Sandra Heath (8 page)

“How much of a sorry business was it?”

“That is none of your business,” Marcus replied with a disarming smile.

“I have no doubt she’s confided in Charlotte,” Russell suggested, hoping to prompt an explanation after all.

“If she has, you may be sure it won’t be the truth. Henrietta Courtenay is not at all likely to confess how entirely without merit her conduct was. As far as I am concerned, she and Sutherton richly deserve each other Now then, is it my turn?”

Russell yawned and stretched. “I have no idea. To be truthful, I’m tired at last.”

As they left the billiard room, Henrietta was asleep in her room at the end of the second floor on the north wing. It wasn’t the most sumptuous guest chamber in the abbey, but it was her favorite because it had a view inland over the formal gardens toward the high moors. Firelight danced gently over the pink silk walls and caught the shadows in the exposed stonework around the arched door. The hangings of the four-posted bed were silver brocade, fringed and tasseled in gold, and the scent of roses hung in the air from the opened potpourri in the hearth.

After the upset of Marcus’ arrival, she hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but her head had hardly touched the pillow before she was lost in troubled dreams filled with threats from Marcus that he would tell the world how loose her conduct had been in London. She tossed as she slept, but didn’t hear the door softly open. A shadowy figure crept in. Cloaked and hooded, it moved stealthily to the dressing table, where Henrietta’s jewelry box stood among the clutter of ribbon stands, brushes, combs, scent bottles, and pin bowls. The figure reached out to the box, then paused as Henrietta turned restlessly in the bed.

In the meantime Rowley’s hunt for sugared almonds had led him to the passage to Henrietta’s room. He ambled along the ceiling, saw the cloaked figure, and followed. Suspended from the ceiling close to the silver brocade bed, the spaniel cocked his head curiously to one side as he watched the intruder open Henrietta’s jewelry box and remove her betrothal ring. Rowley knew something was very wrong, and gave a concerned whine, which the intruder didn’t hear, but Henrietta certainly did. Her eyes flew open, and without realizing there was anyone else in the room, she looked directly up at the ghostly dog on the ceiling. She stared at him in the moving light from the fire. The King Charles spaniel she’d seen in the ballroom! Was he really a ghost? Or was she still asleep and dreaming?

The cloaked intruder turned to leave and Henrietta saw the stealthy movement. She sat up with a cry of alarm, and the figure froze momentarily before dashing from the room. Rowley followed in hot pursuit, barking at the top of his lungs. Seeing her open jewelry box, and fearing everything had been stolen, Henrietta gave chase as well. Common sense had no place in her actions; she was intent only on apprehending the thief.

The night light in the passage swayed in the draft from the intruder’s cloak as he turned the corner at the far end, toward the main staircase. Rowley’s claws slithered on the ceiling and his barking rang loudly through the house, disturbing those guests who had psychic inclinations, but most of all alerting Jane and Kit to the fact that something was wrong. The ghosts left their bed and Kit hastily donned his sword as they rushed through the closed door into the passage, which was at the opposite end of the abbey.

Henrietta’s thoughts were in confusion as she ran after the thief. Perhaps this was all a dream, and she was really still in her bed! But as she turned the corner, she knew it was no dream, for the intruder was standing there, his identity still concealed by his hooded cloak. She had no time to protect herself as he struck her on the side of the head with a candlestick. Pain flashed vividly through her eyes, and she felt herself falling to the cold stone floor. She heard the clatter of the candlestick as it was dropped nearby. The last thing to penetrate her fading consciousness was Rowley’s hysterical barking from the ceiling.

Old Nick had happened to observe events, and was delighted, but as he began to rub his hands together gleefully, he realized Rowley’s barking might bring timely help. He raised a hand to dash the spaniel into oblivion, but for once St. Peter was alert. A bolt of lightning flashed down from heaven, singeing Old Nick’s fingers so badly that he gave a howl of pain and drew back down into his realm. He wished he’d remembered what happened when he’d interfered on the terrace. He really wasn’t very successful when it came to acting on the spur of the moment, and the sooner he remembered that disagreeable fact, the better.

Rowley, who knew nothing, continued to bark for all he was worth.

Chapter Eight

The thief ran on toward the staircase landing, from where he could go up or down, or even take one of the three other passages that led off it. Rowley dashed in his wake. The spaniel was beside himself with fury and indignation, and redoubled his noise as he saw Jane and Kit hastening from the passage opposite.

Russell and Marcus were just approaching the staircase on the ground floor when Marcus halted in puzzlement. “Can you hear a dog barking?”

“A what?”

“A dog, a small one.”

“There aren’t any small dogs here,” Russell reminded him.

“Which is what I thought, yet I can definitely hear one. It’s somewhere on the floor above.”

As they both looked up the staircase, the cloaked figure fled across the landing, then disappeared again into the passage opposite. The two men were so startled that for a second or so they didn’t react, but then Russell shouted and they both ran up the staircase. Rowley’s almost hysterical barking was still audible to Marcus, and to the various guests whose sleep was disturbed by the noise. The intruder was running directly toward Jane and Kit, but saw nothing. Kit drew his sword and blocked the way, but, of course, the thief ran through him unhindered. Furious to be so helpless. Kit gave a shout of rage, and chased him.

Rowley had slithered to a halt on seeing Jane and Kit. Still barking, he scampered back the way he’d come, followed by Jane, who realized he was trying to tell her something. She was horrified to find Henrietta lying unconscious. Rowley, who knew he’d done well, jumped down into his mistress’ arms, his plumy tail wagging. Jane cuddled her beloved pet close as she cast distractedly around for a way to help Henrietta. Then, just as Russell and Marcus ran shouting on to the landing behind her, the specter saw the discarded candlestick tying nearby. Closing her eyes tightly, she concentrated hard upon making it move. It rocked to-and-fro, then rose abruptly into the air and dashed itself noisily against the flagged floor.

Marcus had begun to follow Russell after the cloaked figure, and because Rowley was quiet now, the clatter of the candlestick carried very clearly. He halted and looked back in puzzlement. What in God’s name was going on tonight? Intruders, self-propelling billiard balls, invisible dogs, and now . . . Now what? He strained to see along the other passage, where the night light was very dim. He saw the candlestick and knew that was what he’d heard; then he made out something small and white just visible on the floor around the corner. A bandaged wrist! Henrietta!

Jane hovered anxiously nearby as he crouched concernedly by the motionless figure. “Oh, dear God,” he breathed on seeing the bloodstain on Henrietta’s forehead. Then he felt the pulse at her throat. She was still alive! He could see an open door farther along the passage, and guessed it must be her room, so he gathered her carefully into his arms to carry her there. Jane followed as he laid Henrietta on the bed. Then he dampened a handkerchief in the water jug on the washstand, and returned to examine the bloodstain more closely. By now the castle was in an uproar, but because the room was at the end of the wing, no one passed the open door. Jane leaned intently over Marcus as he gently wiped the blood from Henrietta’s hair. He saw immediately that her loose hair had almost certainly saved her from much worse, possibly even fatal injury, and he recalled what Russell had said to him on the quay about a series of mishaps having befallen Henrietta. This was certainly no mishap, for she had been deliberately struck with the candlestick.

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking in the rich tangle of her raven hair, the thickness of her long dark lashes, and the pale perfection of her complexion. His glance lingered too on the gentle curve of her breasts beneath the soft stuff of her nightgown. There had been a time when he’d caressed and stroked her until she arched against him with pleasure. A heady time. But so brief...

Jane observed him shrewdly. His unguarded expression reflected feelings he would otherwise have kept hidden, and which he would certainly have striven at all costs to conceal from Henrietta herself! Kit was right, the lady wraith thought, the handsome marquess was no more exempt from emotion than Henrietta herself. There was hope!

Old Nick chose that moment to glance up from the depths of Hades to see how things were progressing, and was appalled by what he saw. Things were going far too well for the ghosts, and the end of his hundred years of amusement suddenly seemed in sight. This time he wisely resisted the temptation to do something precipitate, and instead retreated thoughtfully to ponder the situation.

Marcus spoke to Henrietta. “Henrietta? Can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond.

He took her left hand in his and began to rub and pat it persistently. “Henrietta? Can you hear me? Henrietta?”

As she began to stir a little, Jane carried Rowley swiftly behind the lacquered Chinese screen that shielded the washstand and adjoining dressing room from view.

Marcus spoke again. “Wake up, Henrietta. Please open your eyes!”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled. “Marcus?” she whispered drowsily.

“Yes, it’s me. Wake up now.”

“Is it time to go?”

He gazed at her. “No, sweeting, it’s just time to wake up,” he said softly.

Her eyes opened and she smiled again. “Oh, it’s so good to be with you like this ...” The words trailed away on an uncertain note as she began to recall.

“It’s all right, don’t be afraid,” he said quickly. “I found you lying in the passage. You’d been hit with a candlestick. Do you remember anything?”

“There was a dog, a King Charles spaniel...” Her glance went to the ceiling, and she bit back any further explanation.

Marcus’ eyes cleared. There
had
been a dog, and if it didn’t belong at the abbey, then clearly it must belong to the intruder. He was still puzzled, though. Why had
he
been able to hear it when Russell couldn’t?

Henrietta struggled to sit up. “Someone was here, a—a cloaked man!”

Marcus put reassuring hands on her arms. “I know, but you’re all right now.”

“My jewelry box . . . ! It’s open now, but I
know
I closed it. Was everything stolen?”

He went to the dressing table and returned with the box. “It seems full enough to me, so I guess you interrupted him in time.”

But she saw immediately what was missing. “He took my betrothal ring,” she said.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Evidently a thief of little taste,” he observed beneath his breath.

She ignored him as she closed the box. “I wonder why he took only that? I was so convinced everything had gone that I could only think of getting it back. So I chased him.”

“That wasn’t wise.”

“Well, I’m not wise, am I? That’s something we both know.” There was an edge in her voice.

He met her eyes. “Now is not the time for raking over dead embers.”

She drew back. “Embers I wish had never been kindled,” she whispered.

He got up once more. “The sentiment is mutual, I promise you. Now then, it’s hardly proper for me to remain here with you like this. As you can hear, there’s a hue and cry for your intruder, so I doubt if Charlotte can possibly still be asleep. I’ll find her and bring her to you.”

“I’m quite all right now, so there’s no need—”

“There’s every need,” he interrupted, then nodded his head and left the room, but in the passage he paused. The bleakness of the Yorkshire dawn fled, and for a moment it was a warm evening in a summerhouse in a Grosvenor Square garden. Henrietta was in his arms, pressing to him as they kissed. He should have taken her then, for it was no more than she would have deserved. No more at all...

* * * *

When Marcus found them, Charlotte and Russell were endeavoring to calm the gaggle of guests who’d been aroused by all the noise. On hearing what had befallen Henrietta, Charlotte and the ladies immediately hastened to attend her, leaving the gentlemen to hear about Russell’s unsuccessful pursuit of the intruder.

He told them he’d had the miscreant in full view, when Henrietta’s uncle, awakened by the shouts and Rowley’s racket, suddenly emerged from his room. A collision had been unavoidable, and when Russell regained his balance, the cloaked figure had vanished.

Kit had fared no better in the chase. He’d dropped his sword and bent to retrieve it at the very moment Russell and Jasper Courtenay collided, with the result that the intruder eluded him as well. Russell had given up the chase, because the abbey was vast and contained so many passages and doors, but Kit had searched on. He had moved diligently in and out of all the nearby rooms, but he only found sleepy guests, some sitting up nervously in bed, some pulling on their dressing gowns to see what was going on.

In Marcus’ room, which the ghost expected to find empty, there was something that stopped him in his spectral tracks. The dawn light was silver upon Amabel’s naked body as she combed her rich brown hair. Her carnation perfume filled the fire-warmed air, but the touch of sulfur was still there. Oh, yes, it was there. Kit thought as he drew back against the wall to study her. His gaze moved shrewdly over her face and slender figure. Her dark eyes were too knowing, and her lips were rouged just a little too much. If this wanton was going to grace Marcus Fitzpaine’s bed tonight, the marquess wasn’t about to have much sleep!

Amabel donned Marcus’ gray paisley dressing gown, then went to the window and flung open the casement. The new day lightened by the minute against the sky, but the clouds were still leaden. A few stray snowflakes drifted in, catching in her hair as she leaned out to look down at the sea far below, for this wing of the abbey stretched right to the very edge of the cliff’s sheer drop. After a moment she drew back in again and closed the window.