Dark Obsession (33 page)

Across the table, Nora also looked tired, but at the same time a glow suffused her cheeks. Absently she hummed a little melody as she ate her breakfast, and seemed more content than she had since their arrival here.

Last night he had knocked on her door, and without a word she had welcomed him into her embrace. In each other’s arms, they had spent several hours during which neither ghosts nor the past had intruded. The world had been contained within the four posts of Nora’s bed, a tiny paradise of heated, satiny flesh, fragrant, silky hair and the miracle of feeling, for that brief time, that he needed nothing more.

She had been awake when he finally rose and searched for his clothing, and with understanding glimmering in her eyes, she had let him go without questions. It was only later, when he was alone, that the memories had once more closed in around him like enraged pixies, tormenting him and denying him more than a couple hours’ sleep.

Nora pushed her plate aside now and drank the last of her chocolate. ‘‘If it’s all right with you, I should like to take Jonny for a ride in the coach this morning. The rain seems to be holding off and I think it would do him good to be out for a while, away from this house. And I have an idea besides.’’

‘‘What sort of idea?’’

‘‘Well . . . I thought I might visit some of our tenants, perhaps bring them little gifts from our kitchens.’’

‘‘A splendid notion.’’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘‘Then why do I have the feeling there’s more to it?’’

Her gaze broke from his and dropped to the table, then rose with a bold gleam. ‘‘I thought I might ask a few pertinent questions—’’

‘‘No. I don’t want you involved in this.’’

‘‘I already am.’’

‘‘I don’t need you playing at being a spy. I want you here, where I know you’re safe.’’

‘‘Surely you don’t expect me to stay locked in the house, nor Jonny either. And the local folk might be more willing to open up to a woman and child, especially if I’m careful to merely sound curious rather than suspicious.’’ She forestalled his intended protest by moving to the seat beside his and kissing him. ‘‘We’ll have our driver and a footman along to protect us,’’ she continued, her breath warm against his lips. ‘‘Surely you can’t object to that.’’

How could he object to anything she wanted? Even here, in the cool gray light of the morning room, she infused him with desire, with a fiery inclination to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs.

No, he found he could not deny her any request, even one against his better judgment. He stroked her arm up and down and leaned in for another kiss. ‘‘You are more your father’s daughter than I ever dreamed. Like him, you know what you want, and you know how to set about getting it, though your methods are markedly different.’’

‘‘I don’t know if I’ve just been complimented or insulted.’’

‘‘Complimented, to be sure.’’

‘‘Then Jonny and I can go.’’

‘‘Will you refrain from asking questions?’’

She shrugged. ‘‘Can I help it if certain matters are bound to arise in the course of conversation?’’

‘‘I will send an
armed
footman with you. I would accompany you myself but Gibbs sent a note to my room earlier asking if he might meet with me following breakfast. Perhaps he has managed to trace the silver from the cave.’’

He sent her and Jonny off with repeated warnings to be careful, watched the coach disappear down the drive and turned to find his steward waiting for him at the bottom of the front steps.

‘‘I’ve information that may be of consequence, sir,’’ Gibbs said, his face grim.

A footman stood waiting at the open front door. Grayson signaled a dismissal to him and, as the heavy door closed, he walked with his steward around the house to the rear gardens.

‘‘We’ll have more privacy out here,’’ he told the other man. ‘‘What have you learned?’’

The breeze swept through the flowering trees and carefully trimmed hedges to ruffle the steward’s hair, revealing more of his balding pate than he liked to admit having. He didn’t bother shoving the strands back into place. ‘‘Someone has been to the cave.’’

‘‘Who? When? Don’t stand there gawking, for heaven’s sake. Tell me.’’ Gibbs’s wounded expression prompted Grayson to say more quietly, ‘‘Sorry. Tell me everything. Who is our mystery pirate?’’

‘‘Just to confirm, sir, did you perchance visit the cave the night before Lord Wycliffe arrived?’’

‘‘In the dark? Hardly. What are you getting at?’’

‘‘One of the men I’ve hired to watch the beach overheard a village lad raving about having seen a ghost recently. The lad, Joseph Little, happened to be rowing in from fishing shortly after dusk the night before Lord Wycliffe arrived.’’ Gibbs’s gaze darted about the garden. ‘‘Lantern light drew his attention to the beach. He says he saw a well-dressed man making his way back up to the headland.’’

‘‘A well-dressed man? How could he see that clearly if it was growing dark and he was out in his skiff?’’

Gibbs regarded his feet, looking embarrassed. ‘‘There are rumors in the village concerning a, ah, ghost, sir, that haunts the beach and the cliffs. . . .’’

‘‘Yes, of course there are. Go on.’’

‘‘So when Joseph saw the light, he quietly rowed in for a closer look. He had his spyglass with him and quite distinctly saw a figure in a frock coat and breeches tailored far too finely for a villager. He believed he was seeing . . . well . . .’’

Grayson nodded wearily. ‘‘My brother’s ghost.’’

‘‘Sorry, sir.’’

‘‘I still don’t see what the devil this has to do with Lord Wycliffe.’’

‘‘Nothing, sir. I was merely using his lordship’s arrival as a frame of reference. Although, it
is
rather a coincidence. Not to toss suspicion at the earl, but few men in these parts could be considered well-dressed, besides yourself, of course. And as far as it having been the late Earl of Clarington, well, any rational man knows there are no such things as ghosts.’’

Grayson almost laughed at Gibbs’s assertion, for he knew now of a certainty that ghosts in fact
did
exist. It was quite possible Joseph Little
had
seen Tom’s spirit climbing the headland that night.

A sudden memory made him question that conclusion.
You should leave as soon as possible.
Those were Chad’s words the other day. And months earlier,
Let me sort through Tom’s things for you, Gray, and spare you that pain. . . .

Had Chad’s apparent concern masked a greater desire to push Grayson conveniently out of the way?

A sickening suspicion plummeted to the pit of his gut. Then again, those were merely two memories plucked from a lifetime’s worth. How many times had Chad taken the blame for their childhood mischief, in order to save Grayson and Tom from the brunt of their father’s wrath? And what about later? How many scrapes had Chad helped Grayson out of at university? At London’s gambling hells? Chad had always been there, always been a friend to both him and Tom.

That Chad could be anything else . . . it was inconceivable. Impossible.

He grasped at the most obvious hope available. ‘‘Lord Wycliffe didn’t arrive until the next morning.’’

‘‘Quite true, sir. Did he mention where he spent the night?’’

‘‘No, he didn’t.’’ Grayson had naturally assumed Chad spent the morning of his arrival on the road, coming from east Cornwall or perhaps even Devon. But he might have spent the night in either Helston or Mullion and still had time to travel to the beach and back, and then make his arrival here in the morning.

The notion gnawed like a festering sore.

With a shake of his head he dismissed the suspicion. ‘‘Surely a finely dressed gentleman, as you say, could have been any one of a half dozen others. Confound it, the Lowells are not the only landed family on the Lizard Peninsula.’’

But even as he stated the obvious, he realized that Chad himself was a landowner who hailed from the same peninsula, albeit some fifteen miles to the south-east, on the opposite coast.

‘‘If you’ll pardon me, sir, I am only the bearer of the information. It is not my place to tell you how to interpret it.’’

A gust of wind parted the clouds and Grayson squinted through a bar of sunlight to make out his valet’s features. ‘‘What do you suggest?’’

‘‘Prudence. Have the utmost care where you invest your trust. Perhaps, sir . . .’’ Gibbs left off, looking uncomfortable.

‘‘Perhaps what?’’

‘‘Perhaps the late Earl of Clarington made that very mistake and trusted where he should not have.’’

A hot denial rose to Grayson’s lips, but its fervor cooled before the words formed. He needed time alone to think, to sort through everything he’d learned these past few days. He started toward the house, then stopped and turned. ‘‘Were you able to find out anything about the goblet I gave you?’’

‘‘It came from a silversmith in Sheffield, sir. One Oliver Samuels.’’

Grayson nodded and continued on, dragging heavy feet through the grass as a vague nausea claimed his stomach. The thought of Chad being involved . . . He considered how accomplished a liar Chad would have to be to have acted so surprised when he saw the cave, and again each time he denied the possibility of Tom’s involvement in smuggling.

No. Chad was his friend, and Grayson didn’t believe otherwise any more than he believed in Tom’s guilt. Far easier and, in a way, less painful to believe in his own guilt.

Yes, that remained the one constant. No matter how Tom died, no matter what lengths he might have been driven to in the end, if he’d had a better brother, a brother he could depend upon and turn to . . . dear God, how much might have turned out differently?

‘‘Run out that way, Jonny!’’

Chad pointed into the field that bordered the road between Millford and Blackheath Grange, his other hand cupped around an unripe apple he’d picked up from the ground. He ran several steps himself, drew back his arm and sent the hard piece of fruit flying, a bright spot of green against the steel gray sky.

Chad framed his mouth with both hands and called out in a voice ringing with laughter, ‘‘Keep your eye on it! Don’t look away!’’

Nora held her breath. ‘‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t trip,’’ she murmured as Jonny trampled half-backward through ankle-high grass and heather. He raised both arms above his head, his hands outstretched and close together, ready to trap the improvised ball.

‘‘Nonsense,’’ Chad said, still laughing. ‘‘Run, boy, and watch that apple, not your feet.’’

A second later Jonny gave a little hop and snatched the apple out of the air as it arced above his head.

Chad gave a whoop. ‘‘Well done! Now toss it here.’’

For the next few minutes they passed the apple back and forth between them, Chad running into the field on the east side of the road, then Jonny into the western pasture and so on. Finally one of Jonny’s tosses went wide and struck a rock border wall, smashing the apple to pulp.

‘‘Ah, well, no matter.’’ Chad clapped Jonny’s shoulder, and both he and Nora were rewarded with one of Jonny’s exceedingly rare smiles. Then the child returned to his earlier task of searching out interesting objects to drop into Nora’s basket.

‘‘I’d no idea he was so athletic,’’ she confided to Chad.

‘‘Have you seen him ride?’’

‘‘Only in the paddock.’’

Chad gave a low whistle. ‘‘He’s fearless in the fields. Or he was. I don’t suppose he’s been out much beyond the paddocks since . . . well . . .’’

‘‘No,’’ Nora agreed with a sigh. ‘‘I don’t suppose he has.’’ She shifted her basket from one arm to the other.

Earlier, the basket had brimmed with cakes, breads, fruit and meat pasties. She, Jonny and Chad had visited some half-dozen tenant families, becoming acquainted and dispensing their treats. Jonny had eagerly played with a litter of puppies at the Davis farm, and at the Conway household, Nora had been delighted at the chance to hold their new baby daughter. Such a lovely, precious little dear . . .

She hadn’t expected the earl to accompany them this morning, but when the coach had reached the end of the drive earlier, there he had been by the gatehouse, out for a morning walk, he had said. Under any other circumstances she would have been pleased to have her husband’s friend along.

Today, however, he presented an encumbrance to her intended purpose, which was to casually glean as much information as she could from the people she met. But each time she had tried posing questions about Cornwall’s long history of smuggling and piracy, Chad would somehow steer the conversation onto other topics. After a time she had begun to wonder if perhaps Grayson had secretly sent him along to prevent her ‘‘playing at being a spy,’’ as he had put it. She had finally given up and reverted to small talk and polite inquiries into the health and well-being of each family’s members.

She sighed and watched Jonny as he ambled several yards ahead, plucking blossoms from the hawthorn hedges now bordering the road and picking up odd rocks and leaves from the ground. Though thunder occasionally rumbled in from the moor, the clouds were high and scuttling, not the sort that promised rain anytime soon. They had therefore opted to send the coach on ahead and walk home, and Nora was glad they did, for despite his silence, Jonny seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, as any little boy might.

She lowered her voice to prevent him from overhearing. ‘‘Taking Jonny out of the house today seems to have done him worlds of good. Tell me, does he look at all improved since you last saw him?’’

‘‘The last time I saw him was well before you came into his life, Nora.’’ As they walked, the earl swung an arm outward, plucking a fragrant white blossom from the hedge. With a little flourish, he handed it to her. ‘‘And yes, he looks vastly improved.’’

‘‘I’m glad to hear it. And thank you.’’ She held the flower beneath her nose and inhaled its sweet scent. Oh, Chad might have foiled her plans this morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to remain annoyed with such a good-natured, considerate man. Especially when that man had been her husband’s closest friend since early boyhood.