Lord Satan (6 page)

She could not push him off, with one arm pressed awkwardly
between him and the packed dirt floor. The expression on Wat’s face frightened
her.

Libbetty panicked, twisting and flailing until she freed her
arm and pushed at him with a wild strength. “Let me go!” she shrieked,
breathing in gasping sobs.

Slowly his eyes unglazed. He released her, and she jumped
up, straightening her hat and brushing at her riding habit. The dust on her
soaked skirts had transformed into mud.

“I’m sorry, Libbetty, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t frighten me,” she said mechanically, frantic to
escape. She wrenched at the balky door. It stuck fast, and a sob rose in her
throat.

Wat stood and grabbed her arm. “Don’t go,” he pleaded. “I
won’t do anything more.”

She yanked away from him and renewed her attack on the
door. “I have to get out of here.” Violent tremors wracked her body.

“There now.” Wat spoke gently, reaching around her to open
the door. She escaped out into the rain. Picking up Concobhar’s reins, she
searched for a block to assist her in mounting.

Wat followed her. “Please Lib, don’t be afraid of me.” She
looked at him and tried to calm herself. “You’ll become wet if you ride home
now. Why don’t you come back into the hut?”

“No!”

“I’ll stay out if you want.”

“I can’t go back in there.”

Shrugging, he helped her mount. Holding on to the reins, he
gazed up at her. “Truly, I’m sorry, Libbetty. But I can’t stand this waiting
much longer. When will you tell your parents?”

At that moment, her thoughts clarified. “I can’t. We must
give up the idea. I—I mistook my feelings. I can’t marry you.” Libbetty
reached down to take possession of the reins.

His shocked expression made her feel guilty. “I’m sorry, Wat.
It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Yes, I do. I didn’t think ahead to actually being
married. I liked meeting you—I like you. But I don’t love you.” She walked
Concobhar forward a few paces, then looked back at Wat. His shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Libbetty rode away, tears mingling with the rain coursing
down her face. She did not know if she felt more wretched on her own or Wat’s
behalf. What would she do now? She had thought her future settled. Perhaps
settling her future had been much of the appeal. That, and to think someone as
handsome as Wat loved her. She had treated him so shabbily.

*

The following day dawned fair. A warmth in the air presaged
summer when Libbetty picked flowers in her mother’s garden.

In the afternoon, dressed in a day frock of pale green
muslin, she sat in the drawing room with her mother when Edwina came. Libbetty
had assumed Edwina would not yet dare face her. Had perhaps even given up her
pursuit of Lord Cauldreigh.

“Oh, you are not ready for our ride,” Edwina exclaimed when
she saw Libbetty wearing an ordinary round gown. Her lips tightened, and she
gave no hint she was embarrassed about her dereliction two nights before.

“I’ll wait while you change,” she said. She sat, appearing
interested as Libbetty’s next-younger sister Catherine stumbled over her
exercise upon the pianoforte.

As she had some questions for Edwina, anyway, Libbetty
quickly went to don her riding habit. She wasted no time once they were on
their way. “What happened to you the other night?”

“Oh, Libbetty, I could not get away. My mother caught me
leaving my chamber. She must have had second sight about my plans, for she
never gets up after retiring for the night. I had to say I was merely going to
the kitchen for some warm milk.”

“Your mother saw you in Freddy’s clothes?” Libbetty had
lent some of her younger brother’s discarded clothing to Edwina.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t wearing his clothes. It would not be
proper for me to wear trousers! I wore an older gown of mine, quite dark and
inconspicuous. Luckily I could put it on by myself. Maman made a huge fuss
over me and said it was my broken heart over Cauldreigh’s neglect that had
stolen my sleep. I didn’t dare try to sneak out again after that.”

It was just as well Edwina’s cowardice had discouraged her
from taking part in the raid on The Castle. As difficult as Libbetty had found
the trek in male attire, she could not imagine negotiating the nighttime walk
and the moat in skirts. Not to mention how she would have reacted to being
caught. That didn’t bear thinking about. Edwina’s abilities as a conspirator
were nonexistent.

Hypnotized by the horse’s rocking gait, Libbetty’s thoughts
inevitably turned to the devil in the guise of a man, Lord Neil. How could she
prove his evil intent in time to save Cauldreigh?

*

Would Miss Bishop and Squire Hogwood’s daughter ride in the
woods today? If it were any other girl than Miss Bishop he had caught a few
nights ago, he would have said she would never come near The Castle again.

The vicar’s chit was a different matter, though. He could
still picture the look on her face—terrified, but she would have eaten that
oversized fustian coat before she would admit as much.

And Trevor, recovering but still confined to bed, had
complained of boredom recently. Neil had the happy thought of granting the two
girls’ heartfelt desires and bringing them back to meet Trevor if he happened
to encounter them today.

*

Lost in reflection, Libbetty recoiled when a horse bounded
onto the road from a side path directly in front of them.

Lord Neil. Of course.

Libbetty sucked in her breath. What would he do, after
catching her in The Castle the other night?

However, he gave no sign of the fury she had seen on that
occasion. The more usual taunting expression animated his face as he swept
them a bow, restraining the mount, which pawed the ground and snorted
restlessly. A buff-colored riding coat fitted snugly across his broad
shoulders. “Well, hello. The two visitors from the polar region, are you
not? How do you fare on this warm day?”

“Indeed, we find it unpleasantly warm,” Libbetty snapped,
her vexation increased by the reminder of her previous faux pas.

Edwina simpered at him. “How is your nephew, your
lordship? We have missed him at church.”

Lord Neil’s dark, pirate’s face scowled. Libbetty’s heart
seemed to miss its beat at his ominous expression. Visibly, he restrained
himself and the ironic look returned. “Trevor? He is much improved, thank
you, Miss, er, Hogwood. Fortunately, I finally persuaded him to do what he
should have done at the beginning—stay in bed until he completely recovers.
But he insisted on rising despite my warnings, with sad results as you no doubt
have heard.” He smiled.

Did he confess, in this roundabout way, to responsibility
for Cauldreigh’s accident? Her heart thudded heavily.

He looked only at Edwina, however, saying, “Actually, I
hoped you ladies would grant me a boon, since you so kindly inquired after my nephew’s
health. He has been sadly moped with only my poor company for his
convalescence. It would cheer him to have two such lovely ladies call on him.
Could I prevail upon you to perform such an act of charity?”

Libbetty glanced at Edwina, who paled, showing his mockery
registered on her. Edwina did not reply, so Libbetty answered, “I’m sure we
would be happy to call upon Lord Cauldreigh some afternoon,” and reined her
horse about, feeling Lord Neil’s deep gaze, full of triumph, upon her.

“Could you not accompany me to The Castle now?”

She paused. He had presented them a difficult choice:
either to accept his “invitation” or slink away in defeat. They couldn’t go to
The Castle now. It would be most improper for two unchaperoned young ladies.
She stole a glance at Edwina and read dismay and irresolution. She prepared to
refuse when she heard her companion say in a breathless voice, “Will it not be
inconvenient, sir?”

He laughed. “Indeed not. I assure you Trevor will be
delighted to welcome you.”

He led the way through the forest, glancing back from time
to time as if he doubted Libbetty and Edwina would follow him. An image of the
children of Hamelin being led to their doom arose in Libbetty’s mind, though of
course without the piping.

Libbetty cast a reproachful look towards Edwina. The other
girl met her gaze defiantly, her cheeks colored bright. After all, she had
talked about wanting this opportunity for weeks, and no doubt Mrs. Hogwood
would never forgive her if she failed to seize the chance.

Libbetty straightened her spine. She hadn’t told Edwina
what had occurred when she and Alonso had sneaked into The Castle, so the other
girl couldn’t know what terrors it held for Libbetty. Even then, she had
intended to go back, so now she would face her fate bravely, like Marie
Antoinette. What if Lord Neil intended to end the nuisance the girls
represented? Were the dungeons with which Lord Neil had threatened her and
Alonso real?

The Castle’s appearance bore out Libbetty’s memories. Of
course, she had seen it many times before the Coltons had taken up their
current residence. Then she merely thought it picturesque and romantic. Now
it appeared entirely sinister, a delight for the gothic authors whose works she
had covertly obtained from Edwina.

They approached the medieval face, with two square Norman
towers and a rampart, all built of stone aged to black. The crumbling,
dilapidated appearance brought back all too clearly the feel of that same stone
under Libbetty’s fingers as she had crept alongside the wall two nights past.
Would her courage have failed her if it had been daylight and she could have
seen how fragile that section of The Castle appeared? Still, she experienced a
rush of triumph over her achievement.

Lord Neil smirked at her as though he knew her thoughts.
She scowled at him and tried to repress a shudder as they neared the ancient
building. The half-fallen gateway appeared ready to collapse as they rode
through.

“Don’t you like The Castle, Miss Bishop?” Lord Neil asked.

“It does not appear safe.”

He laughed. “You are right. Now that Trevor is
recuperating, repairs to the old ruin will begin. I could not risk the
workmen’s noise disturbing him before. But the living quarters are in better
condition, and I promise you that no stones will fall on your head.”

Taking a deep breath, she urged the Hogwood horse through
the gate and along an arched passage into a vast courtyard. From here, one
could see the whole of The Castle. Straight ahead loomed the Palladian
addition, built some hundred years before of slate gray stone, the Tudor wing
to the left, and to the right a section built in late medieval times.

“This old pile needs almost constant care or it falls
apart,” Lord Neil observed. “It hardly seems worth the effort, save that it is
Trevor’s legacy. He seems recently to have decided he cares for the place.”

She gaped at him. His voice softened as he spoke of his
nephew. It seemed a contradiction to the man who had looked at her with murder
in his eyes.

They dismounted at the stables. Edwina had not spoken since
accepting the invitation. Libbetty glanced at her pale face and trembling
lips, then forgot her, fascinated with The Castle.

She noted that the courtyard had begun as a medieval bailey,
with all the necessities to withstand a siege: a well, vegetable gardens, and
even fruit trees that grew within the walls of The Castle. Details of medieval
life had impressed themselves strongly upon her during her father’s lessons.
That age contained danger and adventure, more appealing to her than the present
staid time.

She could not decide whether the garden and orchard were
affectation—an attempt to preserve the glory of those medieval lords—or respect
for the traditions of the ancient building. Whatever the purpose, the later
additions did not contribute to the effect. She would not quibble about minor
points, however as the romantic aspect of The Castle appealed to her.

Libbetty had little time to look around as grooms came
running out to take their horses. Lord Neil led them across the courtyard and
through the back door into the newest wing. At the time of the Palladian
addition, a drive had been constructed at the opposite side from their approach
through the woods. Most callers arrived by the newer drive and entrance.

They entered a tall-ceilinged, airy hallway, with a narrow
stairway on their left, the servants’ stairs. They continued along a
passageway, undoubtedly the same one she and Alonso had traversed, to the main
entrance hall. Libbetty stifled a gasp. Although she recognized the hall from
her nocturnal visit, the inadequate light had made it impossible to see much.

Italian marble floors and columns took her eye first, then
the room’s vast size—larger than the nave of her father’s church, and nearly as
cavernous as Worcester Cathedral. Three or four stories above her was a
plaster-carved ceiling, the details of which she could not identify from the
ground floor.

A middle-aged woman came out through the tall doors on the
other side of the room and stopped short on seeing them.

“Mrs. Browning,” Lord Neil said. “We have callers for Lord
Cauldreigh. Will you see them to a room where they may refresh themselves
before I bring them to Trevor?”

Libbetty did not know in what way they were expected to
“refresh themselves.” Were their appearances that disgraceful? The girls
followed Mrs. Browning as she led them two flights up the curved stairway and
along an angling passage.

The woman did not speak to the girls, but left them at a
bedchamber door, pointing that they should enter, and hurried back in the
direction they had come.

The girls stared at each other.

“Do you suppose she is mute?” Libbetty said.

Edwina shrugged. “How are we to refresh ourselves?”

“I don’t know.”

They burst into a fit of giggles. “This cannot be as dire
as it appears,” Libbetty said when they had sobered.

They entered the room, leaving the door ajar. A perfectly
appointed lady’s bedchamber met their eyes. In the center stood a graceful
oaken four-poster bed with a white lace canopy and coverlet, and a matching
wardrobe in a corner. More lace hung at two tall, leaded glass windows, with
heavier drapes of pale blue brocade.

Edwina stood staring around of the room, a frown crinkling
the porcelain perfection of her forehead.

A bureau and a lady’s dressing table stood against the
opposite wall, with two curving chairs set nearby for callers watching the lady
at her toilette.

Libbetty sat in the chair before the dressing table. She
fingered the casual disarray of articles laid there as though the owner might
return any time. Who was the lady?

Rising, she walked about, picking up objects to inspect
bemusedly and setting them down again. She touched the white lace coverlet,
pushed to test the bed’s softness, and imagined herself the lady sleeping in
the elegant room. Lord Neil’s guest, his attentions showered upon her.

What was she thinking? Lord Neil was a monster, a would-be
murderer. She supposed the tranquility of her life made it difficult to
imagine such evil, but she must never allow herself to forget what he really
was.

Edwina stood stiffly at first, then began to circle the room
herself, touching the brocade draperies, the dark-grained wood of the wardrobe.

A young chambermaid appeared with a pitcher of warm water
and poured it into the basin on the bureau, saying, “His lordship will call for
you shortly,” then departed.

“Well, I guess they meant for us to do this,” Libbetty said,
dipping her fingers in the water, and splashing some on her face. She patted
herself dry with a towel, and Edwina followed suit.

“Do you suppose we are ‘refreshed’?” Libbetty looked
doubtfully in the mirror, smoothing out her shabby riding habit, and regretting
her unfashionable appearance in her old brown silk bonnet. She and Edwina
giggled again, but the nervous strain showed in their voices.

“I do not think I have ever been so frightened in my life,”
confessed Edwina.

“I’m sure we will be fine.” Libbetty opened the door and
looked out. “Are we supposed to wait here until someone comes for us?” As she
spoke, Lord Neil opened a door farther along the corridor. Their eyes met, and
Libbetty had to restrain an impulse to back hastily into the room and slam the
door.

The satirical smile appeared on his face. “Ah, Miss
Bishop. Are you ladies ready? Do come in.” He gave a sweeping bow indicating
the room behind him.

Apprehensively, she stepped out of the room and walked
toward him, trying to peek around him, but his body blocked her view. Edwina
shrank behind her.

“Well?” Lord Neil said.

He was toying with them again, playing upon their fears.
Defiantly , Libbetty looped her arm through Edwina’s and marched past him, the
other girl in tow. Lord Neil stepped aside to let them enter.

The chamber was furnished as a sitting room, part of the master
suite, originally a boudoir for the lady of the house. As no chatelaine lived
in The Castle, the room had been redecorated to masculine tastes. Drawn up
near the fireplace, a pair of lattice-back armchairs had smoking stands beside
them. A mahogany gaming table with two matching chairs stood in one corner of
the room.

In contrast, the graceful, low-backed sofa on which the
room’s occupant reposed appeared appropriated from a lady’s apartment
elsewhere. A low table in front contained a chess game already begun.

The marquess toyed idly with the ivory chess pieces, his
slender hands hinting of restless energy. Although his pallor betrayed his
recent illness, the handsome, mobile face gazing up at his callers reinforced
the impression of vitality held in check. He wore a dressing robe of deep
burgundy Chinese brocade, and a quilt covered him from chest down. Libbetty
tilted her head to better appreciate the romantic picture he presented—the
wounded hero.

Lord Neil’s resonant voice came from behind the girls.
“These are the two angels of mercy I told you about, Trevor, come to relieve
your tedium.”

The marquess flushed. “Dash it all, Uncle Neil, I didn’t
mean to complain.”

In a gentler tone, the older man replied, “I know you did
not, halfling. If you were complaining, I would not be obliged to succor you.
May I present Miss Bishop, the vicar’s daughter, and Miss Hogwood, the daughter
of Squire Hogwood and his lady.”

Lord Cauldreigh grinned, engagingly boyish. “This is
famous. You don’t know what a dead bore it is lying in bed day after day for
weeks.” He glanced up, half-apologetic, at his uncle, and went on, “Won’t you
stay awhile and talk to me?” He stared at the chairs, and Lord Neil, with an
exaggerated sigh, pulled them closer.

Edwina sat down without further prompting. Libbetty watched
with misgiving the expression on her friend’s shining face. The older girl
already seemed halfway to an infatuation with the marquess.

“I’ll leave you young folks to become acquainted. I’ll send
someone in with refreshments.” With a bow, Lord Neil left.

The withdrawal of his magnetic presence left a void in the
room. Libbetty resented his dismissive tone. He as much as said, “I’ll leave
you children to play.”

An awkward silence fell. Now that Edwina had attained her
object of meeting the marquess, she had nothing to say. She gazed at Lord
Cauldreigh, who looked at each girl in turn, as if he would fall in love with
both.

Since the others seemed unlikely to take a hand in easing
the awkwardness, Libbetty said, “You appear much improved in health since we
saw you a few weeks ago, Lord Cauldreigh.”

“Yes, I was in bad case then. But now my cursed—er, I mean,
my leg has almost healed, and my fever has entirely gone. That fever hung on
all through the fall last year, kept me from being at full strength through the
campaign. Nearly did me in during the retreat to Corunna.

“Then I took the bullet in the leg in the battle. Nearly
crushed my thighbone. I was lucky not to lose the leg. Doctors still say I
may have a limp for the rest of my life, but I won’t, you may be sure. I must
go back to the Peninsula.

“After I was wounded the fever took such a hold on me, they
thought for sure I was done for. I fooled them all, though. It’s been
confoundedly hard, I’ll tell you, for someone who’s used to activity.”

“Oh, yes, I can imagine. But now that you may have callers,
perhaps the time may pass more pleasantly.” Libbetty paused to allow Edwina a
chance. She still seemed tongue-tied, however.

Libbetty went on, “Once you have fully recovered, you may
inspect your estate and see to matters here. Your properties have been much
neglected in your absence.”

“Surely not. Reynolds is an excellent steward.”

“In no way do I mean to disparage him, your lordship. But
the owner of a property rather than his agent must make some decisions, and Mr.
Reynolds has a fear of spending your money for repairs.” She stopped,
remembering the accident the marquess had suffered because of the dilapidated
state of The Castle, and afraid she had offended him by seeming to refer to it.

However a bored expression crossed his face. “Uncle Neil
has all that in hand. I’ve no intention of wasting my time on business while
I’m on leave.”

Libbetty was surprised at the marquess’s casual attitude
toward his properties, but on sure ground, since she had witnessed the decay in
her surroundings firsthand, and also the neglect was a topic that had caused
her father to frequently rail about aristocratic disdain for the common man.

She didn’t care now about giving offense. “I’m not speaking
of repairs to The Castle, sir. Although I think it a pity to let a place of
historical interest to go to pieces, it cannot compare with your tenants’
hardships when their roofs leak or their barns fall down. With such treatment
your best farmers may leave, and the lands will go to wrack and ruin. When
your rents fall off as a result of that, you cannot help but notice.”