Eloisa's Adventure (6 page)

“It’s
silk,” Eloisa declared proudly.

“I’ll
just bet it is,” he groused. He cursed when the horse stumbled and
he was forced to tighten his hold on her to prevent her hitting the
ground.

“I heard
that,” she scolded when his blistering curse reached her
ears.

“Good,”
he snapped. He felt, rather than saw, the shiver that swept through
her, and swore in disgust again.

“What
are you doing?” she asked curiously when he drew the horse to a
stop and cautiously released his hold on her waist. Once he was
sure that she wouldn’t slither off, he eased back a
little.

“Being a
gentleman, I think it’s called,” he grumbled as he draped his cloak
over her shoulders.

He
cursed again, but mentally this time when an icy blast of wind
immediately snatched all warmth from his skin while the rain soaked
his clothing. He was as cold and wet as she was within seconds. If
he wasn’t such a gentleman, would have asked for his cloak
back.

Eloisa
sighed in delight when his deliciously soft cloak enveloped her. It
was thick and made of the softest material which smelled faintly of
sandalwood and lemon - him. It was a heady concoction which,
together with the meagre trace of warmth he had left behind, gave
her a small measure of comfort in a storm tossed
evening.

“Thank
you,” she murmured.

Now that
the cloak had been removed from his face, she could see a chiselled
jaw beneath a thin blade of his lips. At the moment they appeared
to be tightly clamped together but she had no idea whether it was
through anger or cold. It was still difficult to tell his age
because she couldn’t see his eyes, but the husky rumble of his
voice sent shivers of awareness down her spine that she couldn’t
ignore.

He
wanted to say ‘you are welcome’, but would be lying, so nodded
instead.

Eloisa
tried not to stare, but her gaze was ensnared by the shocking sight
of him in his shirt sleeves. Not only in his shirt sleeves; but
soaked to the skin. The rain had made his shirt almost transparent
and had revealed a broad expanse of hair-smattered chest. Not only
that but each ripple of muscle that moved as he rode hinted at a
toned power that intrigued her. She swallowed and turned her gaze
away from the dark patch of hair that protruded from the apex of
his shirt. Unfortunately, curiosity, and a rising tide of desire,
drew her gaze back toward it again and again.

When the
horse stumbled again, he tightened the arm he had around her waist
once more. This time his curse did leave his lips, for no other
reason than the bony protrusion of her hip had just poked into his
loins. In spite of the cold, his treacherous body roared to life.
Unfortunately, there was damned all he could do to ease the
discomfort apart from get off the horse and walk for a while. He
rather suspected that if he that, she would fall off the bloody
animal anyway. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was a
troublesome female on his hands with an injury. In order to keep
her on the horse, he had no choice but to stay with her and suffer
in silence.

He eyed
the gentle sweep of her cheek now that she was closer. In some
ways, he rather wished the light was better so that he could see
her properly. Although he warned himself that he couldn’t care who
she was, he wanted to know, and see, more.

Eloisa
could feel him staring at her. To begin with, she ignored him but
when she couldn’t stand it a moment longer she turned a glare upon
him. Her gaze was immediately dragged down to the contrast between
his tanned flesh and the white shirt he wore.

His
cough drew her attention upward. A shiver snuck down her spine when
she saw the dark voids of his eyes beneath the hat. Strangely, she
didn’t feel frightened.

“Are you
alright?” She asked.

Simeon
snorted. “Tickety boo.”

He
forced himself to turn his attention toward getting them to
Mitchelham. It was better for both of them if he packed her off to
wherever she came from the first chance he got. All he had to do
until then was keep his hands to himself and make sure that she
didn’t venture off anywhere on her own. It sounded simple. But,
when lightning highlighted Mitchelham in all of its gothic glory,
he realised just how damned difficult the next few hours were going
to be.

“Sorry,”
he growled when Eloisa began to slither off the saddle again. When
he looked into her eyes, there was no discomfort there, just
curiosity he knew would be foolish to encourage. In an attempt to
thwart her questions he coughed and purposely kept his gaze
disinterested as he turned toward Mitchelham.

Eloisa
could feel the annoyance positively radiate off him although
couldn’t be entirely certain if he was mad at her or just generally
grumpy. After all, she hadn’t asked for his cloak – he had given it
to her. She hadn’t asked to ride on his horse – he had arrogantly
swept her off her feet. How could he be angry about anything she
had done? She had patiently answered his questions, in spite of the
weather. Even while being rained on, she had indulged his need to
chat. What possible reason could he have to be so
annoyed?

He also seems to be going in the same
direction
, she mused wryly when he guided
the horse toward Mitchelham. That thought made her
frown.

“Don’t
do that,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Move.”

“Why?”

“Because
this sodding dress is slippery. If this horse, or you, makes one
sudden move, we are all going to end up in a heap on the
floor.”

The
sheer frustration of having someone so stunning in his arms, and
having to deny himself, didn’t sit well with him. As a result of
his frustration, his anger grew. He rather wished he could get his
hands on the wretch who was haunting the corridors of Mitchelham
because he would give them a thrashing they would never
forget.

“Sorry,”
Eloisa murmured.

“Don’t
cry,” he sighed in disgust when her lips began to quiver. “For
God’s sake, don’t cry on me,” he pleaded. “I hate
tears.”

“I am
not going to,” she snapped somewhat affronted at his assumption. “I
am sorry you have been put out by my presence. However, I cannot
remember asking you to bring me here. I am perfectly capable of
walking, you know.”

Simeon
studied the driveway to Mitchelham over the top of her head.
“Unfortunately for you, I am a gentleman. I am not going to go home
and leave you out in one of my fields,” he chided, somewhat more
malleable now that the journey was almost over.

“Where
is home?” she asked cautiously. Everything within her was poised
for his answer. She knew, deep inside, what he was going to say
even before his mouth opened. She looked up just in time to see him
nod toward the castle nestled in the trees.

“That’s
your house.” Her voice was
incredulous.

Simeon
nodded. “It is. I have recently acquired it.”

“You
bought
it?” The idea was preposterous to Eloisa. Why on earth would
anyone want to spend their money on such a monstrosity was anyone’s
guess.

“I
inherited it.”

Eloisa
sighed and studied the top of one of the turrets that protruded
proudly above the tops of the trees. She didn’t quite know what to
say to him. It’s a lovely house, maybe? Or, did your relative hate
you that much?

A deep
sense of foreboding settled around her, and urged her to run for
her life. It was too late to do anything about leaving now. The
castle’s owner had his arms locked firmly around her. Unless she
was prepared to make a scene, she had to go to the place she
dreaded the most, with the man who unnerved her more than anyone
ever had.

“It’s
huge,” she replied weakly.

“I
didn’t say I liked it,” he mused wryly when he heard the overly
polite tone of her voice.

“Before
we go in, there is something I want to warn you about,” he said. He
took a moment or two to choose his words carefully. He didn’t want
to scare her unduly. However, neither did he want her to be
completely ignorant of the dangers she faced.

Eloisa
waited for him to tell her that as soon as the weather picked up he
wanted her out of the castle – and quickly. She wasn’t prepared for
what he said instead.

“There
are – suspicions – about how my uncle died,” he declared
quietly.

“Your
uncle?”

He
studied the trees beside them as he spoke and dipped his head so he
could lower his voice yet she could still hear him through the
wind.

“My
Uncle George used to own the house. He died in suspicious
circumstances,” he murmured.

Eloisa
shivered both from his words and the warm fog of his breath against
her ear. She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer heavenward
that she wouldn’t turn her head sideways and embarrass
herself.

“You
mean that he was murdered?” she whispered and nodded toward
Mitchelham. “In there?”

She
turned slightly accusatory eyes on the stone building that was now
visible through the trees and realised then just how much danger
she was in. Unfortunately though, she couldn’t quite decide if that
danger came from the horse or the man beside her.

CHAPTER
FOUR

She
stared at him in stunned disbelief. “How?”

“He was
found dead in the conservatory out back. He had ingested some
poison apparently.”

Eloisa
frowned. “What kind of poison?”

Simeon
frowned at her. “Strychnine.”

“How?”
She looked at him but could tell from the blank look on his face
that he didn’t understand. “Did he eat something with it in, or was
it in his drink?”

“Does it
matter?”

“Well,
yes. I mean, if it is in something he has drunk, he could have
misread medicine bottles or something. Some medicines have
strychnine in them, you know. If he took too much of a medicine
that contained Strychnine, it could conceivably poison
him.”

Simeon’s
respect for her grew. “As far as I know, he wasn’t on any
medication.”

Although
he didn’t tell her, he decided to take another look through his
uncle’s belongings for any trace medicine. Before he left for
Cumbria, he was also going to take the time to speak to his uncle’s
doctor to see if George had been on any powders or
anything.

He
turned his attention back to the woman in his arms. If he was
honest, he was impressed by her logic.

“If it
was in something he ate, then it could have been murder,” she
declared.

He could
see the questions brewing in her eyes and shook his head in
disbelief. He had just told her that she was going to a house where
a man had possibly been murdered. She wasn’t worried for her
safety, or his credibility, even though he was a total stranger.
She was thinking logically about how his uncle had been killed, and
trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

“It is
something that is still being investigated,” Simeon sighed.
“Meantime, I want you to be very careful about where you go, and
what you do. Please don’t explore the house by yourself. It is old,
and has many hidden corridors, although I have yet to find out how
to get into them.”

“It was
your uncle’s house?”

Simeon
nodded.

“Did you
not get the opportunity to explore it as a child?”

“Not
really. We didn’t come to visit often. My uncle and my father
didn’t get along very well, and hardly ever spoke. I can remember
coming here as a child, but didn’t like the place so never really
wanted to come back. I don’t really know the place.”

“Did
your uncle never marry?”

Simeon
nodded. “George had a son, but he was killed in the war. As the
sole surviving male in the family, I inherited the castle and its
lands from my uncle a few weeks ago.”

“Good
Lord,” she whispered.

“Promise
me that you will be careful about where you go and what you do. I
am sure that this storm will blow over soon. Given the lateness of
the hour already, even if the storm ends now, it is going to be too
dark to take you into town safely. We will have to stay here
overnight. First thing in the morning, I will take you home.” He
looked down at her dress. “I think it is safe to say that you shall
not be going out tonight.”

Eloisa
sighed and was disappointed that she had been denied the
opportunity to dance.

“That
was a deep sigh,” he murmured when he read the disappointment she
couldn’t hide.

“I was
so looking forward to going to that ball as well,” she
murmured.

“Ball?”
His eyes flickered to her ring finger. His sigh of relief when he
saw the finger was bare was so instinctive that he was a little
unnerved by it.

“I was
supposed to go to a ball tonight,” she explained.

Simeon
studied her dress. Although pretty, it was far from being the
height of fashion. It looked like it had been made for someone
about ten years ago. He wondered if it had been made for her mother
or something, and she had borrowed it for a masque. That thought
was enough to give him a moment’s pause. He stared down at her in
growing horror and felt the shackles start to clank somewhere off
in the distance.