The Love Affair of an English Lord (24 page)

If fate was kinder than it had been in the past, this would be his last night of being entombed in darkness. If fate proved unkind, it would simply be his last night.

He slipped between the crevice in the wall and waited for his senses to become accustomed to the grainy dark. In this he had the advantage over Edgar. Dominic could orient himself to the gloom within seconds now. He knew the exact depth of each stair, the twists and turns of the old smugglers' tunnels. Where the mortar and dirt would collapse if disturbed. Where to duck his head.

Indeed, Dominic had become quite intimate with all the appointments of his secret hell. He had looked evil in the eye and survived, as one who'd walked through flames might emerge scarred but stronger.

Until he had met Chloe, he had not even taken time to analyze what he had become, and she had been the bridge between the man he had been in the past and the one he hoped to be in their future.

A man who could approach her brothers and convince them why he was worthy of her hand. He grimaced inwardly at the thought of presenting his case and explaining their courtship. No matter how he phrased it, he would come out looking like a veritable devil. Heath would poke holes through his defense, if not literally through Dominic himself.

No, the Stratfield Ghost was hardly the type of man one would choose to give one's sister to in marriage. Of course, it would be claimed, quite accurately, that he had ruined Chloe. Well, she had ruined him, too. She had ruined him for any other woman, and when he was free, he would move mountains if necessary to claim her. The blood in his veins still burned from their coupling. She had held nothing back tonight. How he wished there had been more time for them.

He peeled off his black velvet cloak and tossed it over the skeleton propped up against the tunnel wall. The leering skull and bleached remains had been his silent if not agreeable companion for most of Dominic's concealment.

“Here, my friend, you looked a little cold.”

Dressed only in the ruffled white lawn shirt, knee breeches, and jack boots of a dashing highwayman, Dominic did not feel the cool of his hiding place tonight. Making love to Chloe had invigorated him and poured energy into his very marrow. The bright warmth of her being had stayed with him.

He picked up his sword and bowed deeply before the cloaked skeleton. “Dear Baron Bones, this will either be the last time we practice together, or I shall soon be joining you in your unclad state. Help me if you can. If I survive, I give my word to lay your remains to rest in a place of honor.”

Chapter 22

Was it her imagination, or was Uncle Humphrey subjecting her to more than the usual questioning looks tonight? Chloe had the unfortunate feeling that he wished to speak to her. She also had the feeling that it was not a discussion she would enjoy.

Hence, she made a quick escape up to her room as soon as they reached the comfortable old house. As she hurried up the creaking stairs, she sensed her uncle watching her from the hall below.

What was wrong? Had he seen her sneak off with her masked highwayman at the ball? If so, he could only assume she'd had an assignation with Adrian, which she could quite honestly state was untrue. After all, she had only met the man tonight at the ball, and he had returned to the ballroom to cover her interlude with Dominic.

Unless Uncle Humphrey suspected something else. He was an intelligent man, an intuitive one. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, tempted to peek down at him. She could hear her aunt and Pamela laughing in the parlor, in high spirits because Aunt Gwendolyn had taken first prize for her costume and Pamela had found an ardent admirer in Justin's brother, Charles.

But what could her uncle have discovered? The encoded message from Brandon? No. That would not put him in such a brooding mood, Chloe decided as she put her shoulder to her warped door and pushed.

The door was already open, and she flew across the chamber, stumbling over the inert warm body lying on the floor. She went down on one knee, her wings flapping around her face.

“Dominic?” she whispered hopefully, knowing of course it could not be him.

Ares leaped up to give her a slobbery kiss on the mouth.

“Ugh. You've been eating sausage again.” She swiped her gloved hands across her wet, pork-scented lips. “I don't suppose we have company?”

The hound padded after her as she stood and went straight into the dressing closet, searching in vain for a sign that Dominic might have come or left a message.

“He hasn't been here,” she murmured. “I shall have to console myself with his pudgy dog.”

She pulled her trunk to the window and sank down with a pensive frown. How could he win this battle by himself? she wondered. No, not by himself. With Adrian. She could only pray that the pair of them were as clever as they believed themselves to be.

My uncle was once an instructor of Angelo's technique in Venice. He taught me everything I know about sword fighting.

Dominic's words came back to her as she rested her chin reflectively on the windowsill. She did not underestimate Dominic's strength and determination, but Sir Edgar had a killer's instincts and no conscience whatsoever. If Dominic cornered him, his uncle would fight to the death. Both men would. She draped her arms across the window, poised on her trunk to watch the woods, his sleeping estate, for a sign of him.

What did she expect?

A fireworks display? An honorable duel at dawn in front of the duck pond? Dominic had become skilled at moving in shadows. It seemed likely he would take his revenge on a private field. Chloe decided that at the first sign of trouble, she would make up some excuse to go straight to Stratfield Hall. She refused to submit to the waiting, the not knowing.

Ares settled down beside her for their vigil. All through the night she would doze for a few minutes, wake up with her heart pounding, and watch.

Dawn came, and nothing had changed. There were no signs of any disturbance from Dominic's estate. The sun rose on the mellow stones of Stratfield Hall, sheltering whatever secrets it held.

She stretched her cramped limbs and rose stiffly from her uneventful sentinel. It was Sunday morning. She told herself the quiet meant that all was well.

 

There was something reassuring to Chloe about the familiar chaos that greeted her as she walked into the family parlor later that same morning. Ares had apparently stolen one of Aunt Gwendolyn's shoes and hidden it. Aunt Gwendolyn, in a feathered bonnet, gray silk dress, beaded pelisse, and the other shoe, was sending all the servants and her husband on an emergency hunt.

“You have more shoes than any woman I have ever met,” Uncle Humphrey muttered. “Three cobblers have retired in Chistlebury from your business alone. Why is
this
shoe so essential?”

She straightened one of her feathers. “Perhaps this missing shoe is a message from his master. The dog may have been instructed to hide it from me for a reason.”

“A message from his master?” Sir Humphrey glanced at Chloe in exasperation. “Do you suppose Stratfield has taken to wearing women's shoes in the afterlife?”

“He might be giving me a sign,” Aunt Gwendolyn said.

“A sign?” Her husband shook his head in bafflement. “With your shoe?”

“Yes. A shoe could be an occult representation of the next step Stratfield wishes me to take to help him.”

Sir Humphrey threw up his hands. “I wish to God he'd help me. An occult representation. A shoe.”

Pamela stuck her head into the room. “We're going to be late to church. Do hurry, all of you.”

Chloe had to smile at that. Pamela was always a slugabed who found any excuse to avoid going to church on Sundays. This change of attitude could only mean that love was in the air, that her cousin hoped to meet Charles there to continue the romance that had been sparked at the previous evening's ball. She felt a faint pang of envy. Chloe was never going to have a normal courtship with a sweetheart gazing at her like a mooncalf from a church pew.

No, she thought wistfully. Her own courtship consisted of a man dressed as a highwayman whisking her off for an illicit interlude, which, now that she contemplated it in the aftermath, really had begun to take on a rosy glow of romanticism. She could hardly believe they had danced together, made love with such desperation. And yet she could still feel the hard weight of Dominic's body on hers, his hands in her hair, on her face.

“We are looking for your mother's lost shoe,” Sir Humphrey informed his daughter. “The misguided woman refuses to leave the house without it.”

“I saw her shoe in the middle of the stairs just a few moments ago,” Pamela said.

“Was it going up or going down?” her mother asked.

Pamela shrugged her slender shoulders. “What does it possibly matter? Do hurry, Mama.”

Chloe wandered over to the window and gazed outside. Where was Dominic now? She ought to be furious at him for putting her in this situation. Even if she did decide to ask her brothers to help, there was no guarantee any message she sent would reach them in time to save him. He might have confronted Edgar before they left London.

“Are you coming, Chloe?”

She glanced around at the sound of her uncle's voice. They remained alone in the room, and she could hear the carriage drawing to the front of the house.

“Yes. I'll be right there.”

“Anything interesting outside that window?” he asked quietly.

She managed a wan smile. “There doesn't seem to be. Did Aunt Gwendolyn ever find her shoe?”

He frowned at her in concern. “Your head is up in the clouds this morning. Pamela just told us it was on the stairs. Didn't you hear?”

She moved past him with her gaze averted, aware that he knew her better than anyone in the house. After last night, with Dominic occupying her mind, she must seem more than a little distracted. “Come on. Let's suffer the parson's sermon for the sake of our souls.”

He touched her lightly on the shoulder as she passed. “Chloe, my dear, if you ever need someone to help you, I shall be here.”

Uncle Humphrey involved in a scheme of duplicity and murder? Chloe could not resist turning to smile at him, regretting that her secret had built a wall between them. “Thank you. You have been kinder to me than I deserve.”

 

The congregants of Saint Luke's Church sat in a dazed trance, apparently not recovered from the previous evening's exciting masquerade ball. Of course sleeping during a sermon was not an unusual occurrence. On any given Sunday the parson's vigorous pounding on the mahogany pulpit was routinely interspersed with an errant snore from the oaken pews.

Chloe found it impossible to focus on Parson Grimsby at all with his thin pointed nose and buckled shoes even though she guessed that his sermon on virtue was directed at her.

Well, it was too late, she thought rather unremorsefully.

She fiddled with an onyx button on her glove, the moments dragging by. Somewhere in the back of the church a small boy broke wind and was soundly slapped by his mother. Lord, what if
she
conceived a child as a result of her love affair with Dominic? If such a thing did happen, her brothers would personally escort him to the altar, and Chloe would let them, too, although she had no reason to think he would not come willingly.

“Is there something wrong?” Pamela whispered as they knelt together to pray.

Chloe glanced up. She'd just realized that neither Adrian nor Sir Edgar had attended the overlong service, but then that shouldn't surprise her. “Why do you ask?” she whispered back to her cousin.

“You keep sighing and fidgeting.”

Chloe lowered her gaze. There
was
something wrong with her. Here she sat in a quiet ivy-smothered parish church, her head piously bowed, on her knees, praying for the soul of a man who had debauched her in the dark, on a floor, less than twenty-four hours ago.

She ought to be praying for forgiveness. Or praying that her family would never find out what she had done.

But no. She was praying that Dominic would not go out and get himself killed in earnest, thereby remaining alive to debauch her all over again. And offer her a decent future.

He'd said he would come back to her, hadn't he?

She shifted on her knees. She felt a little cold, from anxiety and lack of sleep. How much longer could Parson Grimsby go on praying? He must have covered every sin twice over by now.

“Chloe.” Pamela nudged her as the lengthy prayer finally ended and they settled back into their seats. “Do you want to know something?” she whispered.

Yes. She wanted to know that Dominic would be waiting for her when they returned home, and that Sir Edgar would pay for all the evil he had inflicted.

“What?” she whispered back.

“I borrowed your corset.”

Chloe sat up a little straighter, examining her cousin from the corner of her eye. “Oh? Is there another dance upcoming?”

“No.” Pamela blushed attractively under her creamy freckled skin. “I'm wearing it right now.”

“You wicked thing,” Chloe teased.

“It was your idea.”

“Mine?”

“Don't you remember? You suggested I wear it to church. Do I have it on properly?”

“It's rather hard to tell under your spencer, Pamela.”

“Oh. Right.” Pamela wriggled around for a few moments before whispering again, “Do you want to know something else?”

“Why not? It has to be more interesting than this sermon.”

“Justin is going to marry the Seymour heiress. His brother told me last night. I am sorry, Chloe.”

“Such is life, Pamela.”

“Aren't you at all upset?”

“Not over Justin. I cannot imagine marrying a man who stamps his foot to get his way. It's rather like being betrothed to your first pony.”

“I've thought of something else,” Pamela whispered.

Aunt Gwendolyn made a face. “Do be quiet, girls.”

“What?” Chloe whispered to her cousin.

Parson Grimsby gave the pulpit one last resounding bang. The congregation gave a collective sigh of relief.

“All the women in the parish were hoping Lord Wolverton would come to church today so they could see what he looked like in the daylight.” Pamela paused. “I expect he's off to grander things.”

Chloe forced a smile. Grander things. “I expect so.”

 

The sky was overcast when the service ended. The cawing of crows in the distant fields greeted the congregants who filed outside. Chloe's spirits had plummeted at Pamela's rather irrelevant observation, and the words echoed a disturbing refrain in her mind.

I expect he's off to grander things.

What grander things could Adrian be doing on a quiet day like this? Not helping Dominic to challenge Edgar. Their encounter would occur in the dark, not on a peaceful Sabbath morning when practically the entire village was strolling benignly down the church footpath, past the lopsided crosses in the churchyard, to the line of parked carriages and carts.

Aunt Gwendolyn was still talking to anyone who would listen about the significance of her misplaced shoe.

Chloe's heart fluttered. How silly she was. Why was she allowing Pamela's thoughtless remark to upset her? Dominic would
not
stage his confrontation on a Sunday afternoon, when everyone could see or hear— Everyone was gathered here. No one could witness anything that went on at Stratfield Hall.