides Tip came across the chamber to her bedside, knelt, and grasped her hand resting on the counterpane.

“How are you?” His voice seemed unusually taut, his face serious.

“I am fine now. But I suppose we know now that Lord
Iversly
was not making empty threats, don’t we?”

“What happened?”

“Well . . .” It was somewhat difficult to think straight with his thumb caressing her knuckles. He probably didn’t know he did it. “I think I began to grow very ill quite rapidly. And,” she paused, “perhaps, to die.” 

“Dear God,” he uttered and his fingers tightened about hers for the briefest moment.

“But I didn’t. You must have brought me back within the castle grounds when you picked me up. Thank you.” She smiled. She ought to feel frightened, or at the very least a remnant of alarm. But she could not seem to summon unpleasant emotions beneath the blanket of his concerned gaze. “When did it happen?”

“Not half an hour ago.”

“And you spoke to Lord
Iversly
about it already?”

He frowned.
“Shouted, rather.”

How lovely
. “Well, one cannot be too subtle about dealing with a ghost, I suppose,” she murmured.

“You are taking this with too much good humor,” Tip said firmly. “I blame myself for putting you in danger. If something worse had happened to you, I—”

“You should not.” She loved the feeling of his hand around hers, now that it was not causing her intense pain. His slightly rough palm and long, strong fingers felt so familiar. He had never held her hand for quite so long before, and only once or twice without gloves. But she had stared at his hands so often the sensation of his touch did not surprise her. Like everything about him, it felt right and good.

“I wanted to discover if Lord
Iversly
was telling the truth as much as you did,” she said. “We simply should have paid closer attention to our direction.”
And I should not have lost focus simply because a wonderful, handsome man was saying confusing, delicious things
.

“You are correct, as always.
Practical to the core.”

Bea didn’t think chasing after a ghost’s threats was in the least bit practical, but she held her tongue. She glanced at Bronwyn, engaged in conversation with Aunt Julia, then back at Tip.

“What will we do next?” she whispered.

“
We
will not do anything. I will discover a way to nullify the curse, to free you and Lady Bronwyn from this place.”

“I am not in any real danger. He intends to marry her.”

“Let me be the judge of the danger, will you?”

“So, you believe it all?”

“I don’t have any reason not to any longer.” His hand tightened around hers momentarily. Bea struggled to think of an excuse to keep him by her side. She felt better with each moment that passed.

“I thought to—” she halted. She should not tell him. He would probably laugh at her.

“You thought to what?” 

“I planned to explore the castle this afternoon. Perhaps a clue to the curse lies hidden somewhere and we have only to discover it.”

His fingers loosened and he released her hand, and she instantly regretted her words.

“You sound eager to do it,” he said. “Haven’t you had enough adventure already?”

“It is not adventure. It must be done.”

His expression hardened. “Then leave it to me. You should not be tangling with ghosts.”

Bea folded her hands atop her lap. “No.”

He stood up. “No, you agree not to involve yourself further?”

“No, I will pursue the matter as I wish. ‘Two heads are better than one,’
Georgie
always used to tell me.”

His hands flexed into fists at his sides. “Perhaps because she suspected you would get yourself in trouble if left to your own devices.”

Bea’s palms went cold. Tip had never before insulted her. This, coming alongside a compliment to her sister he so adored, was simply too much.

“If left to my own devices, I would not be recovering from a near-death experience right now, would I?” she snapped unfairly, but she hurt.