The Unintended Bride (30 page)

He realized she was searching for hollow spaces behind the seemingly solid surface. "Finding the door will not get the key back if he did indeed take it."

"Why not?" She stopped her examination to stare at him with excitement. "If we can follow him — perhaps he even hid it there, behind the wall?"

The sense of her statement appealed to him. If they found the secret door, it might very well lead them directly to the culprit — and the key. "I suppose I am very lucky to have you."

"And I am lucky to have you, as well, Arthur. My life has not been so happy in — forever." She smiled at him, and he felt something that had been tight within him all these years spring free.

With a smile he showed his heart to her. He said, "Perhaps, though, we could spend a little more time in bed? After all, I did have a sleepless night."

She looked surprised. "Now, in the daylight?" A small sigh escaped her. "If you get me in that bed, sir, you will have a sleepless morning, I assure you."

"Perfect," he replied, lifting her into his arms. "It is just what I need to restore me to full health."

She touched his earlobe gently with her tongue, then teased it with her teeth. "Then how can I refuse you?"

It was several hours later before they resumed their search for the opening to the secret passage — and for some way to release it from this side of the entrance.

Completely by accident, Hero found the passageway. It was a simple foot trigger. She never would have found it if she hadn't been struggling into her boots and stumbled against the device.

The door in the wall unlatched with a soft click, and suddenly, she could pull it open. Without hesitating, she did.

They both peered inside. "The inside is darker than I had expected," she said quietly, a shiver running down her spine. For a moment she was sorely tempted to close up the entrance and pretend she had never found it.

"We should bring a lamp with us so that we don't break our necks," he muttered, and she wondered if he felt the same doubt as she did but could not tell from his tone.

Or simply close the door and pretend they hadn't found it, she thought. Don't be silly, she chided herself. Taking up a lantern, she decided she would not feel comfortable until they had managed to have a quick look around.

He hesitated, barring her way. "Perhaps I should go alone. We don't know what — or who — we might find."

Only sending him in alone and waiting to see if he reemerged safe and well would have been worse than going in by herself. "No doubt the prowler himself is not going to be there, no in the broad light of day," she answered. No, that kind of man preferred the dark of night.

"Very well, then. Follow me." And he plunged into the passageway, holding the lamp before him, so that his body blocked most of the light from her eyes.

She shivered, thinking of how she had been so soundly sleeping when the intruder had made his visit last night. And then she realized he could have been there previous nights as well. He might have known that Arthur had slept in his own room — until last night, that was. She came into the passageway behind Arthur and rested her hands lightly on his waist. Whenever he stopped, she allowed herself to lean against him, breathing in his scent, feeling the strength and warmth of his body against hers.

She smiled. Miranda had been right. This thing between men and women was not frightening at all.

The passageway was cool and dark but clean. The stairs led steadily down for a bit, then leveled out. No cobwebs wrapped around her arms or brushed her face as she walked. There was a faintly familiar scent lingering in her nostrils as well. She grasped for it but could not bring the memory teasing at her mind to focus.

Arthur stopped. Look." She peered around him and saw light coming from two holes at eye level on one of the walls. They each took a turn peeking through. It was the library. Gwen sat reading softly. Digby sat nearby, his eyes closed. Hero recognized the pose, though. He was listening intently.

Not certain whether their voices would carry, she put her lips very near his ear to whisper, "Do you suppose we can do anything to help them along? I think they would make a wonderful couple."

He turned his head to steal a slow kiss, just a brush of lips against lips at first, and then so much more. "I don't know if he would ever forgive her for staking that fox out."

She sighed. "I explained it to you. She must have sent Digby the note, intending to meet him at the library and give him the opportunity to rescue her. She did not mean for me to stumble into harm's way."

"It was a foolish thing to do."

"It was a desperate thing to do. But she knows that this is her one chance to catch his eye. I know how she feels."

"Do you?"

"It was the most difficult question I've ever posed, when I asked you for the truth. It could have been an answer that broke my heart forever."

"It could not have been. You have my eye." His lips pressed lightly against her cheeks, her eyes, her neck. "And more."

"Should I be selfish, then? I stole you from Gwen. The least I can do is help her to win a replacement for you." She leaned against him in pleasure, but then, feeling as if Gwen and Digby would surely hear, she pushed him away and urged him to move ahead.

He sighed against her ear and kissed her once more, quite thoroughly, before he complied.

The next room that could be peeped into was a few twists and turns down the passageway. He peered through, and then backed away, a shocked gurgle his only sound.

Hero peeked through, and it took only a moment to understand what she was seeing. This was his grandmother's study. And Grandmama was in residence. The room was nearly dark, the drapes drawn against daylight. A small candle burned in the sconce that held the crystal ball upon her desk, making it glow like a cold moon. A strange, rhythmic, almost musical chanting filled the room.

Grandmama practiced the dark arts.

Realization struck Hero at last. The familiar scent she had noticed in the passageway was the oddly exotic one lingering in the study when they had been summoned the last time. She wondered, with a bright flash of scholarly interest, what combination of herbs made such a scent — but she put her curiosity aside. For Grandmama appeared to be in the midst of something important, and she wanted to see what it was.

"Arthur," she whispered. "I think your mother meant more than an insult when she called your grandmother a witch." She was a witch. And not a kindly, herb-dispensing healing witch either.

He answered wearily, "And she had been in the passageways as well."

She heard the fear in his voice. Fear that he would find out his grandmother was behind the notes. Pulling away from the peepholes, she tried to offer him reassurance, though she did not really think his grandmother innocent. "Your grandfather built this place for her — no doubt she designed the passageway and has used it for years."

"That is possible." His voice did not hold much conviction, however.

She turned her attention back to the room, in which a dozen candles were eerily burning and making the shadows dance. She saw Grandmama with a deck of cards in her hand. As she stood motionless, her eyes pressed against the two small holes that allowed her to see, the woman asked sharply, "What shall I do?" and dealt three cards facedown in front of her. Quickly, she flipped them over one by one.

They were not, Hero realized, playing cards. No. These were cards of Tarot. She had seen them before, in a book that warned against falling prey to any practitioner of the dark arts.

Arthur pressed against her back, bringing his arms around her waist as he whispered in her ear, "What is she doing?"

"She is reading the Tarot, I believe."

"Why?" He tensed beside her. "What are the cards."

"I cannot tell." She squinted into the peephole. "The faces are too hard to make out from here."

"Let me see." He pushed her gently away so that he could bend and peep through.

Grandmama moaned again, oblivious to the eyes upon her. She swept up the cards, shuffled the deck ferociously, and then dealt herself three cards again. He could make out only one of the cards, but it chilled him. Death. Ornately done. A beautiful card. He had been fascinated by it as a child. But what did it mean to his grandmother — and to Hero?

"Not!" She was nearly incoherent in her rage.

Apparently, the cards were not telling her what she wanted to hear. Should he find that a relief? He clenched his fists against the wall. He knew she could be devious. But to have done this to him? He did not want to believe it.

Hero pulled at his arm. "Perhaps we should not watch. After all, we did not enjoy finding that we were being secretly observed."

"True." He glanced at the peepholes, torn between giving his grandmother her privacy and finding out once and for all what was going on.

But just as he was to turn away, a footman led Gwen into the room. She looked frightened and stubborn.

"You have disappointed me again," his grandmother said sharply.

He settled back against the wall. "At last," he whispered to Hero. "We will find out what is going on."

Gwen replied to his grandmother's charge, "Arthur is happy with his bride. There is nothing I can do to change that." Her voice was strong, although he could see the telltale signs of nervousness in her fingers, which twisted her skirts. Her glance flicked to the deck of cards in front of his grandmother. "Haven't the cards already told you so?"

"Just as they have told me that Digby could be used to turn her away from Arthur. Which would have worked — if not for you."

"it is not right — to make him suffer so."

"Digby is in love with Arthur's bride."

"I don't believe that. He is an honorable man."

"I'm not saying he has taken her to bed, foolish girl. Merely given her his heart. I only hoped to encourage what he already feels. If he ran away with her, the path would be cleared for you and for Arthur to meet your destiny. But you could not leave fate to work alone, could you?"

"I thought if Digby saw — "

"You thought he would fall in love with you. Foolish child."

"I — "

"Do you think I did not realize it was you who changed the notes so that it was Arthur, not Digby, who was trapped in that bookshop with Hero?"

"It was a mistake," Gwen protested, but even Arthur could see that she lied. There was no doubt now. His grandmother was behind all the plotting. And Gwen had been intended to help, although she had tried to save Digby for herself and scrambled his grandmother's careful plans.

"You will not lie to me any longer, Guenivere Delagrace. I have known you since you were born. Do you not want to meet your destiny."

"No." Gwen lifted her chin. He saw steel in her that had not been there before. "My destiny is Gabriel Digby. Whether you approve or not."

"Do you think he will want you when he knows the truth?"

Gwen's expression was agonized, and it took a moment for her answer to come. "I don't know. I shall have to ask him." She turned and left the room before his grandmother could say another word.

"Fickle girl!" With a cry of despair, his grandmother lay her head down upon her desk.

He pulled away from the wall, silent for a moment, digesting all that he had learned. "Grandmama and Gwen were behind it all."

"I heard," she said. "I could not see, but I heard every word. I hope Digby forgives Gwen. It is very brave of her to confess her part."

"If she does so, we have yet to see." He sighed. He had always been fond of Gwen, thought of her as a younger sister. But this betrayal took him hard. "And even if Digby does, I don't know if I can forgive her."

"No?"

"You can? So easily?"

She pressed a kiss against his collarbone. "If not for her, I would never have been married to you, Arthur. How can I note be grateful to her forever for that?"

He had not thought if it like that. Perhaps he should not only forgive Gwen, but thank her. All he could do at the moment, however, was take Hero into his arms and kiss her. As she opened her mouth under his, he thought gratitude the best answer.

Remembering belatedly that they were in search of the key, they followed the passageway once more. A set of stairs led them up, and they found themselves peering into his grandmother's bedroom. Disappointed that they had not found the key, they returned to their room.

He would have asked his grandmother directly about the key. He would have let her know that he had discovered her manipulation and would not allow it to continue another day. But when he went to her study, he found her there, her head still down upon her desk. She lay still when he called her name.

He called a footman to help move his grandmother to her room. He could feel her breathing, shallow and rapid. Before the footmen arrived, he removed the cards beneath her hand. Her palm had been resting flat against Death, and he threw it into the fire and watched it go up in flames.

She was not dead. Not yet, at least, said the doctor. But she could not speak, could not eat, and her eyes when they opened were unfocused and unseeing. He could not ask about the key. He could not even ask her why she had done all this. For him?

Hero held him that night, after they made love with a ferocity that shocked him and no doubt shocked her as well. She whispered that all would be right even if they never found the key. She nuzzled into his neck and said softly, "After all, we have found each other, what more could we want?"

Hero had tried to comfort Arthur. But she was not certain that she had been of much help in soothing his anguish. His grandmother's scheme had resulted in their marriage, inadvertently. But it had also made her a target for danger. If Grandmama recovered, she did not know if she would ever be able to forgive her.

She checked with the maid who was posted to care for Mrs. Watterly. The woman was failing. Hero tried not to wish her ill. This illness, this inability to speak or move, was punishment enough.

Silently, she said to Grandmama, "I have one goal in common with yours, and I hope to see it through. I will not be a hindrance to Arthur gaining what he most wants. I promise it."