Seduction Becomes Her (31 page)

Her alarm fading with every passing second, Daphne was aware of a rising indignation. He might have been killed. He had scared her to death. And he had enjoyed every minute of it, she decided, seeing his grin and the gleam in his eye. The wretched cur.

The trickle of blood from his cut caught her eye, and her heart clenched. “Is your cut very painful?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, looking forward to her sweet ministrations.

Her eyes narrowed. “Good!” she said tartly. “I
told
you to wait until tomorrow!”

I
t was impossible to keep the discovery a secret. The staircase existed, and the exploration of it would require the services of some stout footmen. Besides, Goodson’s help had been needed in procuring the necessary items to clean and bind Adrian and Charles’s wounds. Once the situation had been explained to the butler and he had been given permission to tell the rest of the staff, Daphne knew that by daylight, the news would have spread far beyond Beaumont Place.

Excitement blazed through the house at the news, and when Goodson had ordered the removal of the debris from Daphne’s bedroom, there’d nearly been a riot amongst the servants, each one eager to see the secret doorway. Quelling the bedlam with a mere look, Goodson made his choices, and two footmen had hauled off the heavier trash, and a trio of maids had swept and mopped. Shortly, except for the newly exposed wall, all signs of the destruction wrought by Charles and Daphne had been removed.

The severity of the storm made it impossible to fetch a physician to set Adrian’s arm, but fortunately, Charles’s valet, Bertram, had once been a batman for a colonel in the army and was quite proficient at dealing with cases like Adrian’s. Adrian’s arm had been skillfully set, his ankle wrapped for support, his cuts and bruises seen to, and he had been sent to bed with a judicious dose of laudanum. Charles’s split eyebrow was seen to, not by his doting wife as he had hoped but by the ever efficient Bertram. April and Miss Ketty also retired for the night.

Now with April, Adrian, and Miss Ketty soundly asleep in their beds, the others gathered in the library. The gentlemen were drinking brandy from crystal snifters, and the ladies were sipping negus that Goodson had prepared for them.

Settling down into the welcoming comfort of the burgundy velvet sofa in front of the fire, Daphne gently inhaled the pleasing scent of lemon and nutmeg that wafted up from her negus and took a sip. Heaven.

The two ladies were seated side by side on the sofa; the gentlemen were scattered about the room. Julian was seated in a chair near the sofa, his long legs stretched out toward the warmth of the blaze on the hearth. His brandy snifter resting on the gray-veined marble mantle, Charles stood at one side of the fireplace, Marcus at the other. There was little doubt that they were all thinking about the events of the night. And what had been said and
not
said, Daphne admitted uneasily, recalling the scene before Adrian had grumpily sought out his bed.

Adrian’s insistence that he had not fallen but had been
pushed
down the steps had been brushed aside as heated imagination by April and Miss Ketty.

“Pushed you!” exclaimed Miss Ketty. “Why, I never heard anything so foolish in my life. Why would one of these fine gentlemen push you down those stairs?”

“I didn’t say that one of them pushed me,” Adrian replied stubbornly. “I said that it
felt
like someone pushed me.”

“Oh,
felt
like,” repeated April, rolling her eyes. “You just don’t want to admit that you stumbled over your own feet.”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“That’s enough,” said Daphne, entering the fray. Smiling at Adrian, she added, “It doesn’t matter. You’re very lucky that all you broke was your arm.” Her smile wavered. “You could have broken your neck, you know.”

Adrian hunched his good shoulder. “I know, but I tell you—”

“What you’re going to tell me, young man, is that you are going to drink this draught right now and go to bed,” interrupted Miss Ketty, thrusting the laudanum under his nose. “And with no further argument.” Since his arm was aching and he knew that tone in Miss Ketty’s voice, Adrian gave in and retired.

None of the five adults now gathered in the library had questioned Adrian’s assertion that he had been pushed, but Daphne suspected that no one had dismissed it out of hand, either. She glanced at Charles, curious as to what he was thinking. So far she’d not had a moment to speak privately with him, and she sensed that he had much to tell to her.

“Odd doings tonight,” Marcus said abruptly, breaking into her thoughts.

Staring at the flames bobbing on the hearth, Julian said, “Most odd.”

Daphne put down her half finished negus, and looking at Charles, she asked quietly, “In the dark, is it possible that one of you bumped into Adrian and accidentally caused him to fall down the stairs?”

Charles shook his head. “No. None of us touched him, even accidentally.”

“It was no accident,” Julian said slowly.

Charles glanced at him sharply.

Julian met his gaze unflinchingly and said, “There is something very peculiar going on in this house, and I think it is time that you and your wife told us the truth.” He looked at Daphne. “You just
happened
to spy the outline of a doorway that led to the staircase?”

Daphne flushed, her gaze flying to Charles’s. For a long second, their eyes held, and then Charles sighed and looking at Julian, said, “Nothing slips by you, does it?”

“You forget that I’ve known you a long time. I know when you’re hiding something from me,” Julian answered, his keen gaze fixed on Charles’s face.

“Charles, what is it?” said Nell. “Is it about Raoul?”

“You might as well tell us,” said Marcus. He frowned. “I agree with Julian: Adrian’s fall was no accident. If you know something, you need to tell us.”

“It has nothing to do with Raoul,” Charles muttered, almost wishing that it did. His relatives would be far more likely to accept the notion that Raoul had pushed Adrian down the steps, he thought acidly, than the idea that a ghost had done it.

“Then for God’s sake, what is it?” demanded Marcus impatiently.

“Surely you know that you can trust us,” said Julian.

Charles threw Daphne a hounded look. She knew he would hold them at bay forever if need be, but it was unfair to ask him to do so.

“It is something rather fantastic,” Daphne said in a low voice. “Most people would say even, um, unbelievable.” She swallowed. “Some people might think that we are mad…or highly imaginative.”

Julian and Nell’s eyes met. Turning to look at Daphne, Nell covered Daphne’s hand with one of hers and said, “We are not unfamiliar with, ah, the unbelievable. And the highly imaginative can be instructive.”

“My wife is correct,” added Julian. “Three years ago, we faced our own fantastic events, and I discovered that there is much in this world that I do not understand, that I cannot explain. Tell us.”

Daphne looked at Charles, and he smiled encouragingly to her. “They are related to me, my love; you’ll find them not
un
intelligent.”

Julian’s lips twitched, and Marcus snorted. Nell smiled encouragingly at Daphne and repeated Julian’s command. “Tell us.”

And so Daphne and Charles told them about Katherine and Sir Wesley. All of it. When they finished speaking, there was a long, thoughtful silence.

Marcus sipped his brandy. Julian stared at the fire. Nell held Daphne’s hand.

“Ghosts,” Marcus said after several nerve-racking moments.

“Katherine and Sir Wesley,” murmured Nell, staring off into space.

“Well, why in the devil not?” said Julian. “That makes as much sense as anything else that has happened so far.” Sending Charles a searching glance, he asked, “And you believe that it was Sir Wesley we felt on that landing? And that he shoved Adrian down the steps?”

Charles nodded. “I do. Remember, I have felt his presence before, and it is not a sensation one is likely to forget.”

“But why?” Daphne cried. “Why did he attack a mere boy, of all people?”

“Because Adrian wants to open the chamber,” Charles said calmly.

Daphne’s eyes widened. “Of course! Sir Wesley doesn’t want us to find out what is in there!”

“But what could be so terrible that this, this ghost doesn’t want us to discover even now?” demanded Marcus. He shook his head. Looked at his brandy. Shut his eyes and murmured, “I cannot believe I asked that question. First, Nell and her nightmares, and now, ghosts!” Plaintively, he asked, “Does anyone but me long for the day when the only things unexplainable were Parliament and the weather?”

“But think how boring that is,” teased Charles.

“I
like
boring,” complained Marcus. “I like my life calm, ordered,
normal.”

“Pity,” said Julian, watching Marcus with affectionate amusement. “In another few years, if you don’t change your ways, you’ll be a member of that cadre of crusty old men one finds in the reading rooms at White’s or Waiter’s.”

“The ones,” added Charles, “that are always harrumphing and complaining about the ill-mannered young of today.”

Marcus looked offended. “Well, thank you very much for that! Just because I am more sober in my habits than either one of you, there’s no reason to be insulting.” He glanced from one smiling cousin to the other. His gaze narrowed. “And I suppose that you two paragons of wisdom have a solution to save me from myself.”

“Indeed,” said Charles, grinning.

“You need a wife,” said Julian, his eyes dancing.

“One who will turn your well-ordered life on its heels,” added Charles with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Marcus looked at Nell and Daphne for help, but they just smiled at him. “A wife,” he said in tones of horror. “I’d rather settle for ghosts!”

Daphne found it remarkable that they accepted the notion of ghosts so easily, and she said so.

Julian grimaced. “If this conversation had taken place three years ago, I would have most likely assumed the pair of you were candidates for an asylum or that my cousin had married a woman of a highly excitable, imaginative nature, but we are not unfamiliar with the, ah, unexplainable.” He sighed. “I could wish it otherwise, but I cannot pretend that there is much in this world that is beyond my understanding.”

Nell nodded. “He had a difficult time believing that there was a mental connection between Raoul and I and that in my nightmares, I could actually see Raoul’s monstrous deeds. I cannot explain it myself. But he came to believe me and accepted, with no little reluctance, I might add, that I dreamed of real events as they were happening.” She smiled faintly. “After that, ghosts are quite simple.”

Daphne glanced at Marcus, a question in her eyes. “And you? Do you believe?”

Marcus hunched a shoulder. “I don’t want to, but it’s either believe or assume that my entire family has turned into a pack of lunatics.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not saying I’m totally convinced that it was a ghost tonight in the passageway, but I am saying that I shall at least
consider
the idea of ghosts.”

It wasn’t quite the wholehearted endorsement Daphne would have liked, but at least Marcus hadn’t just simply dismissed the notion as utter nonsense.

Nell agreed enthusiastically with Daphne that the little ghost had to be Katherine and that it could only have been Sir Wesley’s malevolent spirit that had pushed Adrian down the stairs. Julian endorsed Nell’s opinion, but Marcus resisted somewhat, and it took the four others some time before they finally convinced him to accept the reality of Katherine and Sir Wesley. Once Marcus’s skepticism had been put aside, a plan of action was decided upon. Tomorrow, while the ladies perused the collection of family papers for any mention of Katherine or Sir Wesley, the gentlemen would see to the opening of the old arrow slits in order to let more light into the staircase. With that accomplished, they could then tackle the destruction of the wall on the landing. Everyone expected to find a chamber of some sort behind the wall.

“I think, too,” Charles said as they prepared to retreat to their bedrooms for what remained of the night, “that we shall search for another entrance to the staircase. I cannot believe that it is a completely internal passageway, and I’ll wager that there is door that opens to the outside. We just have to find it.”

Daphne was uneasy about using her bedroom until the newly discovered secret door could be securely locked. Bad enough she had a ghost visiting her at night, but the thought of that doorway’s existence and of something
else
opening it and coming into her bedroom while she slept was more than she could bear. She snatched up her gown and dressing robe from the bed and retreated to her dressing room to change. Having slipped into a primrose yellow robe and a white lawn gown embroidered with tiny yellow daisies, she steeled herself to go back into her bedroom. She stiffened her spine and walked out of the dressing room. Her gaze went immediately to the newly exposed oak wall. No one looking at it would ever suspect that there was a doorway hidden there. Even knowing where it was, she could not discern the outline of the door, and she wondered how she had even glimpsed it beneath all the various coats of wallpaper and plaster and lath.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t glimpsed it. Katherine had shown it to her. Katherine had wanted her to find it.

She was staring so intently at the wall that she didn’t hear Charles enter the room, and his hand on her shoulder was the first warning she had of his presence.

Nearly leaping out of her skin when he touched her, she shrieked and whirled around. “Oh, Charles!” she exclaimed when she saw who it was. “It is only you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He grinned. “Who did you think I was? Sir Wesley?”

“I didn’t think. You just startled me.” She glanced back at the scarred wall. “Do you think we could sleep in your bedroom tonight? I am uneasy about that door.”

Charles was uneasy about that door, too, specifically the staircase behind it. Until they knew more about it and where it meandered, he’d already concluded that it would be wisest if they chose other rooms for their use.

Sweeping her up into his arms, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and said, “My sentiments exactly,” and carried her off to his bedroom.

Shutting the door to his bedroom with his shoulder, he tossed Daphne onto his bed and locked the door. The door safely locked, he swung around, and arms akimbo, he looked at the enticing sight she made sprawled across his bed, her hair undone from its tidy knot at the back of her head framing her face in a riot of curls. The yellow robe was half open, and he glimpsed the faint gleam of her skin beneath the almost sheer fabric of her gown. Slim as a willow, sweet as a sugared plum, she lay smiling at him, those mysterious half green, half blue eyes soft and warm.