Lord Satan (17 page)

Between confusion at his nearness and the pain in her
fingers, she forgot the excuse she had intended to use. “I thought it was Mr.
Colton’s room.”

His eyebrows rose. “Mr. Colton? What have you to do with him?
Or are you collecting kisses from all the Coltons tonight?”

She jerked her hand from his. “No, of course not. I was
planning to search it.”

“Search? Mr. Colton’s room? Whatever for?”

“I thought there might be some evidence that he is the one
trying to kill Lord Cauldreigh.”

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. She watched, absorbed
in the rise and fall of his broad chest. When he opened his eyes, he gripped
her shoulders. “Do not look for clues.” The words rasped harshly.

“Why not? I want to help. I know you’re not trying to kill
Lord Cauldreigh. But somebody is.”

“You don’t know what a dangerous game you play.”

“I have to protect Lord Cauldreigh.”

“He has your brother and any number of people doing that.
Your help is not needed.”

“He needed my help a few days ago,” she reminded him.

“God, when we came here, I thought matters could not get
worse.” His fingers still dug cruelly into her shoulders, but his pained
grimace made her ignore her own discomfort.

“Worse? What has happened? Did something happen tonight?”

He yanked her next to him and pressed his lips over hers.
His kiss was hard and brief and totally devastating. When he drew back
abruptly, she made a sound of protest. He ignored that and set her away from
him. She wanted him to kiss her again, desperately craved the contact of his
body. Her fingers no longer hurt, but tingled the same as the rest of her.

“That’s what can happen when you play with matters you don’t
understand.” Grabbing her arm, he led her to the door. He looked out, then
thrust her outside and shut himself in.

So, that was what could happen? She smiled. All she wanted
to do was figure out how to make it happen again.

She drifted to the chamber set aside for the ladies’
comfort. Edwina and her mother already occupied the room, repairing the hem of
Edwina’s gown. Her friend greeted Libbetty coolly, glancing toward her
mother. Mrs. Hogwood glared at her. Libbetty felt a blush creep over her.
Had one of them also heard or seen the scene between her and the marquess? Or,
even worse, had they seen her leave Lord Neil’s room?

“Let me help you with your gown,” she said.

Edwina shrugged and replied, “If you wish. I crouched
behind a large chair during the last round of the game, and somehow my heel
became entangled in the hem of my gown. The tear is in the back, where I have
trouble reaching. And Maman cannot bend sufficiently to reach the floor.”

Libbetty knelt to set in the stitches. “Have you enjoyed
the party so far?” she inquired.

“What a lot of childish behavior. I cannot see the point,”
Mrs. Hogwood complained. “I am most disappointed.”

They returned to the ballroom. The reassembled guests
chattered and partook of refreshments. Miss Bassett had cornered Lord Neil.
Her tunic gown in violet over an ice-blue slip, and a feathered headdress
flattered her. Libbetty held back a moan. Sybille Bassett made a better
match, in maturity and social aplomb, for Lord Neil.

Lord Neil wore his customary black, and his face wore his
usual ironical twist of the lips. What did he think about Sybille Bassett’s
flirtatious manner? Had he already forgotten those moments in his room?

Mr. Colton joined them. Libbetty studied the dark-haired
young man, trying to discern signs of hidden villainy in his agreeable, unassuming
manner.

Tom was keeping Irene entertained, with Francis close by,
looking bored. The two Misses Goforth shared Mr. Murray’s attentions. Miss
Georgina Goforth, wearing pale pink, stood by quietly while her more lively
sister carried on a spirited conversation. Miss Clarissa had on a lemon yellow
frock with a square neckline.

Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth wandered in, with eyes
only for each other. The woman had hastily rearranged her hair. She wore
ringlets held back with silver combs, which had been placed differently earlier
in the evening. She wore a dashing, low-cut gown in silvery-gray, with a black
embroidered Greek key design around the hem.

Early in the evening, the older men had disappeared into an
adjoining room for cards. Mrs. Hayes, unlike the other chaperones, had played
hide-and-seek. At present she stood with Lady Goforth and Mrs. Hogwood at one
end of the room. Libbetty had not seen Mrs. Dalrymple’s companion, Miss Clark,
all evening.

Lord Chester and Sir Rodney converged upon Libbetty and
Edwina, followed by Lord Cauldreigh. “We wish to try a round of
partners—everybody who plays must choose a partner.” Chester bowed to
Edwina. “Will you do me the honor of partnering me?”

Edwina accepted. Sir Rodney and the marquess both claimed
Libbetty. She said to Cauldreigh, “I have too great a care for my reputation
to hide with you, sir.” She smiled at Sir Rodney and said, “If we must play
partners, I accept your kind offer.”

“I am slain,” complained Cauldreigh. “The cruelest battlefields
of all are the drawing rooms of England.”

“No mere soldier is strong enough to endure the wounds
inflicted by our bewitching English ladies,” agreed Sir Rodney. “Yield,
Cauldreigh. You are unhorsed, dished, rolled up.” They laughed, and Libbetty
went off to hide with Sir Rodney.

The game for some more rounds with partners. Why had the
chaperones not objected? As Libbetty had discovered in the cabinet with
Cauldreigh, this variation of the game could be put to shocking use. Except
for Mrs. Hayes, who had expressed doubts about the propriety, the chaperones
regarded the game with indulgence.

Mrs. Hogwood kept indicating to Edwina with grimaces and
nods that she expected her daughter to capture Lord Cauldreigh as partner, but
he proved adept at eluding the trap.

Cauldreigh, not at all set down by Libbetty’s rebuke of him,
continued to pursue her. She refused his company, but her rebuffs made no
difference. If she found another partner, he waited out the game. If she did
not, they both stayed out. To her surprise, Captain Forsyth begged her company
for one round. A little wary, she accepted, but he treated her with respectful
detachment.

Later, Libbetty observed Mrs. Hogwood haranguing Edwina for
her backwardness in attaching Lord Cauldreigh. She walked up to them and asked
Edwina’s help for a manufactured difficulty with her gown. They didn’t speak
about Mrs. Hogwood, and Edwina seemed distant from Libbetty.

She found no further opportunity to talk with Lord Neil, who
ignored her the rest of the evening. Her wish to discover whether Mr. Colton
was the assailant had lessened after she had mistaken Lord Neil’s room for his
cousin’s.

Miss Bassett hung upon Lord Neil’s sleeve as much as
possible. She had even abandoned her shy, dull sister to find her way alone in
the games, or with such help as Tom gave, with unwilling assistance from
Francis.

The kisses she had received that evening had clarified her
mind. She might like Lord Cauldreigh as a friend, but he didn’t stir her
senses as his uncle did. It was a shame, because his ardent pursuit of her
suggested she might have a fair chance of marriage with him, but she could not
share that hope where Lord Neil was concerned. And his kiss had rocked her to
the core.

Morning sunlight slanted down on Libbetty, riding in Mr.
Bassett’s bright yellow barouche, driven by a liveried servant of the Bassetts,
with Edwina, Irene, and Miss Clark. Edwina and Irene sat in the forward-facing
seats, shaded by the folding half-hood. Libbetty and Miss Clark carried
parasols to protect them from the already-warm rays of the sun.

Ahead of the carriage, Mrs. Dalrymple and Sybille Bassett
rode with the men of the party. The cavalcade planned to gather the rest of
their party in Crossfield, and picnic at the ruined abbey of Mellingham, a few
miles beyond Crossfield.

Without twisting around in a most awkward fashion, Libbetty
could not see the riders, but snatches of their laughter and bits of
conversation floated back to her. Her lips tightened, and she resisted the
temptation to turn to look ahead at them.

She took a deep breath. Indeed, she was fortunate to ride
in the barouche. On such a warm day, she would become sticky and hot on
horseback. She enjoyed the luxurious carriage, open to the sunshine and air.
The upholstery smelled of new leather, and the springs smoothed every rut and
bump.

Oh, she could not fool herself. Hearing Miss Bassett and
Mrs. Dalrymple laughing with Lord Neil and the other gentlemen made her stomach
hurt.

Edwina, in a primrose carriage dress and gypsy bonnet
trimmed with daisies, shot glares at the horseback riders that should have
withered them into dried leaves blowing away on the wind. Did she, too, regret
she was not mounted? Edwina at least had chosen the carriage rather than
horseback.

Miss Clark, seated beside Libbetty in the rear-facing seat,
had little to say for herself. Her tension gave Libbetty the impression she
also found it difficult not to turn to look ahead to the other members of the
party.

Miss Irene Bassett, clinging in terror to her seat, could
not converse. Her sole contribution to the company thus far had been to squeal
shrilly whenever the coachman achieved a spanking trot from the sedate bays or
took a corner too fast, which Irene deemed every corner.

Even though Libbetty had no horse available, she had no gown
styled for carriage rides, so she wore her new sapphire merino habit, trimmed
in black velvet. She topped it with a round bonnet of straw adorned with
matching blue ribbons. She knew she appeared to advantage.

Tom and Francis dropped back beside the carriage to converse
with the ladies. “This is great fun. Too bad you can’t ride, Lib,” Tom said.

Libbetty, mentally gritting her teeth, answered pleasantly,
“I enjoy this elegant carriage. It is more comfortable than the jouncy ride on
a horse.”

Lord Cauldreigh came alongside. “How are you ladies
faring?”

“’Tis a very pleasant day for such an excursion,” Edwina
offered.

Unsure whether Edwina’s recent hostility arose from a change
of mind about Lord Cauldreigh, Libbetty avoided conversation with him. She
turned to her seat partner. “Do you live in London, Miss Clark?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dalrymple and I have lodgings in Chelsea.” Miss
Clark did not mention a Mr. Dalrymple, but Libbetty feared inquiry about him
might be impolite.

Miss Clark went on, “I do enjoy such occasions as this, in
the fresh air. Our life in town gives too few opportunities for such. Of
course, we enjoy London. We have our friends, and we always find something to
do. Have you been there, Miss Bishop?”

While Miss Clark was speaking, Lord Neil joined the other
riders who had gathered around them. He tipped his hat briefly to the ladies
and conversed with Lord Cauldreigh. Libbetty shook her head in answer to Miss
Clark’s question, although she could scarcely pay attention with Lord Neil
close by. She wished he would speak to her, but he did not.

As they passed Rose Farm, Mrs. Whitelow, standing on the
front step of the farmhouse some distance up a long lane, curtsied to Lord
Cauldreigh and Lord Neil, then waved enthusiastically and performed what looked
like the steps of a dance, with an enigmatic smile that seemed to mock the two
Coltons.

Lord Neil’s lips tightened. Lord Cauldreigh spun his horse
as if he intended to ride over and give her a set-down for her impudence, but
Lord Neil reached out and laid a hand on his arm. His low-voiced words
dissuaded the marquess from action.

Francis rode forward joining Sybille Bassett and Mrs.
Dalrymple again, and Lord Neil and the marquess followed suit.

Oblivious to the undercurrents, Miss Clark gushed, “Oh, you
certainly must do so. A visit to London is essential to any young person’s
education. There’s so much—history, government, and culture—to absorb. You
are young yet for a debut, are you not?”

Vexed at her condescension, Libbetty replied, “I am not sure
when I shall go. I would like to do so.” She would not tell the haughty
companion that her family could not afford a season in London for their
daughters.

Miss Clark asked, “Do you go to London for the season, Miss
Irene?”

Irene giggled at the idea, and Libbetty wondered if Miss
Clark did not discern Irene’s limited intellect.

“Do you mean to go to London to look for a beau, also?”
Tom’s question addressed Edwina.

She tossed her head, sunlight reflecting off her glossy dark
curls. “We have made no plans yet, but I will go if I wish.”

Scowling, Tom spurred Concobhar ahead with the other
riders. Libbetty hurt along with him. She gave Edwina a reproving frown. The
other girl ignored her, her face pointedly turned away.

Libbetty chatted with Miss Clark and occasionally to Irene.
Edwina did the same. Libbetty wondered how Miss Clark could be unconscious of
the tension between the two erstwhile friends.

What was the matter with Edwina, anyway? A few nights ago,
at the Coltons’ party, she had pointedly cut Libbetty, but she had been in the
company of her mother, and Libbetty assumed that to be the cause. Mrs. Hogwood
had not come today, however. Had Edwina changed her mind about the
desirability of a match with Lord Cauldreigh?

At the Murrays’ manor, they passed the columned portico of
its classical facade, driving around to the stables. Upon seeing them, Mr.
Murray drove a shiny black landau from the carriage house, and the company
continued to the Goforths’, an old-fashioned but imposing building constructed
of blackened timbers and white plaster.

Miss Goforth and Miss Clarissa appeared, clad in sea green
and pink respectively. Edwina stepped out of the Bassetts’ carriage. “I will
ride to the Abbey in Mr. Murray’s carriage.” After a delay to accommodate
Edwina, they proceeded.

During the remainder of the ride Lord Cauldreigh, Tom, and
some of the London guests rode alongside the two carriages in turn, talking to first
Libbetty, Irene and Miss Clark, and then to the Misses Goforth, Edwina, and Mr.
Murray.

Although the ruined abbey was not far from Peasebotham,
Libbetty had never seen it. The view that met her eyes was romance
personified. Her chest expanded and her senses became sharper, colors and
scents and sounds brighter and stronger.

Standing atop a hill with a vista over farmlands and
orchards below, the ruin appeared to stretch along the landscape for miles.
The visitors faced a wall pierced at intervals with tall gothic window arches,
panes broken long ago.

The carriages passed around to the rear of the ruins,
overlooking the valley, and the occupants spilled forth and stood peering
around.

Several aged, giant oaks clustered nearby spontaneously
echoed the arches, as if reaching up in prayer to the heavens. A graveyard
extended from the far end, ancient, mossy stones silent testaments to the monks
who had dwelled here. The markers stood or leaned at odd angles, ringed by a
fringe of gnarled yews.

On this bright day the desolation and decay spoke to
Libbetty. On a gloomier day, the place might have seemed foreboding. “This
would be the perfect setting for a Gothic romance about the ghost of a mad
monk,” she observed to Miss Clark. The other woman stared at her blankly.

Mrs. Dalrymple said, “Who lures virgins to their doom.”

Surprised, Libbetty glanced up at the older woman, still
seated upon the dainty brown mare she rode. Behind Mrs. Dalrymple, Lord Neil,
on his black gelding, chuckled. “Gothic romances, ladies? Well, this is the
place for it.”

Mrs. Dalrymple laughed and dismounted, with the help of a
Cauldreigh groom, who led away the horse. Lord Neil alit and also handed his
mount to the groom. He and Mrs. Dalrymple stood together. Libbetty watched as
he pointed out various features of the abbey, gesturing. The sunshine in
Libbetty’s day dimmed. With an effort, she shook off her mood and took in the
bustle around her.

Servants from The Castle had been dispatched ahead and were
setting up a canvas pavilion, with chairs, tables draped with white linen,
silverware, and china bearing a pastoral scene. They carried huge hampers from
the wagon, unloading cold meats, pastries, and other victuals, bottles of wine
and frosty jugs of lemonade.

The lavishness and formality conflicted with Libbetty’s idea
of picnics, which in her family consisted of a blanket spread on the ground,
bread, cheese, fruit, perhaps sausage, and water from a nearby stream to drink.

The other men dismounted, some of them helping the carriage
passengers alight. Lord Cauldreigh stood near the pavilion, supervising the
placement of the tableware.

To Libbetty’s surprise, Lord Neil came over and held out a
hand as she stepped down from the barouche. A blush creeping upon her face,
she gazed into his eyes. She thought a warm light appeared in them, which
disappeared all too soon. She stumbled, and he steadied her before letting
loose of her arm and moving back. His dark eyes, if they had held a more
heated expression, were impersonal now. Her arm still tingled where he had
touched her. Did he think of their kiss two nights previously?

“Shall we explore the Abbey until the luncheon is ready?”
Lord Cauldreigh asked. The large, noisy party set off for the grounds.
Partaking in the riotous clamor of the explorers seemed somewhat sacrilegious
to Libbetty. Although the denizens of the old abbey were Catholic and she
Church of England, she worried those long-ago monks would have disapproved of
the laughter. For a moment, her fancy of a crazed monk seemed all too
credible.

Once inside the walls, the party split into smaller groups.
As Libbetty had come to expect, Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth vanished
into a subterranean section of the grounds. Edwina, Francis, Tom, the Misses
Goforth, Mr. Murray, and Lord Chester went to the chapel, in better repair than
the remainder. Irene stood a moment in confusion, then followed them.

Lord Cauldreigh and Sir Rodney stayed with Libbetty, and
Miss Clark joined them, although she darted frequent looks to the stairs down
which Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth had gone.

Mr. Jonathan Colton, Lord Neil, and Sybille Bassett gathered
together and went back outside the walls.

Libbetty’s gaze followed, but she had received no invitation
to join them, and she would not pursue Lord Neil as Sybille did. Her group
wandered along the inside walls. Sir Rodney pointed. “Here’s a stairway in
this tower.”

Libbetty peered up the circular staircase, deliciously dark
and ominous.

“Shall we ascend?” Lord Cauldreigh asked.

The only light, spilling from above, dimly illumined the
steps but not revealing what was beyond the first turning. As they mounted,
they passed places where the stairs were crumbling. They took care over these
obstacles, the men lending their help to the ladies. After a couple of circles
upward, a small landing, open to the sky, had survived but led nowhere. A pile
of stones revealed the upper stories had collapsed. The landing had a view out
through an arched window onto the grassy area below.

Libbetty looked down and saw Miss Bassett, leaning close to
Lord Neil, laughter on her face. Mr. Colton was not in sight, and Libbetty’s
stomach burned painfully at the sight of Sybille flirting with Lord Neil.
“Come, let’s go back down. There’s nothing up here.” She turned away and
began to descend.

Sir Rodney guided Miss Clark over the difficult parts. Lord
Cauldreigh held out an arm to Libbetty. He moved warily down the steps. They
soon lagged behind the other two.

Libbetty couldn’t tell whether Lord Cauldreigh’s leg gave
him pain or he purposely moved slowly to create privacy between them. As they
descended, the uncertain light reflected off the stairs in patches, obscuring
the sporadic piles of rubble.

She glimpsed Sir Rodney’s red hair glinting in a narrow beam
of sunlight some distance below, just before it disappeared beyond another
turn. She tried to hurry without causing Cauldreigh greater pain. Suddenly
she felt the crumbled stone beneath her feet roll, and Cauldreigh slipped away
from her. He shouted out as he slid down several stairs. He halted his fall
and scrambled to his feet. “Are you hurt, Miss Bishop?”

“No, I am fine. What about you?”

“It was nothing,” he shrugged. “Just a bit of clumsiness.”

Sir Rodney turned back and started to climb to their level,
but Cauldreigh waved him away. “We are all right,” he called.

They reached the bottom without further mishap. The archway
to the yard where Libbetty had seen Miss Bassett with Lord Neil was nearby, and
she glanced out but could not see anyone. She took a step outside the door and
saw Miss Bassett standing with Mr. Colton. Lord Neil had disappeared.

“What would you like to do now?” Sir Rodney asked.

“We could go look at the cemetery,” Libbetty suggested.

The group left the enclosure of the abbey’s crumbling
walls. Miss Clark said, “I’m worried about Letitia. I must find her.”