A Lady's Vanishing Choices (15 page)

The pounding of hooves on the turf broke the spell, and she gazed toward the shore. The shape of a huge black horse and rider drew closer, coming to an abrupt halt at the edge of the lake.

“What the devil?” Royce swung down and stalked over to the edge of the water. “Come out of there.”

Exhausted and cold to the bone, she couldn’t move. In spite of her efforts, she couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering or say a word. Her wet garments clung to every curve with chilling tenacity, but she hardly noticed.
I’m safe. I’m safe. Royce is here. I’m fine now. Safe.

“Bethany.” Royce said in a startled voice.

Wading into the lake, Royce pulled Bethany further into the shallow water where she could stand. “Are you all right?”

Her wide, terrified eyes stared up into his. He gave her a little shake. “Say something.”

She cleared her throat and whispered, “You’re here.”

“Of course, I’m here. My lake. My estate.” The moonlight touched the wet locks tumbled down her back and allowed him a view of her night-rail clinging to every inch of her figure. His gaze snapped back to her face. “What are you doing here in the dark? Swimming in the lake at this hour of the night?”

She struggled against the grip he had on her shoulders. “I don’t know.” Her voice trembled and fear lingered in her eyes.

“You don’t know?” He allowed his disbelief free rein.

She dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hands. Glancing up again, her fingers covered her mouth. A little sob escaped. “I woke up, and I was in the water. I don’t know how I arrived here. I only remember waking in the water.”

His annoyance melted and comfort seemed in order, but he would have his answers. The moon ducked behind a bank of clouds while he gathered her into a close embrace, rocking her against his shoulder. In a low voice, he allowed tenderness and reassurance to sound. “It’s all right. I’m here now. You’re safe. I’m here.” He loosened his hold and urged her toward the bank. “Let’s get you on shore. I’ll take you to the house and find something dry for you to wear.”

The moon peeked out from behind gathering clouds, lighting the grassy shoreline around the lake. Gentle waves lapped at their legs in answer to a breeze that sprang up and danced across the water.

Twisting around, she grabbed his arm. “Wait. Something is out there. Or someone.” She sobbed and clung to his arm. “I feel it. Evil. I thought—Uncle Arthur, Perry—I don’t know what I thought.”

He turned her around to face him. “What are you saying?”

Shaking her head, she gulped a breath.

Without abandoning his grip on her shoulders, Royce glanced around and shrugged. “All the more reason to take you to the house. You’ll be safe there.”

He drew her out of the water and lifted her onto his mount, leaping up behind her. “Here lean on me.”

Stripping out of his shirt, he draped the garment around her, gathering her close to his chest. Chills raced down his arms were her wet apparel touched his skin, and he drew her tighter in his embrace. He sucked in a sharp breath, ignoring his body’s reaction to every inch of her form touching him. She needed his warmth, not his lust. In spite of his efforts, she shivered occasionally on the ride back to the hall.

Halting in front of the house, he dismounted with Bethany in his arms and strode into the corridor.

John poked his head out of the kitchen. “What on earth?”

“I found her in the lake,” Royce explained. “I think she’s been drugged and perhaps she’s in shock as well. She is barely functioning and needs a little help. Tea should warm her and act as a restorative too.”

John grimaced. “I’ll fetch the housekeeper. I’d rather not alert the entire household with so much going forward. It’s a shame I allowed Sara to provoke me. She wished to visit one of her school friends. She left this afternoon. I thought to keep her out of harm’s way.”

“Mrs. Tackler is a discreet soul. Perhaps this business may be handled quietly and quickly without Sara.” Royce headed up the stairs while John sought to call the housekeeper.

Chapter 18

After a thorough toweling and being helped into a change of apparel, Bethany swallowed a strong cup of tea. Mrs. Tackler ushered Bethany into Royce’s library and led her to a seat by the fire. “It’s best not to sleep before you drink an abundance of tea. You must wash away the effect of your ordeal. You’ll be comfortable here where it’s warm.” Mrs. Tackler draped a heavy shawl around Bethany’s shoulders. “Allow me to brush your hair. While it dries, Lord Rivton has a few questions for you.”

Alarmed, Bethany shook her head, but Mrs. Tackler paid no heed and proceeded to slowly stroke a brush through her locks.

Bethany clenched her fists.
She didn’t have any answers. The low flames flickered shadows across the paneled walls and caught her attention. Blinking and fighting against sleep, she glanced around, recognizing nothing. Shelves of books marched on two sides of the chamber. She allowed her gaze to wander over several leather bound copies stacked beside a chair that had been drawn up to the warmth of the fire. Sinking back into the cozy, comfort of the seat, she stretched her fingers toward the blaze. The heat from the fire and the gentle brushing of her hair caused her lids to droop even more.

Before she completely dozed off, Royce appeared, offering her yet more tea. “A sip of brandy would warm you more quickly. But I thought it unwise if you have been drugged.”

The sensation of his steady regard, intense and probing, unsettled her, but, thankful to be safe with him, she accepted his scrutiny in silence. She still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

His gaze never wavered when he added, “The tea will do much to restore you, even without brandy. It’ll steady your nerves and warm you.”

When he lifted the cup towards her, she peeked at him though her lashes. “I’m near to sloshing now.”

Mrs. Tackler halted her brushing. “Trust, Lord Rivton. Plenty of tea will speed your recovery. Before long, you shall be between sheets with nothing better to do than sleep.”

Bethany’s fingers trembled when she raised the delicate cup to her lips.

“You see. That didn’t hurt at all.” Royce deposited his cup on the mantel and picked up the pair of tongs resting by the fireplace. He bent down and added coal to the low embers glowing in the grate. When he straightened, he paced in front of the hearth.

With a grim expression, he turned to face her. “Who do you suppose helped you into the lake?”

Fresh tears formed in Bethany’s eyes, and her voice trembled. The time to tell him of the man digging the grave had arrived. “I don’t know. Perhaps the killer is after me.”

He heaved an exasperated sigh and threw up one hand. “The killer. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Bethany glanced at him and quickly lowered her lashes. Her answer hadn’t been well received, and his annoyance didn’t add to her confidence.
He isn’t going to believe me.

“Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head. “Not this time.”

“What do you mean, not this time?”

“A few days ago, I saw a man in the woods digging a grave. He must be the same killer.”

“Are you trying to tell me you saw a murder being committed?”

What else had she expected besides his doubt? “No. I didn’t see a murder.”

“Only a man digging,” Royce interrupted and rolled his eyes very slightly, his voice drenched in skepticism. “Perhaps you thought it was a grave and your imagination did the rest.”

She tightened her lips. Obviously, he gave some credence to Uncle Arthur’s tales of her vivid, often lame imagination. She exhaled a long, shuddering sigh.

He grumbled in a low voice. “Let’s return to the subject at hand, shall we. Who do you think may wish you harm?”

She tried to erase every ounce of fear from her expression. “I don’t know. Most everyone hates me.”

For one long moment, emerald-green eyes assessed her expression. “Explain that remark.” He viewed her from the other side of the fireplace, his hands still in his pockets.

“I know my uncle loathes me. Aunt Gertrude harbors not one kind feeling for me.” She glanced at him with a certain amount of apprehension. “Eleanor is totally indifferent. And you . . .”

“Go on.” He compressed his lips in a tight line. “What do you imagine I think of you?”

She quickly lowered her lashes when his eyes flashed. “Contempt. Disdain.” Daring a glance at his face, she noted his heavy scowl. “I don’t know if you hate me enough to kill me.” She shrugged one shoulder in the suffocating silence that followed.

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t hate you.” Heaving a deep sigh, he straightened his shoulders. “We’ll discuss that later. Other matters must take precedence. You say Arthur hates you. Why?”

“I overheard Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Arthur quarreling one day. She berated him for holding onto the past. She blames me because my uncle loved my mother, and he blames me because my mother chose another.” She gathered a deep breath. “Ever since that day, he held animosity against both my mother and my father. I am the constant cause of his revenge against them, and his hatred runs deep. That I do know. Perhaps my uncle threw me in the lake.” Anything seemed possible.

Royce lowered himself in a chair directly facing her. He filled his teacup, laced it liberally with brandy, and sat the bottle on the table at his elbow.

His penetrating stare seemed to search for even a tiny flaw or weakness. “Let’s go over the whole thing again. Start with the very last thing you remember before you woke up in the lake.”

“I told you,” she wailed. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Wrecked, and at the bottom of her physical strength, she felt helpless to resist his stronger will.

“Perhaps tomorrow would be best, when she is more rested,” Mrs. Tackler offered from behind Bethany.

He raked his hand through his hair. “When she’s forgotten everything? No, indeed. I apologize, but I must insist we continue tonight.”

Bethany drew a deep breath, hesitated, and then reluctantly began. “It was late when I finished with the accounts. Although he left for London, Uncle Arthur insisted I had to complete the work before I could retire for the night. I remember being extremely tired.”

He interrupted, “You keep the accounts? For the household, I presume.”

“No. For the entire estate.” She sniffed.

“Ah.” He leveled another direct gaze at her. “So, you’re the power behind the throne.”

“Certainly not.” He had a completely false impression of her. No wonder he looked at her with scorn. “If Uncle Arthur had a son, the accounts would never have fallen to me. He thought it wise for a lady to know something of the business end of running a household for Eleanor’s sake. Lessons were easier with me included. I did well. Thus, I gradually became responsible for the accounts. What has that to say to anything?”

While her eyes brimmed with tears, she covered her mouth with her fingers.

“I need a clear picture of your life so I can find who is responsible for tonight’s attack on you.”

“There is nothing more I can tell you. I didn’t see anyone tonight. I told you that.” Mentioning the killer to Royce had done little good. He merely made a sarcastic remark. What else could she tell him? So far, he paid little attention to her explanations. Exhausted, it was beyond her to convince him, especially tonight. She pondered the thought for a long, agonizing minute. “Someone wants me dead.”

Royce grimaced. “I don’t understand why. What have you done or know that would motivate someone to silence you permanently?”

She shrugged and edged deeper into her chair. “Do you mean besides witnessing a man digging a grave?” Had the killer discovered her identity and where to find her? Could the killer actually be after her? The killer or her uncle striving for her death—either terrified her.

“I thought we agreed to discuss this incident, not a vague happening, unless you recognized the man doing the digging.” He hesitated and raised his brows. “Perhaps I could discover what he was actually doing in such an isolated spot.”

“I don’t want to think about that.” She shivered in alarm. There was nothing new in her word being considered untrustworthy.

“Someone certainly seems to want you dead.” Impatience practically oozed from his voice when he stood, reaching for the tongs to add more coal to the embers in the grate. The glow from the flames reflected on his face, depicting his stern expression, his clenched jaw and the frown pleating his brows. He seated himself again and casually settled against the back of the chair. “Let’s go over the actual facts once more.”

Despair tightened the muscles in her throat. Since her efforts to explain about the killer had proven fruitless, she would stick to the facts he wanted to hear
.
Her gaze landed on her hands gripped together in her lap.

“What did you do when you finished for the night?”

“I ate a light meal and headed straight to my room.”

“Did you see anyone or talk to anyone?”

“No.” She met his direct stare, wanting to scream her answer, but she managed to control her voice. “No one.”

“Drink the rest of your tea.” He motioned towards her cup.

He added another measure of tea to his cup and hers. “It was late. Were the rest of your family retired for the night?” He lifted his brow with a skeptical expression. “The servants? Anyone?”

“Uncle Arthur had business in London. He’s not expected back until the end of next week. The others were abed.”

“Where were the servants?”

“There aren’t any live-in servants besides the butler, Hobs.” She took another sip from her china cup and met his gaze over the rim. The tea had certainly warmed her and the trembling stopped. “He was in his quarters, I suppose.”

His stare seemed to penetrate to her very soul. “You heard nothing? Not one little sound?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, making it swim, before steadying down again. A haze floated around Royce.

“Then what occurred?”

“I climbed into bed and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe.” Fright gripped her again. Her lips trembled and tears pooled behind her lashes once more. She fought for every shallow breath and gasped out, “I panicked. I was under the water. Everything was so dark—and silent.”

He removed her cup from trembling fingers and took her hand between both of his. “You’re safe now.”

He gently squeezed her fingers before letting her hand fall to her lap again. Allowing a moment to pass, he stated, “You were thrashing about in the water when I rode up. You weren’t even moving toward the bank. Why?”

She hesitated, trying to make sense of what she intended to say. He wasn’t going to believe her again. “I felt something evil out in the woods.”

“Explain.” He ran one finger around the rim of his cup.

She shrugged. “I felt it coming in waves and washing over me like the water. I can’t explain it any better.”

“Did you hear something?”

To make her point, she emphasized her words with a slash of her hand. “No, nothing. It was something I felt. An impression.”

“You babbled something about evil when I grabbed you. Did you associate the evil with me?”

“No. It left, or lifted or whatever when you came.” Her shallow breaths calmed.
I’m safe.
Nothing could happen with him around. He said everything would be all right.

“That’s every single thing you can remember?” he probed, leaning towards her.

She winced. “Yes. Everything.” When would his ever-lasting questions stop?

“I’ll check for your evil tomorrow when it’s light.”

She glanced longingly at the closed door and placed her cup on the table beside her. Yawning behind her hand, she allowed her lids to flutter down.

She heard him call her name, but she couldn’t respond.

“Bethany.”

A gentle shaking brought her eyes open. His face wavered in front of her.

“I know you’re exhausted. Just a little more and you can snuggle into a nice, warm bed.”

“What else?” she wailed and twisted her fists together in her lap.

“What did you eat before you went to bed?”

She frowned and a soft sigh escaped. “I don’t remember. That can’t be important.”

“Humor me.”

“A hunk of bread, some cheese. I think that’s all.”

“Nothing to drink?” he cross-examined with a lifted brow.

“I forgot the chocolate. Cook left a kettle on the hob. I drank some and carried the rest to my chamber.” Leaning her head against the back of the chair, she let her eyes drift shut again, floating away from the badgering questions.

“Bethany. Wake up.”

She slowly allowed her lashes to sweep up. “Did someone try to kill me or not?”

He gave a curt nod. “Most likely.”

After a swift survey, his lips curl in a smile. “We’ll finish this in the morning. It’s time you were in bed.”

She gazed at him with a stricken expression and pushed to her feet. “That’s all I know,” she cried and collapsed.

Royce hastened to her side with the housekeeper on his heels. Mrs. Tackler cast a look filled with reproach at him.

He grimaced and lifted Bethany in his arms. “I freely admit, I’m a brute, but the threats on her life unsettle me. I must find answers. Her very life seems to depend on it.”

Carrying her up the stairs, he followed the housekeeper into a bedchamber and laid her on the bed. “I want to discuss all that passed this night with my cousin. I need his opinion.”

Mrs. Tackler asserted, “Go along with you. I’ll see to her.”

“Certainly.” He said and exited the chamber.