Daphne opened the door with care and discovered another staircase. This one was less ornate, a very functional staircase that led both up and down.
The servants’ stairs. The kitchen would be down.
She held her candle high and hurried down the stairs. She could smell roast meat then, soap, herbs, and baking. Her nose led her to the darkened kitchen, which was clean and empty. Banked coals glowed on the hearth and a dog was curled up, sleeping there. Its tail thumped at the sight of her but it didn’t abandon its cozy spot.
On one long table, there was a basket with a cloth over it. That was just as Cook left extra baking at home. Daphne lifted the cloth and smiled at the sight of the scones.
Triumph! There were a dozen. She would eat just one. She wouldn’t leave a mess.
Daphne reached in just as someone spoke.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The words were uttered softly, but Daphne was still surprised. She jumped, dropped both candle and scone, then spun to face the person who spoke. The candle extinguished itself, then fell out of the holder and rolled. “I am Daphne Goodenham,” she confessed, a little breathless. “I was hungry.”
A young girl stepped out of the shadows. She was a few years older than Daphne and clearly a maid. “Didn’t you ring for your maid?”
“Jenny is sick. I couldn’t think to trouble her at this hour.”
Her companion seemed to be surprised.
Or suspicious.
“I often go to the kitchen at home. I didn’t think it would be any trouble here.”
“It’s not.” The maid nodded toward the basket. “There are plenty left from today, and they’ll be making new ones in a few hours.” She picked up the candle then set it into the holder again. Daphne used the flint to light it again, and had a better look at her companion. She had curly brown hair and looked to be just as wide awake as Daphne.
She was glad to not be alone.
“I’m Mary,” the maid said with a quick smile and a curtsey.
“How pleasant to meet you,” Daphne said, thinking it would be rude to eat in front of the other woman. Maybe she’d take the scone back to her room.
“You might as well eat here. I won’t tell, and there won’t be crumbs in your room, then.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me get the butter.” Mary also poured Daphne a glass of milk. She then stood on the other side of the heavy table.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Daphne chided, making a gesture of invitation. “You need not stand as if we are at dinner.”
Mary smiled and bobbed a curtsey, then took a seat. Daphne pushed the basket of scones toward her and the girl glanced over her shoulder as if fearful of being caught.
“Tell them I had two,” Daphne said and Mary took one. The girl ate quietly and Daphne chose to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more. “Can you tell me who has come for the wedding?”
“Certainly. The castle is full of guests and so is Hollybrook Park.” Mary ticked off on her fingers. “There’s....”
In the long list, she made no mention of the Duke of Inverfyre, much to Daphne’s disappointment. Daphne smiled. “What a large and merry wedding it will be, with so many guests come to wish them well.”
“And there are more in the village, too.”
“Truly? Is there a tavern there, then?”
“Two of them. The Mermaid’s Kiss is where the gentry will stay, to be sure. The Crown and Anchor is more for sailors.”
Daphne finished her scone, thinking furiously. She was sure the duke had mentioned the Mermaid’s Kiss. Could she find a way to see him again? “I’m curious about Bocka Morrow. We didn’t have time to visit during Samhain. Isn’t there an apothecary’s shop I might visit?”
Mary laughed. “There is, and the witches are there.”
“Witches?”
“Aye, they make love spells.” Mary finished her scone. “But you didn’t even ask about the ghosts.”
Daphne didn’t much care for ghost stories—her recurring nightmare provided sufficient fear—but she knew those at Castle Keyvnor were much taken with their ghosts. “When we were here before, they said there was a young boy, named Paul, who cries in the night.”
Mary nodded. “The earl’s young son.”
“And Baron Tyrell, who killed himself when his beloved Lady Helena wed another. Isn’t her portrait in the gallery?” Daphne said, remembering.
Mary’s eyes shone. “But now Lord Snow has arrived wearing a ring, called the Grimstone, which banishes the ghosts.”
“That I do not believe,” Daphne said firmly.
“That’s only because you weren’t here when he arrived. There was a sound like a crack of lightning and ghosts were cast into the sky.”
“Did you see it?”
“I heard about it. My uncle is the groom, and he said there was such a commotion in the stables as you have never seen.” Mary’s eyes shone. “He told me about the Grimstone, which he never thought was real until he saw it this day.” She sobered and sighed. “I can only hope that it doesn’t banish Benedict.”
She must have been referring to yet another ghost. “Why not?”
“Because I love him, and I could not bear it if we were parted forever.”
Although the other woman appeared to be convinced of her tale, Daphne remained skeptical. Ghosts thrown into the sky? If they were banished and thrown anywhere, it would be into the great beyond. She thought it would not be prudent to note that this Benedict was dead and Mary was not, thus they were already parted.
The girl had been kind, after all.
Daphne stood and picked up her candle. “It will be morning soon enough. Thank you for the butter and the conversation. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.”
“Perhaps you will. Have a care on your way back upstairs, my lady,” Mary said. “The ghosts are not always friendly at Castle Keyvnor, and after today, they may be very angry indeed.”
“I thank you for the warning.” Daphne retraced her steps, climbing the servant’s stairs to the main floor, thinking that worldly concerns were more worrisome than ghosts.
She peeked around the door at the summit and realized she’d already taken a wrong turn. This wasn’t the foyer she recognized. There was a staircase in the shadows ahead, but it was smaller than the one she’d descended.
She looked back down the stairs but it was silent and dark below. Surely she could find her way once she was in the main house? The servant’s corridors would be like a maze—that she’d already gone the wrong way meant that she was likely to become even more lost.
She stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind herself. The sole illumination was a shaft of moonlight. A clock chimed the half hour. It sounded like the same clock she’d heard before, but it was more distant. She hurried up the stairs to find that the hall above was lined with closed doors, all of which looked the same.
Was that the little alcove near the room she shared with Eurydice? It was too far away to be certain, but Daphne thought it might be. She hurried toward it, her heart beginning to pound. Instead of being silent, the house also sounded to be full of whispers. She was certain that she heard the swish of taffeta again, the scuttle of mice, the stealthy step of someone following her. She remembered the story of an old wing of the castle being out of use and the whispers that ghosts and madwomen lived there. She thought about ghosts and walked a little more quickly. She glanced over her shoulder but saw no one.
Daphne was sure she heard someone else breathing.
Was it a ghost?
Nonsense! Still, she hastened on.
The alcove wasn’t the one she recalled. The corridor bent ahead and Daphne hurried toward the corner. Sanctuary must be just ahead. As she approached the corner, she felt a chill and heard a moan that made the hair stand on the back of her neck. Ghosts! There was a gust of air and her candle was extinguished.
Rather than stopping to light it again, Daphne ran.
He swore and she had the barest glimpse of his blazing blue eyes before he spun her around so that her back was turned to him. “And a good morning to you, my fair damsel,” he said in a low whisper that made Daphne’s toes curl.
Her heart raced in shock but he didn’t release her. She should have run but she didn’t want to be alone again just yet. His grip was strong and the warmth of his hands reassuring.
Who was he? Daphne swallowed, recalling that he had been dressed all in black, a shadow against the darkness. He was taller and broader than her, and she couldn’t forget the brilliance of his eyes. She tried to turn to face him again but his grip tightened slightly.
“Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?” he murmured, his breath fanning her ear. Daphne could feel the hard heat of him close behind her and her knees weakened.
“Are you a ghost?” she managed to say and he chuckled.
“Not yet. Are you?”
She shook her head and felt his hand slide over her shoulder in a caress. She glanced down and watched his fingers. Even with his black leather glove, she could see that his hands were long and elegant, strong hands. To her astonishment, he lifted a tendril of her hair and let it slide through his gloved fingers, the blond curl gleaming against the black leather.
“Maybe you’re just a dream,” he whispered. “Sadly, there is only one way to be certain.”
Daphne didn’t know who he was or why he was there, but she didn’t care. This was the stuff of the novels she and Eurydice devoured! “How will you discover the truth?” she asked lightly.
“With a kiss, of course,” he replied without hesitation. Perhaps he read those same stories. “Every disreputable vision or ghost is dispelled by a kiss.”
“Sirens dissolve with a kiss,” Daphne agreed.
“Indeed.” His voice rumbled low, awakening a yearning within Daphne. He still held her shoulders, his thumbs caressing her through her robe. She thought of those eyes, that barest glimpse of a square jaw, and swallowed.
“A fine suggestion,” she said boldly, keeping her voice low. “For I should like to be certain that you are no apparition, sir.” She heard him catch his breath in surprise, then his lips were against her ear.
“Close your eyes, my temptress,” he murmured.
Daphne did as he requested and without delay. “Done.” She was immediately spun in place, and the weight of one gloved hand slid around her nape. His other hand was on the back of her waist, drawing her close. She felt him lean closer and her breasts collided with his hard chest. She could have run. She could have twisted out of his embrace. She could have opened her eyes. He granted her the time to be certain.
But it was far too perfect to be kissed by a handsome stranger in the dark, when no one else would ever know. It was a delicious secret, one to be held between herself and this man of mystery, and Daphne couldn’t resist the invitation to know more.
“You promised me a kiss, sir,” she dared to whisper. She rose to her toes and put her hands on his shoulders, keeping her eyes closed as she parted her lips in invitation.
She didn’t have to wait long for him to accept.
What was the delightful Miss Goodenham doing, wandering the corridors of Castle Keyvnor in the early hours of the morning? Alexander didn’t know and as soon as she collided with him, he didn’t care. She smelled seductively feminine. She wore only a chemise and a robe, and when his hands closed over her shoulders to steady her, he felt an overwhelming urge to draw her into his embrace. That she smelled so sweet, that she wore so little, that her hair was in a loose braid, that it was dark and they were alone, made the encounter enticingly intimate.
As if he had come to her in her bedchamber.
Alexander couldn’t dismiss that notion, not once he had touched her.
Had she seen his features? He couldn’t imagine that she had had time to recognize him, especially as she’d only seen him before in his disguise. It was a mercy that he had used his foolish voice at the tavern, for he had spoken in his own usual tones when he addressed her in the night, too surprised to disguise his voice.
He should have released her. He should have frightened her. He should have let her flee. He gave her the opportunity, despite his desires, because he was a gentleman—even if on this particular night, he played the role of a thief.
But she welcomed his kiss. It was a invitation he couldn’t deny.
One kiss.
Alexander knew it couldn’t be a chaste kiss, not when Miss Goodenham’s lips softened beneath his and she leaned against him. He caught her closer and deepened his kiss before he could think twice about the wisdom of that, and when she melted against him in surrender, he locked his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. She wasn’t afraid, though, but seemed to welcome his tutelage. She mimicked his movements, sliding one hand around his neck and one around his waist, just as he held her, meeting him touch for touch. The kiss heated his blood and made him yearn for more.
More than was his right to take, even if she was impulsive enough to give it.
A clock chimed the quarter hour, recalling Alexander to his senses. He broke the kiss with reluctance, gazed upon her flushed cheeks, then drew his hood over his head to shadow his features. He stepped back when her lashes fluttered, then touched his finger to the tip of her nose.
“A siren after all,” he murmured, his voice husky. He watched her smile. “But you must not see me. I was no more than a shadow in the night.”
“But...”
He dropped his finger to her lips and couldn’t resist the urge to slide it across them. She shivered, so responsive that he felt a fool for stepping away from her. “Not a word, my siren. You did not see me. We did not meet. You will return to your chamber and have sweet dreams, your reputation intact.”
“I will dream of a specter in the night,” she agreed. “Whose kiss is a dangerous temptation.”
Alexander smiled. “Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered. “I will fetch your candle.”
“I have a flint in my pocket,” she said.
“Then you can relight it once I am gone.” He retrieved the candle and restored it to the candlestick she’d dropped, then placed the candlestick in her hand. He leaned closer, unable to resist touching his lips to her cheek once more. “Count to twenty before you open your eyes,” he murmured.
“Aye, sir,” she agreed, her lips curving in a smile that invited his touch.
Alexander surveyed her once more, knowing he would recall this vision often. “Sleep well, my siren.”
“And you, sir,” she whispered, then began to count.
Alexander did not delay. He fled on silent feet, ensuring there was no sign of him before she finished her count.
Before he had even left Castle Keyvnor—slipping out the unlocked window in the library, just as he had entered the castle—his decision was made. He would definitely go to London for the season, journeying there directly from Cornwall. He could not tolerate the notion of his innocent seductress being claimed by another man.
Back in his room at the inn, his arrival unobserved, Alexander removed the seed that Anthea had given him and once again rolled it between his finger and thumb. He could not deny that it had swollen a bit, a young root pushing against the shell from the inside.
The story was whimsy.
It was nonsense.
It was time to know for certain. He put water in the glass from his wine then dropped the seed into it, watching it sink to the bottom and roll to one side. He set the glass before the fire, having no expectations, and finally got himself to bed.
“Where were you?” Eurydice said the next morning as Daphne was getting dressed. Eurydice was lacing Daphne’s stays since Jenny was staying downstairs for the day. Her cold had gotten much worse and Grandmaman had insisted. Nelson was with Grandmaman and Dap
hne was too impatient to wait.
But without her stays laced, Daphne couldn’t escape her sister’s questions.
She was sure Eurydice had planned it that way.
Daphne felt as if the entire world would know at a glimpse that she’d kissed a stranger in the night—or that she’d thought about him incessantly ever since—but was determined to keep her promise to that man. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone. A clock was striking three.”
“I was hungry. I went down to the kitchen.”
“You should have rung for Jenny.”
“I didn’t want to wake her up for the sake of a scone.”
“You were gone a long time,” Eurydice said, showing the annoying persistence that was typical of her. Sometimes Daphne thought her sister could smell a secret and then she was like their grandmother’s terrier, reluctant to leave the matter until she’d unearthed the prize.
Daphne gave her sister an exasperated look. “I got lost. This castle is enormous.” It wasn’t precisely a lie.
Eurydice rolled her eyes. “It’s not that complicated.”
“Well, maybe I’m not that clever,” Daphne replied.
“Did you find the kitchen? Or did you just give up and come back here?”
“I found it. And there were some leftover scones from tea. I met Mary who told me a story about a magical ring.”
Eurydice perched on the bed to listen. “Here?”
“Of course, here! One of the gentlemen, Lord Snow, wears it and it’s supposed to banish ghosts.”
Eurydice smiled. “If it’s true, the ring will have plenty of chances to do that here.”
“I thought it foolish, but Mary said ghosts were thrown into the sky on his arrival yesterday.” Daphne put on her shoes and considered her reflection in the mirror. “You made these curls very nicely,” she said, admiring her sister’s handwork.
“You did mine better.”
Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1) Page 22