Lord Satan (5 page)

Around a corner, the corridor opened into a broad stair
landing. Libbetty climbed up a flight, turning right at the top and exploring
that hall. It was darker, lit only by a candle-stand on a small table at the
top of the stairs, and shadows moved before her. She shuddered and picked up
the candle. Opening the first door she came to, she discovered a bedchamber,
empty, and moved on.

How much time had passed? Likely no more than a quarter of
an hour, though it felt like hours. She looked in the next room.

A prickle at her back made her turn. Before she had time to
look behind her, she was jerked by the arm and spun around. The candlestick
dropped from her limp fingers, the flame extinguishing itself against the thick
carpet. Libbetty emitted a strangled gasp.

The corridor was too dark to identify the looming menace.
But it didn’t matter. In the moment before the candle guttered out, she
recognized Lord Neil, saw murder in his eyes.

And she saw the pistol aimed straight at her face.

Neil stalked the dark figure in front of him, his heart
hammering with fury and triumph. At last. In a few moments he would capture
Trevor’s assailant.

The man crept forward, his footfalls making no sound. The
candle in his hand wavered, casting a flickering light against the walls and
throwing a bulky shadow behind him.

Neil saw no sign of a weapon. It must be concealed. His
fingers tightened around the pistol butt, twitching with the urge to shoot, as
the villain opened the door to a vacant bedchamber.

Easing the door shut, the intruder moved on to the next. He
came altogether too close to Trevor. Time to end this hunt. Neil closed the
distance and grabbed the man’s right arm with his left. Whipping him around to
face him, he raised the pistol, fingering the trigger.

The floor seemed to lurch beneath his feet as he stared into
the wide, startled eyes of Miss Bishop. The candle snuffed out, leaving them
in darkness. Only the imprint of her face on his brain remained, causing him
to disbelieve what his eyes had told him. He tore off her cap and a cascade of
hair descended over his hand. He remembered that hair.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. Then Miss Bishop’s head
tipped forward and her body sank. He pushed her to a sitting position on the
floor, thrusting her head between her knees and growling, “Don’t faint, damn
you!”

Checking that the pistol was uncocked, he shoved it into a
pocket and knelt beside her. Her hair had been pinned up under the man’s cap
and fell unevenly, a few strands still caught up on top of her head. It
appeared almost burgundy in the diffuse light coming up the staircase from the
torches below.

“I’m not. I don’t faint!” She lifted her head, her eyes
flashing defiance. But her voice was thready, and his eyes, adjusted to the
dim light, picked out the pale face, the freckles splashed across her nose.

“What in He—Hades were you doing, breaking in here like a
thief? I nearly shot you!” He’d all but given in to the urge to kill Trevor’s
supposed assailant. Cold sweat broke out on his face.

She paled again, and he prepared to apply the
head-between-the-knees remedy again, but she snapped, “I’m not a thief.”

“That silver candlestick says differently. It’s enough to
see you hanged—or transported.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it!”

“If I hauled you before any magistrate, would they believe
that? I caught you with the evidence.”

She stared at him, her eyes enormous.

“Who else is with you?”

“No one. I c-came alone.” She averted her eyes.

She was an unskillful liar. “How did you enter?” He’d
extract the truth from her. If she had bribed a servant—any servant who could
not be trusted would be dismissed. This slip of a girl had defeated his
elaborate efforts to protect Trevor and he would know how.

She made no reply, and he tugged her to her feet. “We are
going somewhere more comfortable for this.” More comfortable for him—he would
not give her any succor.

She followed, unresisting, as he descended the stairs and
entered his study—his father’s study. The room should scare her into
confessing her sins. God knew it had worked on him many a time.

He pushed her into a huge armchair that dwarfed her small
figure. Sitting behind the desk, he rang the bell for Salton.

After a small delay, his butler answered the summons, clad
in a dressing gown and nightcap. His eyebrows rose at Miss Bishop’s presence.
“We have an uninvited guest. Take a couple of footmen and search for others.
She has a pack of brothers, and a friend, a Miss Hogwood. She must have some
accomplice.”

“There isn’t! I came alone.”

Neil quirked an eyebrow at Salton, who nodded. “Yes, my
lord.” He departed.

“You may think loyalty is an admirable trait, Miss Bishop,
but I assure you in this case it is misplaced. I will have the whole truth
from you before you leave here.”

“You can’t keep me here!”

“No?” He lifted an eyebrow. “So, your parents know where
you are? Will they come pounding on my door asking for you?”

She squirmed, averting her eyes, before she straightened and
looked at him again. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Perhaps nothing, if you tell me the truth. Who would the
magistrate be in this district, I wonder?”

“Squire Hogwood,” she offered.

“How convenient his daughter is your friend. I suppose if
it chances she is with you, he might not be agreeable about packing you both
off to Botany Bay.”

“She isn’t,” Miss Bishop said, and Neil caught a faint note
of resentment in her voice. He smiled.

Salton returned, dragging a young man by the collar. “I
found this person in the kitchen, my lord.”

“The kitchen!” A world of indignation came through Miss
Bishop’s voice.

“I became lost,” the boy said with a shrug.

Neil inspected him with distaste. He didn’t have the
appearance of a Bishop. Not a brother, then. The lad appeared familiar,
however. “Ah, yes, the physician’s son, isn’t it?”

Young Hayes nodded. He was trying for insouciance, but Neil
could see he sweat pop out on his brow.

“No doubt you found some way in when you came earlier.”

“You needn’t tell him anything, Alonso,” Miss Bishop hurried
to say before the boy could answer.

“If you wish to see your homes again, you will tell me. You
aren’t leaving here until I have the full particulars of how—and why—you made
it into The Castle.”

“You can’t keep us here!” The girl leaped to her feet.

Neil cursed to himself. He could not explain his concerns
for Trevor’s safety without destroying his carefully constructed ill fame. He
must discover the weakness these children had found in his defenses.

“Salton, our guests are proving intransigent. Perhaps
spending a night in the dungeons would persuade them to cooperate.” He
glowered at the pair standing before him.

Young Mister Hayes swallowed, his prominent Adams apple
bobbing. “The dungeons?”

Miss Bishop’s pugnacious stance lessened. “You wouldn’t?”
Her words came out in a breathy squeak.

He grinned.

*

The carriage lurched along the rutted country road. Lord
Neil insisted on conveying them home. Not he personally. He gave orders to
his army of servants and it was done.

“You shouldn’t have told him anything.” Libbetty’s burning
resentment spilled over onto Alonso.

“Why not? Will we go back there? I certainly won’t. If
you want to, you can find your own way in.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so frightened of a silly threat.
He wouldn’t have sent us to any dungeon. I’m sure there isn’t even a dungeon
in The Castle.”

“Maybe not. Did you really want to put it to the test?”

Libbetty shivered, remembering Lord Neil’s expression when
he’d first caught her. Even she, who had no experience with evil, recognized
the violence in a man’s eyes. A man who could look so murderous was capable of
anything, anything. Now she had no doubt he did intend harm to Lord
Cauldreigh.

“Yes, I do want to go back. There must be a clue
somewhere. He wouldn’t have been so determined to keep us out otherwise. I’m
going to catch him and save Lord Cauldreigh.”

“What melodrama. Why should he want to hurt Cauldreigh?”

“I don’t know. I just know he does.”

He would regret threatening her with a gun and dragging her
all over his house like an inanimate object. He had accused her of fainting.
She would never do anything so weak. She merely felt light-headed for a
moment—and who would not, with a madman pointing a gun at her? When she was
done with him, he’d have learned to take her seriously.

The carriage stopped and the groom opened the door. “Yer
sure you can go inside yer house safely?” he asked.

They were by the church, with the vicarage just beyond.
“Yes,” Libbetty said, jumping out. She turned to watch as the groom climbed up
next to the driver and the carriage lumbered on. She suddenly felt very alone
in her quest. She could not depend upon Edwina, and now Alonso had distanced
himself from the task.

*

The next day, heavy clouds threatened rain. The coming damp
scented the air. Between the weather and Edwina’s failure to join in last
night’s adventure, Libbetty was sure her friend would not come for their ride,
so she took Concobhar to meet Wat at their prearranged time.

When she reached the clearing that was their rendezvous
spot, she pulled the gelding to a stop. She glanced up through the leafy
canopy at the sky, wondering whether Wat would come today. They had met
infrequently of late, and he might think she would not come in such unpromising
weather.

Rain pattered on the leaves around her, and she gathered the
reins to return home. Just then she heard a horse approaching from the south,
and Wat appeared, his worried expression vanishing as he spotted her.
Raindrops bedewed his sun-browned face and splotched the tan wool of his riding
coat. “I didn’t know if you’d come,” he said. “I almost went back when it
came on to rain.”

He dismounted and helped Libbetty down from Concobhar,
taking her in his arms for a fervent kiss. She returned the kiss, her arms
cinched tight around his slender waist.

He broke away and looked down at her, not touching her
again. “Libbetty, I don’t want wait any longer. Let’s ask your father for
permission to marry.”

She averted her face. “I know Papa won’t agree to it. Who
he thinks I’ll find to marry, or how he expects to provide for all of us—eight
so far, and Mama is increasing again.”

“Please, Lib, let me talk to your father.”

When she had first counseled waiting, she had been certain
her father would not allow her to marry beneath her. He had often spoken
against matrimony outside of one’s class. But lately, from the harsh way he
spoke of the aristocracy, she had begun to think he had meant marriage between
ordinary folk and the higher classes was wrong.

But in any case, she knew her mother thought her too young
to marry. She wished she knew what to do. She had been so sure of herself,
but suddenly she seemed to be changing. She needed more time to know her
mind. “Please, Wat, let things be for now. I’ll figure out what to do soon.”

A clap of thunder interrupted them, and the rain started in
earnest. Wat led his dun horse and Concobhar to an overgrown path Libbetty had
not noticed before, saying, “There’s a shelter nearby.” He plunged into the
underbrush. After a little hesitation, Libbetty followed. A few hundred yards
in, a neglected old hut stood in a small clearing, much grown over. Wat tied
the horses’ reins around a low-hanging branch.

He pushed open the hut’s sagging door, brushed aside some
cobwebs and stepped in. Peering over his shoulder at the thick dust and gloom,
Libbetty shrank from entering. However, her sodden riding habit vanquished her
misgivings. Wat closed the door behind her as she peered around.

The light from one tiny, broken window dimly illuminated the
room, and Libbetty could scarcely believe anyone had ever dwelled there. Even
empty of furnishings, the cramped single room allowed little space to move, and
Wat could not stand upright. He found some old sacks in a corner, shook dust
from them and spread them on the floor for Libbetty to sit on.

Libbetty’s imagination supplied the hut with mice and other
crawling creatures. With a shudder, she gingerly sat upon the sacks, and he
lowered himself alongside her, remarking, “Mayhap the rain will let up soon.
‘Tisn’t the most comfortable place, but leastwise it will keep us dry.” A
large drip falling from the ceiling landed on her face at that moment, and they
both laughed. “Well, almost dry, anyhow.” He reached for her hand, saying,
“Are you cold?”

His fingers touched her wrist above her gloves, making her
shiver. “No,” she said, and he eyed her skeptically. “Really, I’m not.” She
pulled her hand away.

“What made you come on such a day?”

“Are you not happy to see me?”

“Of course I am. But I’ve looked for you for several days
when the sun shone. Now, when it rains, here you are.”

“Well, that’s why. I could not get away, and when the
chance finally came, I would not let the weather stop me.”

“What has kept you away?”

“Oh, a number of things. Tom has several times taken
Concobhar, and I have been helping Mama. Edwina has asked me to ride with her
almost every day.”

“You didn’t used to go riding with her, did you?”

“No, not often.” At Wat’s questioning look, she explained,
“Edwina hopes to catch a glimpse of Lord Cauldreigh, and she wanted me to ride
with her.”

“Not hoping to catch a glimpse of him yourself, were you?”
Wat’s voice had gone gruff, with a wobble of uncertainty.

This evidence of his jealousy endeared him to Libbetty. “Of
course not. You should know that.” To reassure him, she leaned over and
touched his lips with hers.

He responded by increasing the pressure of his lips upon her
mouth, placing his arms around her and holding tightly. Pleasurable feelings
swirled through Libbetty, and she leaned against him, her hands stealing up to
his shoulders.

Wat broke off the kiss and touched his forehead to hers, his
eyes closed. She could see his throat convulse, and his brow was slick.
Libbetty tried to pull back, but he held on, saying, “Please.” He renewed
their kiss, more intense than before. For a moment, she lost herself in the
sensation of desire.

He pushed her down on the sacking, his mouth hard against
hers. She felt her straw hat crush against the floor, and a cloud of dust
arose, half-choking her. Then, as he shifted his weight, pinning her, one of
his hands fumbling at the buttons of her jacket, she turned her face away.
“Stop it, Wat. Let me up.” But he seemed not to hear and imprisoned her mouth
again.