Dark Obsession (40 page)

‘‘Even if he didn’t draw that line, you must. Please. For me and Jonny.’’

Her plea thrust him off balance. The staircase bucked beneath his feet and he nearly plummeted, only just catching the railing in time.

The gargoyles carved into the newel posts seemed to echo her command:
you must, you must,
but in hissing, taunting voices. To Grayson, it was an affirmation of what he already knew he must do.

The very thing of which he had once been accused.

Fratricide.

Except this time it wasn’t his brother. It was his closest friend, a man who might as well have been his brother.

He crossed the foyer in four great strides, was out the door when he stopped beneath the portico, frantic to be off but unable to leave it like this, unable to leave
her
believing he finally had gone mad—truly, irreparably mad. And that she had been wrong to trust him.

She scrambled out the door behind him, arms snaking around his waist. He felt her trying to drag him inside.

‘‘Gray, killing him will mean destroying yourself.’’

‘‘I don’t matter.’’ He spoke to the blustering wind, to the rain pelting the drive, while she heaved sobs against his back. ‘‘If Jonny saw what happened to his father that night, if he knows who murdered Tom, then he isn’t safe. It’s up to me to do something about it.’’

She circled him, thrust her face in his. ‘‘We’ll find them together. But I’m begging you, do not take the gun.’’

How could he deny her when she looked like that? So desperate, so anguished. So filled with love.

But he thought of Chad winning her regard with his abundant charm, winning his entire family’s affections through the years and playing them all for fools.

He kissed her, hard and urgent.

‘‘Forgive me.’’ Then he broke away, rushing headlong into the storm.

Nora dashed inside, lingered long enough to shout commands to a flustered Gibbs. Then she too set off into the rain.

She was within ten or so paces of the stable doors when Gray rode out, his horse already spurred to a trot. Splashing by her, he cleared the first paddock gate and urged his mount to a canter.

‘‘Wait for me!’’ she shouted, straining to be heard above the wind, rain and his horse’s squelching hooves.

‘‘You’ll be safer here,’’ he yelled back before breaking into a full gallop and vanishing down the riding lane.

‘‘Slow down,’’ she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. ‘‘You’ll break your blasted neck.’’

Yet she intended taking the same risk. Gathering her dampened skirts, she made her way into the stable. A cough erupted from her as the scents of horse, hay and pine, made all the more acrid by the wet weather, closed around her.

As rain dripped from her hems, she blinked away bits of floating hay and scanned the small selection of geldings and mares. Some stared quietly back over their stall gates. Others snorted and pawed the floor in their storm-induced agitation.

Which one to pick? It had been more than a decade since she’d ridden, and then only her shy Shetland pony.

The sight of a lantern hung near the end of the line of stalls sent her scurrying down the aisle. ‘‘Is anyone here?’’

Edwin, a groom’s assistant about her own age, poked his head out and tugged his cap brim in greeting. ‘‘Evenin’, my lady. Can’t say it’s a good one.’’

‘‘I need a horse, quickly.’’

‘‘Come to the right place, ma’am.’’ He sauntered out and placed the brush he’d been holding into a box with other tools.

‘‘A tame one I can handle, but not too sluggish either.’’

‘‘Aye, ma’am.’’ He moved up the aisle and gestured to the misty cob Nora knew well. ‘‘Puck here’s a safe wager. Used to gentling our young Lord Clarington, but still got a fair scrap of spirit in ’im.’’

‘‘Yes, he’ll do.’’

As if the cob comprehended their conversation, Puck’s gray muzzle appeared over the stall gate. Nora offered a hand, let him catch her scent, then ran her palm down his sleek neck. She’d seen Puck carry Jonny smoothly over the lower jumps in the paddock. She had also seen the horse veer from the higher ones, even when the eager child on his back attempted to steer him in that direction. No doubt Puck would see her through the forest without mishap, would bring her safely to his master.

‘‘Please hurry.’’

When the groom wandered in the wrong direction, she called out sharply, ‘‘Didn’t you hear me? Where on earth are you going?’’

‘‘Tack room, my lady. You’ll be wanting a saddle, will ye not? ’Tis a might wet tonight to be going about bareback.’’

‘‘Yes, yes, of course. But please do hurry.’’

He returned with saddle and harness and set to work. Though it seemed an excruciating eternity to Nora, within minutes he walked Puck out to the aisle. ‘‘Pardon me for saying, ma’am, but if you’ve a mind to catch Sir Grayson . . .’’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘‘Not at the rate he set out and not in this weather, ma’am. Perhaps I should—’’

‘‘No. Please just help me up.’’

With a dubious lift of his brows he stood at Puck’s side and bent low at the waist. Nora gathered the reins and placed her foot into his clasped hands. He boosted her up, giving a second push when her wet skirts threatened to haul her back down. Once he had adjusted the stirrups to the length of her legs, he held up a crop to her.

‘‘Oh, no, I couldn’t . . .’’

‘‘Don’t have to use it, my lady. Just rub it so ’gainst his shoulder to let ’im know ye have it.’’ He demonstrated against his own arm. ‘‘Else the clever lad’ll know you for a novice and may decide to have a bit of fun with you.’’

‘‘I see. Thank you, Edwin.’’

Outside, she pointed the Welsh cob toward the headland, unsure of the distance, and not knowing what obstacles might lay in her path. This weather assuredly had felled trees and flooded gullies. She would be half-blinded by the rain besides.

‘‘I can do this,’’ she murmured. ‘‘
We
can do this.’’ She patted encouragement against the horse’s neck. ‘‘Bring us safely there, Puck, and quickly.’’

A shadow fell between her and the lane. A figure draped in black lurched out of the darkness, taking shape at Puck’s side. Like talons, long fingers clutched at the bridle. Nora bit back a cry. Instinct sent her riding crop lashing outward, but she drew it back without striking as recognition took hold.

Like a disembodied ghost, a pale face framed in bedraggled gray wisps hovered beside Puck’s shoulder. ‘‘Lady Lowell, if you care at all about Jonny, put a stop to these inquiries.’’

‘‘Why, Mrs. Dorn? What are you afraid of?’’

‘‘The truth.’’ Tears slid down the lined, quivering cheeks. ‘‘It will only hurt the boy.’’

Nora leaned over Puck’s neck, locking her fingers around the housekeeper’s wrist. ‘‘If you know what happened that day, Mrs. Dorn, you must tell me.’’

‘‘I cannot.’’

‘‘Don’t be afraid.’’

‘‘He . . . it was . . .’’ Indecision and obstinacy warred across the careworn features. Nora waited immobile, afraid to either frighten or anger Mrs. Dorn back into silence.

‘‘I did it,’’ she breathed. ‘‘I pushed him.’’

Shock struck Nora a blow that nearly knocked her from the saddle. Hand shielding her eyes from the rain, she stared down, taking the woman’s measure. Mrs. Dorn’s defiant gaze faltered, and Nora knew. ‘‘You’re lying.’’

‘‘No. He owed me money. A great deal. He had promised to pay me but continually put it off and . . . that day he dismissed me.’’

Nora bent lower until her face came level with the other woman’s. ‘‘This is ludicrous, and I haven’t time for it.’’

She clucked to the gelding but Mrs. Dorn groped for her hand, squeezing it in both of her own. ‘‘Leave Jonny alone. It was me. I killed his father.’’

Frantic to be off, Nora had been struggling to pull free of the woman’s stubborn grip. But that last mention of Jonny brought a realization cascading through her. She stopped tugging. ‘‘You’ve been trying to protect Jonny, haven’t you?’’

‘‘He has nothing to do with this. Nothing.’’

‘‘You’ve been hostile toward me since I arrived, especially when it came to Jonny. I resented it, but now . . . now I believe you only have his best interests at heart, that you’d even relinquish your freedom for him. For that, Mrs. Dorn, I forgive you every slight you’ve ever done me.’’

As the housekeeper gawked at that pronouncement, Nora snatched the reins free. ‘‘We will discuss this later, of that you can be certain. But now I must be off.’’

A cluck of her tongue and a tap of her heels coaxed Puck to a canter.

She didn’t know whose instinct, hers or the cob’s, conveyed her through the drenched forest, where the storm made a sodden unity of sky, trees and turf. The pins scattered from her hair until the heavy mass streamed down her back, over her shoulders, in her face. Flashes of lightning blinded her, disoriented her. She squeezed with her knees for balance, leaned well forward and gave Puck his rein, praying they would emerge from the trees to find Grayson, Chad and Jonny laughing at what would turn out to be an extraordinary misunderstanding.

She didn’t know how long she bounced in the saddle, thighs burning, aching fingers snagged in Puck’s mane, before the distant roaring of ocean waves thrust past the hissing rain.

‘‘Do hurry, Puck,’’ she cried, her voice lost in the tumult of water inundating the earth now from two directions, both sea and sky. In vain she tried flinging the hair from her eyes but in the end had no choice but to trust the gelding’s ability to follow the trail.

At a break in the trees she pulled back on the reins. Across the terrain, boulders and thick brush made for dangerous footing. After a few more yards, she climbed from the saddle, tugging when her wet skirts clung to the leather.

Beyond the cliffs, lightning sizzled across the water. Thunder rolled in the distance now, and the rain fell less insistently. Her legs trembled from exertion, threatened to buckle beneath her. Dropping the riding crop, she shoved shanks of sodden hair from her face and strained to see into satiny darkness.

‘‘Grayson!’’ she tried to shout, but her voice was a drowning gasp. She cupped her hands around her mouth and filled her lungs with air. ‘‘Chad, Jonny!’’

No response.

Panic quaked through her. What if she had emerged a mile or more in the wrong direction? The path had been wide and clear, but perhaps she’d missed a turn. Perhaps the others weren’t here at all. Perhaps she was too late.

On unsteady legs she stumbled toward the cliffs. Her shaking fingers lost their grip on her skirts and her next step tangled with her hems. Down she plunged, splashing onto the turf, her cheek smacking the ground and stinging against a clump of nettles.

As she dragged herself to her hands and knees she spotted the moving shadows, velvet specters silhouetted against the glistening night.

‘‘Grayson!’’

He and the others loomed near the edge of the headland some fifty yards away. Scrambling to her feet, Nora ran, heedless of the puddles sucking at her shoes, the brambles tearing at her skirts.

Parallel to the precipice, Chad and Jonny stood together facing Grayson. Unable to hear what they were saying, Nora skidded to a halt and completed the triangle. Gasping to catch her breath, she clawed the hair from her eyes.

‘‘Gray. Chad. Please . . .’’ A dozen entreaties shrieked through her mind.
Please do not do this. Please come back to the house. Please keep Jonny safe. Please do not kill each other.

It didn’t matter that fear ravaged her voice and rendered her mute. They seemed not to notice her at all.

She craned her neck. Was Grayson holding the gun? She saw no sign of it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t within easy reach.

His voice boomed above the waves and rain, the growling thunder. ‘‘I’ll say it once more. Let the boy go.’’

Nora held out her arms, ready to sweep Jonny into them when he ran from Chad. But he didn’t run. Instead he leaned into the earl’s side and slipped his hand into Chad’s larger one.

‘‘Jonny, darling,’’ Nora shouted. She swept toward them, and all three flinched in their sudden awareness of her presence. ‘‘Won’t you come help me? I’ve lost my way and . . . and I’ve brought Puck. Won’t you help me bring Puck home?’’

Grayson’s head snapped in her direction, then turned just as quickly back to Chad. ‘‘Nora, what are you doing here?’’

‘‘Ah, Jonny, here is your aunt Nora.’’ Chad spoke as if they were enjoying a picnic, except that his eyes never wavered from Grayson. He gave Jonny a forward nudge. ‘‘I think she needs you, lad.’’

Fear tingled through her limbs as she waited for the boy. Every instinct, every throb of her racing pulse shouted that no one must move, nothing must happen, until the child was safe.

‘‘Despite what you apparently think, Gray,’’ Chad called across the expanse separating them, ‘‘I didn’t bring him here. He brought me.’’

Grayson leveled a dangerous smile at the earl. ‘‘I might believe that but for one essential detail. I already know you for a contemptible liar.’’

Nora stood with arms outstretched, aching for the feel of Jonny filling them, willing him, with all the energy she possessed, to come to her.

Chad spared her the briefest flick of his gaze, then bent to speak to Jonny. ‘‘This is hardly proper weather for a lady to be caught in.’’

‘‘Uncle Chad’s right, Jonny,’’ Grayson put in, his tone easing for the boy’s sake. ‘‘Please take Aunt Nora back to the house.’’

As if suspended in a dream, she watched Jonny step away from Chad, hesitate and walk slowly toward her. The next moments brought the small figure into her arms, his wet cheek pressed to her bodice, thin arms clasping her waist. She wiped his wet hair from his brow and hugged him tight. Relief made her weak and she sank to her knees, using her arms to shield him as best she could from the rain and from danger.

‘‘Take him and go, Nora.’’