The Music Box (38 page)

Which left the morning hours to purchase Gaby’s second gift: tickets to the symphony.

He could hardly wait to brandish them before her delighted eyes, share her jubilation.

Sharing. That was an act he’d never have deemed himself capable of taking part in, much less yearning for. The truth was that, after thirty-one years, he’d all but convinced himself that the only one he could truly count on in life was himself, that anyone else was transient and could vanish at any moment. His skepticism was understandable even to him—given his childhood, the knowledge of his father’s abandonment. Still, he’d truly thought himself a loner by nature, a practical, logical man whose career was his life.

It had taken Gaby to prove him wrong. Gaby, who had shown him both the impulsive, lighthearted side of himself and the passionate, emotional side of himself—a man with more dimensions than he’d ever imagined.

A man capable of a deep abiding love.

Gaby. God, how he missed her.

Bryce rolled onto his side, punching his pillow and closing his eyes. Eager for the night to pass, he tried focusing on mundane issues, such as the paperwork he needed to finish up before he headed back to Nevon Manor.

That didn’t work. Instead, he found himself wondering what Thane had learned at Whitshire and, more importantly, if Gaby was resting peacefully.

An uneasy feeling told him she wasn’t.

Thane’s note arrived at Nevon Manor just before lunch the next afternoon.

Chaunce delivered it directly to the sitting room, where Hermione and Gaby were sipping tea and chatting about the future—an attempt by Hermione to keep Gaby from dwelling on what had turned out to be yet another unsettled night.

“Does Thane say if the servants remembered anything?” Gaby asked, pushing aside her saucer and watching her aunt scan the letter.

“Yes, he does.” Hermione cleared her throat and read aloud the detailed account of what had taken place at Whitshire the previous day.

“Dowell. He was the head gardener at the time.” Gaby frowned. “Could he have been one of the men I overheard?” A dull throb began vibrating inside her head, and, resignedly, she massaged her temples. “This is so frustrating. Last night I had two more sleepwalking episodes. Each time I awakened, I was able to envision the shed and all my activities as clearly as if they were unfolding before me. Yet when it came to the rest, all I could remember was what I remembered with Bryce: the terror in the men’s voices and that sickening smell of fire.”

“The memories will come back to you,” Hermione assured her, folding the letter and slipping it into the side-table drawer. “Besides, Thane has only just begun this crusade. He intends to reconvene his staff again soon. You know how badly they want to help. Eventually something conclusive will emerge. In the meantime”—Hermione tossed her a mischievous smile—“tonight Bryce will be home.”

Gaby’s entire face lit up, just as Hermione had hoped. “I know. I can scarcely wait.” She leaned forward. “Do you think he’ll ask to speak with me right away?”

A chuckle. “I don’t think you’ll give him a choice.”

The joy on Gaby’s face faded a bit. “Do you think I’m being too obvious?”

“No, darling. You’re being you. And that’s precisely who Bryce fell in love with.” Hermione gave a delicate cough. “There is something we haven’t discussed, something I’d like to bring up, if I may.”

An impish grin. “You needn’t worry, Aunt Hermione. As I told Chaunce, Bryce has more self-control than I. He’s been a complete gentleman—too much so, if you ask me.”

Hermione dissolved into laughter. “That isn’t the issue I intend to broach, but I’m relieved to hear Bryce is so restrained in his ardor. For now,” she added. “But I suspect that will soon be a thing of the past.”

“Is making love wonderful?” Gaby asked with her customary directness.

“For you and Bryce, it will be—yes.” After thirteen years Hermione was unsurprised by Gaby’s straightforward manner, which, given her limited exposure to the outside world, had remained uncluttered by artifice or shame. “When the time comes, it will be everything you’re dreaming of and more.”

“I doubt it could be more. My dreams are extraordinary.”

Another chuckle. “Let’s leave that to Bryce, shall we?”

“All right.” Gaby sighed. “I just wish the hours between now and evening would fly by.” A questioning pucker formed between her brows. “If intimacy isn’t the issue you wanted to discuss, what is?”

“The guardianship. Bryce told me he mentioned my plans to you. Are you very angry with me?”

“Not for selecting Bryce, no. I was upset that neither you nor he chose to include me in the conversation you had concerning my future, but Bryce made me realize you were only trying to protect me.” Gaby leaned forward, seized her aunt’s hands. “I have two additional replies to your question. First, you needn’t worry over my future, or anyone else’s for that matter. You’re going to be with us forever. I intend to see to it. And second, please stop trying to shield me. I’m a grown woman now, Aunt Hermione, not a little girl. I’m strong enough to share your problems and your plans, just as I’ve shared your love for our family—and our mutual determination to shelter them.”

Tears filled Hermione’s eyes. “We’ve done a good job at that, haven’t we?”

“The best.” Gaby’s smile was watery. “Then again, that’s not a surprise. You
are
the best.”

“I quite agree.” Chaunce stood in the doorway, nodding his approval at Gaby’s statement. “Pardon me, ladies, but Lily has advised me that Master Crumpet has once again escaped from his warren. She and Jane are combing the gardens, but I’d prefer they not venture into the wooded areas alone. Shall I ask Bowrick to relieve me at the door and go with them?”

“No, thank you, Chaunce.” Gaby rose to her feet. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll assist the girls.”

“I wonder if that’s a wise idea.” Chaunce frowned. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night and—”

“Chaunce,” Gaby interrupted, “as I just said to Aunt Hermione, you must stop worrying about me.” She gazed lovingly from Chaunce to her aunt and back again. “I love you both with all my heart, but I’m not a child anymore. It’s
I
who should be helping
you
, not the other way around. I realize I’m going through a difficult time, and you’re concerned about me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your caring and support. But let the truth be known, I feel horrible about the fact that my sleepwalking compels you to spend your nights standing guard outside my bedchamber door, and all to protect me from myself. So please, for my sake, relinquish that role during the day, when it’s totally unnecessary. All right?”

Hermione nodded, smiling through her tears. “All right.”

Gaby leaned down to kiss her aunt’s cheek, then crossed over and stood before Chaunce. “You’d best recover your strength,” she said softly. “I suspect that after Bryce asks me his important question, I’m going to have an equally important question to ask you.” With a tremulous smile, she rose on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to Chaunce’s jaw. “I hope you won’t refuse me. You are, after all, like a father to me—the only father I’ve known for thirteen years.”

With that, she hurried off to search for Crumpet.

Hermione dashed the tears from her cheeks. “She really has grown up, Chaunce. Just now, watching her, listening to her speak, it struck me in a rush. I’m sure you think me foolish for crying, but I find this whole situation wonderful and painful all at once.”

When Chaunce didn’t answer, Hermione looked up, inclined her head in his direction.

There were tears glistening in his eyes.

It was nearly three o’clock.

Bryce was halfway to Nevon Manor, his carriage moving at a rapid clip, the gifts he had chosen for Gaby tucked carefully in his pocket.

Abruptly, that feeling struck.

It was the same feeling he’d had last time, the nagging sensation that he was needed.

Only this time it was stronger. Stronger and more specific.

It wasn’t just anyone who needed him. The person who needed him was Gaby.

Jaw set, he shifted forward in his seat, slapping the reins and commanding the horses to quicken their pace.

The carriage raced toward Nevon Manor.

“Crumpet! Where are you, you wretch?”

Gaby traipsed along the wooded path, cupping her hands and shouting for her pet in the hope that she’d startle him into making a rustling sound, thus revealing himself.

The search was taking longer than usual—nearly three hours, to be exact. Jane and Lily had been sent back to the manor ages ago, their small bodies weary, their eyes half closed with exhaustion.

At this point, even Gaby was getting irritated.

She’d covered the entire area surrounding the gardens, scoured the woods on either side of the manor as well as behind it. Now she was retracing her steps to see if Crumpet had tired himself out and headed home for his warren.

She had a few unpleasant words for her pet when she found him.

Cutting through a thick grove of trees, Gaby was just about to break into a run when she heard the telltale rustle she’d been waiting for.

“Crumpet?” She veered in that direction, winding her way through the trees and calling out as she walked. “Where are you?”

The sound came from just behind her.

Gaby whirled about, on the verge of grabbing her pet and scolding him.

Her words died on her tongue as a dark, masked figure loomed over her, clutching a rock in his hands. Before she could react, he raised his arms and brought the rock down on her head.

Colors swam before Gaby’s eyes, and an oddly familiar musky smell pierced her nostrils as pain exploded inside her head.

Then she was sucked into a swirling tunnel of blackness.

And finally … nothing.

F
IRE.

It was blazing inside her head, all around her body, only this time her skull ached too much to lift it, her eyes burned too much to open.

Oh, God, would this nightmare ever go away?

Gaby shifted, shards of pain bursting in her temples, weighing down her mind. And her leg.

Her leg?

Dazed, she tried to move her left leg, only to find that it was trapped, anchored by something too powerful to dislodge.

What was happening to her?

The sound of crackling flames reached her ears, intensifying heat radiating through her body. And that smell. That horrible sweet, musky smell. The smell of death.

She had to get out.

Again she tried to move, and again her leg refused to cooperate. Beneath her, the ground was softer than she remembered, more like grass than dirt.

With every drop of will she possessed, she forced her eyes open, shifted her weight to her elbows, and tried to see beyond the splitting pain in her skull.

She could see nothing but leaping flames—the heinous orange glow she recognized only too well.

Only this time the fire was real.

Like the first time.

“No,” she choked out, peering about to determine where she was.

Again that tug on her leg.

Gaby looked over her shoulder, shifting so she could see the lower section of her body.

She was lying alongside Crumpet’s warren, and her leg was jammed into the opening, pinned there by rocks.

Pinned there by someone.

In a rush, Gaby remembered—the assailant, the rock, the smell.

Fire.

Whoever had hit her, had also trapped her here.

And then he’d left her to die.

With a cry of fear and pain, she clawed at the stones, frantically struggling to free her leg. Her forehead was bleeding; she could feel the trickle of blood oozing down the side of her head, and the pain was excruciating. So was the dizziness. But she couldn’t give in to them, couldn’t lie down and succumb to the slumber her body craved. To sleep would mean to die.

Racking coughs seized her as the fire spread, blazing a trail across the grass, igniting everything it touched. Thank heaven this area immediately surrounding Crumpet’s warren wasn’t heavily wooded. The lack of trees would slow down the fire’s progress and buy her some time.

Or make her death that much more agonizing.

No. She couldn’t think that way.

Gaby gave in to the coughing, crying out at the resulting pain in her head, yet knowing that the pain would help to keep her awake. Frustrated by her impotence, she pounded at the rocks that wedged her foot tightly inside the narrow opening in the dirt.

They wouldn’t budge.

“Help!” She pushed herself as far upright as she could, shouting hoarsely, hoping someone would hear her or spot the fire. For the first time she wished Crumpet’s warren weren’t located in such a remote area; if only it were near the gardens, where Wilson might see her, or closer to the coach house, so Goodsmith might notice. How long would it be before the flames were visible from the manor? Quite a while. They were low to the ground, burning only grass and dirt, as there were no tall trees to catch fire.

God help her, she didn’t want to die.

“Help!” Alternately coughing and yelling, Gaby held her head to still its agony, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the smoke.

Minutes slipped by—only a few, but each one seemed like an eternity.

The dizziness intensified, and unconsciousness became more and more a reality, her body’s demand for sleep more acute.

Mama … Papa …

Gaby felt tears sting her already burning eyes, and she dug her fingers into the ground, grasping clumps of grass between her fingers. “Help,” she called out, her voice thin, a mere wisp of sound. “Help.” It was a whisper.

Pounding.

The ground vibrated as if it were about to swallow her up. Or was it just the drumming in her head?

More pounding, followed by a shout of “Gaby!”

The pounding was footsteps.

The voice was Bryce’s.

“Bryce.” She wasn’t sure if she said his name or just imagined she did. All she knew was that he was beside her. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know it. He was there.

“Gaby.” He swore violently, the wrenching motions and rustling sounds telling Gaby he was tearing off his coat. An instant later it was around her and Bryce was gathering her up to lift her.