Sandra Heath (21 page)

Russell nodded. “You’re right. I’ll take a party of men right now, and—”

“We’ll
take a party of men,” Marcus corrected quietly.

“As you wish.”

Charlotte got up agitatedly. “Is there anything else we should do?”

Seeing her unease, Russell was immediately concerned. He went to take her hand. “My dear, all
you
need do is return to the warmth and comfort of bed. Leave everything to Marcus and me.”

“But—”

“All will be well, I promise you.”

As they went out together, Marcus finished his glass in one gulp, and then looked at Henrietta. “If there is one thing the French do well, it’s make good brandy,” he murmured.

“They also produce successful privateers,” she replied.

His eyes met hers. “So they do. Well, I hardly imagined that my impulse to interrupt my voyage south to come here would lead to all this.”

“Why
did
you leave Scotland? I was under the impression you were going to stay there for some time.”

“Instead I arrived here and spoiled your New Year. How very disagreeable of me.”

She didn’t respond.

“As it happens, I’m returning to London to commence arrangements for my marriage.”

Henrietta’s heart stopped. “Your—your marriage?”

“You seem surprised. Did you imagine I intended to remain a bachelor for the rest of my life?”

Somehow she clung to her poise. “To be truthful, I had not considered your situation at all.”

“That I can well believe,” he replied, then inclined his head and went out.

Chapter Twenty-two

Marcus and Russell left to destroy the path, and at dawn had still not returned. Snow was now falling very heavily and roads that had been cleared were once again impassable. The temperature had dropped like a stone, and the very air seemed to crack with cold.

Henrietta had fallen asleep in the conservatory. Shaken by Marcus’ announcement, she hadn’t been able to go to bed. Instead she’d wandered wretchedly through the deserted ground floor rooms, and ended up in the conservatory, where she curled up unhappily in a chair beside one of the stoves that warmed the tender foliage all around. She had no right to feel as she did, but was completely devastated by the knowledge that Marcus was going to be married. She stared miserably past the billiard table at the snowflakes tumbling past the window. The terrace, which had been cleared, was white again. Gradually the warmth of the stove overcame her and she drifted into sleep.

The scent of orchids and orange blossoms filled her nostrils, and the strains of dance music echoed gently through her dreams as suppressed memories had their way again. She was at Devonshire House, and had retreated to the conservatory to try to regain her composure after forfeiting the kiss to Mark Paynson during the cotillion. Dark leaves pressed in the shadows and stars lit the summer sky. Variegated lanterns adorned the gardens, and there was glitter and laughter everywhere, except here in the quiet of the conservatory, where the orchids were so choice and magnificent that it was quite the thing to view them. But there was no one else around as she tried to collect her scattered senses sufficiently to return to the ball. Even behind her sequined domino she felt as if the world could see that it was Henrietta Courtenay who had been set completely at sixes and sevens by the casual brush of a stranger’s lips.

Hearing a step behind her she turned in dismay to see the tall stranger coming toward her, removing his mask as he did so. For the first time she gazed upon the face that was almost to prove her undoing. “Would you slip away incognito. Fair Lady?” he asked softly.

“It—it was hot in the ballroom.”

“True, but it is even more hot in here, don’t you think?”

“I—I merely wished to be alone for a while.”

“May I at least know your name?”

“Is that not flouting convention? It is a masked ball, and anonymity is the order of the night.”

“I desire to know your name because you have aroused my interest as no other has before,” he said quietly.

Her pulse quickened unbearably. “You have a practiced way, sir.”

“Look into my eyes and know I’m speaking not with practice, but with honesty.” He spoke softly, and came close enough to slide his hand around the waist of her bluebell silk gown. She was spellbound, and offered no resistance as he pulled her gently toward him.

His lips were tender, warm, and soft as he pressed her to him. She felt his body through their clothes, experienced an excitement she was to know only too well in the coming days....

He drew back slightly to remove her domino and gaze into her eyes. “Who are you?” he whispered.

Her disarrayed senses fled into oblivion, and she did not have the wit—or the will—to invent an identity. “I am Henrietta Courtenay.”

For a second she thought his touch wavered, but then it became steady again. “My name is Mark Paynson,” he replied after a moment.

Anguish suddenly laced her dreams. Liar, oh, liar! I was fool enough to tell you my real name, but you were false from the outset! I was naive and artless; you were base and predatory!

“Henrietta?”

The muted strains of music were banished, and she awoke with a start as the sound of his voice brought dream and reality together. It was daylight, and he stood before her chair.

“Henrietta?” he said again.

She sat up in alarm. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I was merely concerned to find you sleeping in here.”

Tendrils of the past crept around her again, as did the revelation about his intention to marry. She got up quickly, obliging him to stand aside. “Concerned? I find that hard to believe,” she said quietly.

“Nevertheless, it is true.”

She wanted to keep the conversation neutral. “Have you and Russell attended to the path?”

“Most finally.”

She looked at the terrace. To her dismay the snow was now a foot or more deep against the window, and still falling heavily.

Marcus watched her. “Your journey is out of the question.”

“But I
must
be in London for the wedding. I’m the chief bridesmaid.”

“Henrietta, the road across the moor has quite disappeared, and Mulborough is already cut off, so in this you have to heed what I say.”

“As no doubt your unfortunate wife will have to do for the rest of her days. I wager she will be the unhappiest of creatures.”

He searched her face. “I did not know you were a betting woman, Henrietta.”

“Oh, I think we both know whose great example I follow, sir.”

“Riddle me, riddle me ree,” he murmured enigmatically, and walked to the billiard table, where he and Amabel had left a game unfinished on the night the gold had been secretly moved from the icehouse. He picked up one of the balls and rolled it gently across the green baize. As it chinked against another and fetched up against the apron, he was reminded of the strange occurrence the first night he’d arrived. He gazed at the part of the table where the ball had so mysteriously moved of its own volition.

Henrietta’s curiosity was aroused as she watched his face. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just a ball with a mind of its own.”

“What do you mean?” She came to stand opposite him across the table.

“It was most curious, almost as if it were being patted by something,” he murmured, taking another ball and rolling it over the baize.

Curious? Ghostly, more like, she thought.

“That same night I first heard the invisible dog,” Marcus recalled.

Henrietta looked quickly away.

He studied her shrewdly. “Come clean, Henrietta. Charlotte told me you not only heard the dog at the ball, but saw both it and its master and mistress too.”

Henrietta was dismayed. “I asked Charlotte not to tell anyone.”

“She let something slip, and I caught on it. Don’t blame her. Anyway, why so secretive? If you saw what you claimed ...”

“Oh, I saw it.” And much, much more besides ...”

“Tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell, beyond what you’ve already learned from Charlotte.”

“Really? Come now, Henrietta.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

He smiled a little. “You see ghosts, don’t you? I wish I’d known before.”

“Why?”

“Because I would have told you of the things that have happened to me since arriving here.”

Henrietta was taken aback. “What things?”

“Well, there was the dog, of course, including the fact that I could swear I heard it on the ceiling, not the floor. But then, from what you saw at the ballroom, the creature is no respecter of gravity.” He rolled another ball across the table. “Then there was the self-propelling billiard ball. I have little doubt that it was actually being helped along by the same ghostly dog, which must have been sitting exactly there.” He picked up a cue that lay on the baize and tapped the table apron with it.

Henrietta could imagine Rowley playing with the ball. She lowered her glance as she wondered where Jane’s beloved little dog had gone. Had the bogle done away with him? Oh, how she hoped not, for Rowley’s sake, and for Jane and Kit’s.

Marcus’ eyes were upon her again. “When I first stepped ashore here on the night of the ball, I had the oddest feeling someone was standing right behind me, but there was no one there. And tonight, when I was pouring the cognac, I could have sworn someone spoke. None of this surprises you, does it? You accept it all.”

“As a child I saw things no one else did, so yes, I do accept it all.”

He leaned his hands upon the table. “Pieces of jewelry that drop out of thin air would strike no alarm through you, would they? Because you would see it for ghostly work.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m led to believe that Jane Courtenay and Kit Fitzpaine are our doubles. Is that so?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “So tell me, Henrietta, how many times have they appeared to you since the night of the ball?”

Henrietta didn’t want to answer.

He stepped suddenly over to her and turned her to face him. “Struggling through deep snow and an arctic dawn are inclined to make one exceedingly thoughtful. I’m no longer disposed to believe your tale of how you discovered Amabel’s high treason and her monstrous attempts to murder you. You’ve been receiving a little supernatural assistance, haven’t you? These same two phantoms have enlisted my aid at least twice now, once when Amabel struck you with the candlestick and then again when you were so ill-advised as to ride to St. Tydfa’s before you were fit. I watched you very closely tonight, and I rather fancy we four were not alone in the saloon. Admit it, Henrietta.”

“Very well, I admit it.”

He relaxed. “So, Henrietta Courtenay is being haunted. My, one wonders what Sutherton would make of
that.”

“And what, pray, would your newly revealed bride think if she learned of your invisible dogs and flying jewelry?” she countered.

Jane and Kit were witnessing the entire meeting. After falling asleep themselves in their usual bedroom, they’d awoken and come looking for Henrietta in order to finish what they’d commenced in the grand saloon. Seeing how deep and unrelenting the fresh snow was, and how still and gloomy the day, they’d had good reason to hope Henrietta would be obliged to remain at the abbey, and that accordingly they would have another chance to bring her together with Marcus. However, just as they found her asleep in the conservatory, Marcus had entered as well. They’d hidden amid the greenery, and at the sudden mention of Marcus’ apparent match, Jane gave a sigh. The hidden pages, oh, the hidden pages.

Marcus smiled in reply to Henrietta’s taunt. “Aren’t you going to ask me who she is, Henrietta?”

“Her identity is of no interest to me.” She was very conscious of his hands still upon her arms.

“No? Well, that’s as may be, but I fear the identity of
your
intended spouse is very much of interest to me. Henrietta, Sutherton isn’t worth the ink of your signature, but you are treasure beyond his wildest dreams! Can’t you see that he is the very last man on earth you should marry?”

“Let me correct you, sir.
You
are the very last man on earth I should marry.”

His hands fell away. “Well, that isn’t about to arise, is it? However, if it were, you would at least have the comfort of knowing I wasn’t marrying you for your fortune.”

“But you wouldn’t be marrying me for love, either, would you? If, by any wild chance, you
did
marry me, it would be said that you were doing so in order to swell your already overflowing purse. And that, sir, would make you no better than Lord Sutherton.”

“You think you know me through and through, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“How wonderful such cleverness must be. Well, I’m about to confound you, madam, by being in a position to ensure you’ll be your cousin’s bridesmaid after all. It seems the excessive cold threatens to freeze the harbor, which means I have to either risk the
Avalon
becoming icebound and her hull damaged, or I must move her. I’m assured by one of the footmen, whose brother is a fisherman in Mulborough, that there’ll be a breeze of sorts a mile offshore, so I’ve decided to complete my voyage south to Bramnells, with a detour by way of London. I intend to leave at high tide in four hours’ time, and have already signaled the crew. Preparations are underway. The detour would be for you, Henrietta, because with the very proper presence of one of the Mulborough maids to protect your reputation, you are most welcome to take passage with me. Unless, of course, you cannot bring yourself to accept my hospitality.”

Henrietta didn’t know what to say.

“Well? I await your answer.”

Acceptance and refusal struggled together on her lips, but in the end it was the former that won. “I—I gladly accept.”

“Gladly? I doubt that very much. I trust you do not suffer from seasickness? If you do, be sure to eat before leaving. Better to suffer on a full stomach than an empty one.”

“I’ve never sailed before, so I don’t know.”

“Then eat anyway. Be ready to leave as quickly as possible, for it will take some time to reach the quay.” With a curt nod, he turned to go.