Deception at Sable Hill (5 page)

The panic she’d felt, followed swiftly by the knowledge that she’d never be the same.

With effort, she tried to tamp down the panic. Attempted to conceal the rush of nerves. However, she was unsuccessful.

He noticed. “Did, uh, you happen to notice the moon, Miss Carstairs?”

She stared at him blankly. “Pardon?”

“The moon. I believe they call this a harvest moon.”

Dutifully, she followed the direction of his lifted hand. “Indeed. It’s lovely.” With relief, she let her gaze skim the night sky and saw that the moon was indeed wreathed in a vivid orange glow. “It’s hanging so low tonight, one could almost imagine one could snatch it from the sky.”

His eyes warmed again. “Indeed, Miss Carstairs,” he murmured, obviously echoing her words on purpose. “If you’d like, we could stop for a moment so you could try.”

She was embarrassed now. Wonderfully so. “Thank you, but no.”

“I almost wish I could steal it for you. Just to see you smile.”

His nonsensical statement did just what she thought he must have hoped it would. “I bet you say that to all the ladies of your acquaintance,” she teased.

“Not at all.”

However, this evening’s events—and her seeming inability to move on from the incident in her past—made the night anything but perfect.

She felt drawn to him, this man who was so different from her in almost every way society said counted. But just as surprising was the way she felt about that. She realized then that she had changed so much she no longer needed the type of gentlemen she used to seek out.

No longer could she feel comfortable with a person who had no knowledge of what it was like to be at another’s mercy. Or to fear.

Or, most importantly, to have no choices. This man did.

And with that thought came a frightening truth. She was going to miss Lieutenant Ryan. She was going to regret that their places in life were so far apart that they’d probably never have an occasion to cross paths again.

Hoping to steel herself against further pain, she inserted a bit of distance in her voice. And laced it with the brittle humor she usually went to great lengths to avoid. “I suppose you are wondering how I was going to get home, if not for you. Other than sending for my driver, that is.”

After a moment’s pause, he replied, “It had crossed my mind.”

“I was going to leave in the company of some of my parents’ friends. My parents would have been there this evening as well, except my mother was feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Ah. I hope it is nothing too serious?”

She made herself continue to face forward. Made herself pretend she wasn’t missing their more honest, insightful conversation. “It’s nothing my mother hasn’t dealt with before and often. My mother has rather a flare for imagined illnesses—and the dramatic. My father likes to say she’s never met an ailment she hasn’t wished to adopt.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s almost unkind.”

“Almost.”

“More than that, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Stealing another glance at him, she gave up her weak attempt at more socially acceptable conversation. She’d rather know more about him. “I suppose your mother is far hardier?”

He flashed a smile. “Yes, but I imagine that’s because she has to be. As I said, I’m one of eight children. She had no time to be ill.” With a wry expression, he added, “Come to think of it, I don’t think she had much patience with any of us being sick, either.”

She laughed. “You must have lots of stories to tell about growing up in such a large family.”

“Yes, but not too many suitable for delicate sensibilities.”

She laughed. “Your house must have been a happy place.”

“It was happy. And crowded. And noisy. It was everything, I suppose.” He glanced her way. “I’m assuming you are not one of eight children?”

“I have an older brother, Thomas. He is currently traveling abroad. My mother also lost a babe before I came along . . . and from what I have heard, she had a difficult confinement.”

“That had to be hard.”

“I didn’t know anything else. But now that I’m nearly the age she was when she had me? I am realizing that it might be easier if I had more siblings to commiserate with.” This time she was the one who looked at her feet. “And I’m also realizing that I haven’t had a genuine conversation like this in a very long time.”

“I haven’t either.” His voice was rough and gravelly. His look was solemn as they came to a stop. “I believe this is your house.”

She gazed into his eyes. Realized they weren’t brown like she had originally thought. Instead, they were a murky hazel, shades of green and brown and gold. Mesmerizing.

He stepped closer, reached out, and gently removed her hand from his arm. “Miss Carstairs, are you ready to go inside now?”

She blinked. Turned. And realized he was correct. “Yes. My goodness, I suppose I was in a daze. I didn’t even realize we had reached our drive. Maybe I’m more tired than I realized?”

“I’m sure that is it.” He still held her gloved hand. “Take care of yourself, miss,” he murmured as he bent over her hand slightly.

She inhaled, preparing herself for his lips to brush her knuckles.

Instead, he straightened and released her. “Good evening.”

“Thank you again for your escort.”

He bowed slightly. “As I said before, it was my honor.” Looking tentative for the first time, he added, “I must warn you that I’ll return tomorrow, in the morning about nine thirty, if that’s not too early. We’ll be questioning most everyone who was at the party again, and most especially those who know Danica.”

“I understand.” Actually, there was a part of her that felt relief. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him forever. And it didn’t matter to her if he came far too early for the normal routines of her household.

Forgetting she had earlier assumed he would return to his duties, she asked, “Will you be heading home soon as well?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll stop by the Gardners’ home to make sure things have been wrapped up for the night before I head to the precinct.”

“So you’ll be working for hours yet.”

“It’s my job.”

“I hope you will get some rest. Eventually.”

After gazing at her a moment longer, he said, “Ring the bell now, Eloisa.”

She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach at his use of her first name. Dutifully, she rang the bell. Almost immediately, the front door opened. “Good evening, Worthy.”

“Miss.” Worthy treated the detective to a frosty glance. “Sir.”

“Worthy, this is Lieutenant Detective Ryan. He was kind enough to escort me home this evening. I’m afraid there was a bit of a disturbance at the Gardner house.”

The tall, thin butler blinked, then presented a slightly less frigid glance to her escort. “Good evening, sir.”

“He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I see.”

This time it was the detective who replied. “Good evening, Miss Carstairs. Sleep well.” He left then, before she could return an unsuitable reply.

Worthy closed the door. “I hope nothing tragic occurred?”

“Miss Danica Webster was attacked by an unknown assailant, slashed with a knife, though not fatally. The police were already there, so I suppose things could have been worse.”

“What has happened to our town?” the butler murmured. “Miss Carstairs, may I call Juliet for you?”

“Yes, please. And tell her to bring me a bit of tea, too, would you? She’ll know what kind.”

“Yes, miss.”

Eloisa walked up the grand staircase thinking not about the bath and the pot of tea the servants were now going to make sure she received, but instead imagining Detective Ryan walking back to the Gardners’ at a brisk pace.

No doubt he’d already forgotten her completely and was concentrating on his duties.

Juliet joined her in the room, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, seemed to understand that Eloisa wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Only when she slid under the cool bedsheets did she remember what the detective had said. When they’d arrived at her house, he’d said that escorting her had been his honor.

She decided she was going to think of that as noteworthy.

Because she knew she had thought his company was a pleasure too. She could hardly wait to see him again.

“You are being ridiculous, Eloisa,” she said. “But dear God, if you could, please watch over him tonight.”

She fell asleep praying for Sean Ryan’s safety.

CHAPTER 4

G
asping for air, clutching the collar of her nightgown, Eloisa woke.

As she attempted to catch her breath, her vision slowly focused. As the seconds passed, each one feeling twice as long as the last, she realized she wasn’t trapped in Douglass Sloane’s harsh grip.

It wasn’t his heavy rasp she heard. It was her own shallow pants. She wasn’t pinned beneath him. She was alone. In her bed. In her room.

Heart still racing, fear still clinging to the periphery of her consciousness, Eloisa edged out from beneath the tangle of damp sheets and stood.

Once she was steady, she rummaged through her wardrobe until at last she found a clean, dry nightgown. With shaking hands, she replaced the sweat-soaked one with the other. And wondered how she would ever explain to Juliet why it had been necessary to change her gown in the middle of the night yet again.

Just as quickly, she pushed aside her worry. After all, it wasn’t as
if Juliet would actually question her. She might have been with Eloisa for some time, they might have a warm regard for each other, but they both knew their places. Juliet would never be so bold as to question why Eloisa did anything.

Therefore, it was a certainty that the offending fabric would be whisked away, laundered and pressed, folded neatly, and would then reappear in her wardrobe by nightfall. As if nothing had ever happened.

And that, Eloisa was beginning to realize, had become the guiding force in her life. She lived each hour of each day pretending that Douglass Sloane had never raped her.

Sometime in the last few years, she’d become marvelously adept at pretending that everything was in order. It was a skill her mother possessed in spades, and it had come in handy when her biggest problems had been centered around meeting the right man.

But now, mere weeks after Douglass had forced himself upon her, Eloisa was wiser. She was not nearly so naïve about the hidden agendas of men, even well-spoken gentlemen. And now, with the monster called the Slasher—the Society Slasher—on the loose, she had even more to fear. Someone in their midst was targeting women of well birth and marking them forever.

Most women of her station pretended to be unaware of that.

Only in the middle of the night, when at last her body settled into the realm of unconsciousness, did she allow herself to revisit her darkest memories.

Sitting at her vanity, Eloisa tied back her damp hair and shivered as she remembered exactly how Danica had looked, bleeding on the ground just hours before.

Danica would now be forever scarred, too, but her scars would be visible for all to see. It was a testament to how far down she’d spiraled that Eloisa was slightly envious of those scars. Yes, Danica would be marked.

There was a possibility that, for the rest of her life, people would notice the marks on Danica’s face first and the color of her eyes second. And if she stayed in Chicago, well, chances were great that no one would ever let her forget that she’d been hurt. Every conversation would have that knowledge on the edges of it.

But though Danica would likely be waking up at night, too, reliving the moment she’d been a victim, she would also be free of shame.

Far freer than Eloisa was.

Shuddering, Eloisa got up, crawled onto the window seat, and covered her knees with her hands. As the chill through the glass seeped into her side, she rested her head on her knees, curling into a ball in a weak attempt to shield herself from the cold.

She didn’t bother returning to bed, however. It was already half past three. It was going to take her quite awhile to once again slip on her façade for a new day. To pretend for all the world that nothing bad had ever happened to her.

Sean would have liked to have said that the Carstairs’ mansion looked different in the morning light, but it looked exactly the same.

And because of that, it looked like everything he wasn’t and had never been.

Standing on the long, manicured drive, he gazed at the house more closely. As always, it gleamed with good fortune, sitting as it did on top of Sable Hill. As he crossed the meticulously maintained grounds, he was in awe. Five white pillars lined the front porch, greeting the visitor to the white brick home sprawling behind it. The perfectly tended grounds and well-plotted landscape further enhanced the beauty of the elegant lines of the mansion.

It looked as perfect as one of the new buildings of the fair’s White City.

He’d seen photographs of Southern plantation houses before the War Between the States. Though the tintypes had been grainy and out of focus, Sean was fairly sure the Carstairs’ home would fit right in.

Growing up, he’d never thought much about the great houses in the city. Actually, he’d never thought much beyond his close-knit, one-block neighborhood. Their mix of small houses and rickety tenements lined alleys along with a jumble of storefronts.