by Adele Clee
“When was this?” he asked.
“I don’t remember. A few weeks ago, perhaps.”
Finlay did not dispute the claim, despite knowing no one could have predicted he would come to Blackborne. “Angels have a power we cannot comprehend. You’re blessed to own such a treasure. Blessed to have someone eager to offer their protection.”
Jessica suddenly turned to him and smiled. “I have missed you, Mr Cole. I always wanted you for my older brother. When you marry Sophia, I shall be free to marry, too. Then we will all be happy again.”
“Yes,” Finlay said, though his lips thinned and his Adam’s apple bobbed above his black cravat.
“Does Father know you’re here?” Excitement danced in Jessica’s eyes again. “Can I be the one to tell him? He is so very fond of you, sir.”
Finlay’s handsome features twisted into a grimace, but only for a second. He placed a comforting hand on Jessica’s arm. “Your father died some time ago,” he said softly. “Do you remember? Perhaps he is the angel in the woods.”
Jessica appeared perplexed, but then recognition dawned. “Yes, I remember, sir.”
It was always the way. Beneath a haze of confusion, her memory was intact.
“We agreed you would call me Finlay.”
A childlike giggle escaped Jessica’s lips. “Sophia will be cross if I utter your given name. She wants you all to herself and hardly keeps it a secret. Sometimes, she looks at you like you’re a slab of walnut cake she cannot wait to devour.”
The tightness around Finlay’s eyes said he found the intimate conversation distressing. It was often difficult to follow Jessica’s train of thought. The irony was that her words carried a stark truth, a truth delivered so swiftly one could mount no defence.
“Come, Jessica, let Mr Cole finish his breakfast. Take the seat next to him if you wish to eat, too.” Sophia moved to the sideboard and prepared a plate of food for her sister. When she turned, Jessica was sitting next to Finlay, staring at him with curious eyes. “There should be plenty of toast, but I can have Cook make more.”
Jessica said nothing when Sophia placed the plate on the table. She seemed fascinated with Finlay’s beard and the way his black hair curled at the nape.
“I sense a darkness within you, Mr Cole,” Jessica said as if she were qualified to dissect the intricate aspects of the man’s mind. “The sadness is deep, as deep as Devil’s Gorge. Do you think you will ever smile again? Will you ever be happy?”
A choking silence sucked the air from the room.
Warring emotions clashed in his eyes—pain and pity. She considered telling him to go home, return to town, save himself from this misery and anguish. But they had survived the first night. Jessica had delivered one provoking comment after another, and he had not stormed from the room in a fit of temper.
“I shall smile when you no longer need to keep the bowl in the chest to feel safe.” He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and pushed out of the chair. “Now, if you will both excuse me, I must make some enquiries.” He touched Jessica gently on the shoulder before striding out into the long hall. The hurried clip of his boots on the flagstones said he was heading to the garden.
She would give him time alone and then apologise for her sister’s outspoken manner.
But Sophia did not see Finlay Cole for the rest of the day.
Chapter 4
Instinct had saved Finlay’s life on more than one occasion. Upon meeting Renard on that fateful day in the Sonian Forest, he had sniffed betrayal before hearing the crack of the pistol. Tonight, the same intuitive power held him rigid at the bedchamber window.
The cause of Jessica’s problem lay in the depths of the woods. What wickedness drew a fragile young woman out of her bed at night? What sent her scurrying into the darkness alone?
A curse or spell?
Such things existed.
A clandestine meeting?
The stranger bearing gifts wanted to win her trust. But why?
The distant echo of midnight chimes reached his ears. Having taken great pains to avoid Sophia and Jessica, he had seen neither woman since breakfast. How was he to focus on his work when surrounded by memories of the past?
His demons liked reminding him of his misfortune. And yet that didn’t stop him wishing and wanting whenever he locked gazes with Sophia Adair. Hell, when he’d found her hovering inches from his bed, it had taken every effort not to drag her closer and take what he craved.
Everything about Jessica’s disordered mind was familiar. Hannah had suffered from a similar affliction—a crippling melancholy that gripped one’s soul with hooked claws. Many times, he’d told himself it was because he hadn’t loved her enough, because someone else still held a piece of his heart. Guilt festered—even now—made worse when he spent any length of time in Sophia’s company.
Damn Lucius Daventry.
Finlay drew his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. Sleep would elude him if he didn’t quieten his mind.
Earlier, Sophia had mounted the stairs and padded across the landing. She had stopped outside his door and called his name, had retreated when he failed to answer. And so it was safe for him to venture downstairs, to settle into the fireside chair and partake in her best brandy.
The drawing room was warm when he entered, the dying embers in the hearth giving a faint glow. Finlay lit the lamp, poured a large glass of brandy and dropped into the wingback chair. Sophia’s unique smell hung in the air, a sensuous bouquet of violets, lily of the valley and a familiar scent that had no earthly name.
Being so close to her was like sweet torture. It was why he had to focus on these mysterious happenings, why he had to solve the problem of Jessica’s sleepwalking and get the hell back to town.
The longcase clock had finished striking the half hour when he heard the upstairs boards creak. He knew to expect Sophia minutes before she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
“Finlay, it’s you,” she said with feigned surprise. “Forgive the disturbance. I heard a noise and feared Jessica was sleepwalking.”
It was a plausible explanation, though he sensed it was a lie. Still, he did not turn to look at her, did not wish to encourage her to stay.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did the wind keep you awake?”
He almost laughed. “No, it wasn’t the wind.”
“The house is so old one can hear it howling through the rafters.” She moved to the chiffonier, into his line of vision.
God’s teeth!
It wasn’t the sight of her loose blonde hair rippling like waves over her shoulders that had his heart hammering in his chest, nor the shimmer of her blue silk wrapper in the candlelight. It was her bare feet and dainty toes. It was knowing that above her trim ankles were equally bare thighs. A man might imagine untying the belt and caressing the soft curves he remembered.
“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?” she said, her hand resting on the sherry decanter. “Sleep eludes me, too. Jessica often behaves oddly the night before Dr Goodwin arrives.”
“Behaves oddly? How so?” Focusing on the case helped divert all amorous thoughts.
Sophia removed the crystal stopper and poured a glass of sherry. The air thrummed with suppressed tension, which was no doubt the reason she drank the contents before refilling the elegant stem glass.
“Jessica becomes restless. She starts pacing and mumbling.” Sophia came to sit on the sofa. “She radiates a strange energy. Excitement mingled with apprehension.”
Finlay pondered the information. “Has Dr Goodwin suggested moving her to an institution?” Those with fragile minds were often highly perceptive. “If so, might she have overheard the conversation?” Though that did not account for her eagerness to see the physician.
“Dr Goodwin believes if she were to reside at a place where he could attend her daily, he might have more success managing her condition.”
“An asylum?”
“No. A private hospital near O
xford, some five miles from Godstow. He raised the subject recently and seems loath to accept my refusal. Persistence is his middle name I fear. During his last visit, I threatened to find another physician if he continued his pestering.”
“And how did Dr Goodwin react?”
Sophia raised her chin, offering a glimpse of the confident lady who commanded every man’s attention in the ballroom. “With arrogance and cool aplomb. He called my bluff and told me to hire someone else while reminding me another physician would have her committed.”
Dr Goodwin wasn’t exaggerating.
Most women confined to asylums were sane.
“Maybe Jessica has formed an attachment to the doctor. Maybe she fears this might be his last visit.” Finlay relaxed back in the chair. “Though in my experience, obvious assumptions are often wrong.”
“I have learnt to take nothing for granted.”
“Indeed.”
Silence—that seemed as long as the years they’d been parted—stretched between them.
Sophia’s gaze turned reflective as she studied him in the dim light. “Can I ask you something?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?” He knew exactly what she meant.
“Why do you work as an enquiry agent? Your father was a decorated Major General in the Royal Fusiliers. Having saved the life of Viscount Morley’s youngest son, most men consider you a war hero. You have wealth, intelligence and an impeccable reputation. Why risk your life trying to catch a deserter or solve the murder of a maid?”
He could offer several reasons. Namely, he had nothing else to live for. In saving others, he hoped to save himself. Death might bring the peace he craved. But he refused to reveal his motives, refused to revisit that dark place despite the devil’s calling.
“You’ve kept abreast of my cases, Sophia,” he said in the playful tone that sounded foreign to his ears. “Dr Goodwin might say such an interest borders on obsession.”
The lady swirled the sherry in the glass. “I have an unhealthy interest in everything you do, Mr Cole.” Her gaze rose slowly to meet his. “It’s how I know you don’t have a mistress. You rarely visit gentlemen’s clubs and discard invitations to balls and soirees unless attendance is pertinent to a case. When you’re not working, you spend your nights alone at home.”
He suffered from the same obsession and knew as much about her habits and tastes.
“You failed to mention brothels,” he teased. “If you’re confident I don’t have a mistress, where do you suppose I take my pleasure?” Between her soft thighs was the only place he’d dreamed about of late.
Sophia’s chin dropped, but she regained her composure. “I cannot imagine you visiting a bordello.” Her gaze slipped over his chest with the same fervent hunger he’d witnessed this morning. “I thought you preferred your women more … wholesome.”
“Not always. But I would rather feel something for the women I bed.”
She swallowed deeply. “So there has been no one since Hannah?”
He might have told her to mind her own damn business, but said, “No. No one since Hannah.” Though he was not short of offers.
“Envy is like a crippling disease, is it not?” A sad sigh left her lips. “I have never coveted anything in my life, but I desperately wanted what she had.” Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips.
“Fate had other plans for us,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Hannah was a kind, loving woman. She tried to be a good wife, tried to battle—” He stopped abruptly. Downed his brandy to drown out the morbid memories of finding her during a heavy downpour, shivering and soaked to the skin.
“Fate delivered us both a wicked blow.”
They remained silent for a time, lost in thought.
“You mentioned my last case,” he said, returning to her original question. “The maid wasn’t murdered. She took her own life because she could no longer tolerate the abuse.”
Sophia tutted. “Something has to be done about these poor girls in service.” She seemed equally keen to change the subject. “I often wonder if Mr Archer took advantage of Maud. They both confessed to sharing a mutual attraction, but men can be deviously persuasive.”
Deviously persuasive?
Was she referring to her experience with Lord Adair?
“There, you have proved my point. Your assumption that the maid took her life because of her employer is wholly incorrect.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Yet we both know such tragedies occur.”
One might say the maid’s employer was to blame. “He did have relations with the girl, but the housekeeper was the vile tormentor. The woman acted out of misguided loyalty in a bid to save her master’s reputation. She hoped her vicious tactics would drive the maid away.”
“Such schemes rarely go to plan.” Sophia stood. “Would you care for more brandy?”
Finlay’s traitorous gaze drifted from his empty glass to her bare feet. “No. I’ve had enough to help lull me to sleep.” Any more and he could not maintain his defences.
“Did you discover anything useful during your enquiries today?” Sophia placed her empty glass on the mantel. She drew the poker from the iron stand and prodded the dying embers.
“Blent gave me a tour of the grounds.” Avoiding the woman whose alluring presence followed him wherever he went had been his priority. “We visited the deadwood.”
During daylight hours, there seemed nothing to fear. At night, amid the spindly trees and the ravens’ caws, a confused woman might imagine all sorts of witchery.
Sophia’s eyes widened with alarm. “You went to the deadwood?”
“Someone made a fire there recently.” That was hardly surprising. Poachers stalked their prey at night.
She gave the embers one last prod before returning the poker to the stand. “Promise me you won’t go there again. There is something sinister about the place, and you have suffered enough since Hannah’s death.”
The atmosphere in the house was equally disturbing. He had lain awake for hours last night, certain he had heard whispering in the darkness.
“I’ll not discuss Hannah,” he warned lest she start probing into his past. “And you know I am dismissive of myth and superstition. When I questioned Blent about hearing ghostly echoes of a witch’s curse, he said people from the village often play pranks.”
Sophia appeared unconvinced. She pushed a silky blonde tendril behind her ear and stroked her throat, though he wished she hadn’t. The memory of pressing his lips to the sensitive skin burst into his mind.
“While that’s true, there are people who have lived in this area for generations. People who still follow the old traditions.”
“You mean there are women who make herbal potions and gather in the woods at night.” He was in no position to mock. He had seen and heard many strange things during his investigations.
“I mean, this entire area is cursed.” She drew her wrapper tightly across her chest and shivered. “You must have felt the oppressive energy when you rode through the woods.”
Finlay couldn’t lie. As a strong, virile man capable of fending off a brutal attack, the ominous aura had made him want to tear along the path at breakneck speed. Instinct told him there was something out there, though he would wager it had nothing to do with the supernatural and everything to do with a devious villain.
“One should fear the living, not the dead,” he said. “A man gave Jessica the bowl and encouraged her to come to the woods at night. A man is feeding her mind with nonsense.”
Blent wasn’t helping matters. And no doubt Dr Goodwin’s tincture made Jessica unstable. Why else would she exhibit odd behaviour the day before the doctor’s arrival?
“Other than Dr Goodwin, no one knows Jessica lives here.”
Finlay arched a brow. “Secrets cannot remain hidden forever. Trust me. As the days progress and we examine the evidence, a motive and a malefactor will become apparent.”
Her
lips curled into a smile that wrapped around his heart. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have you here. I’ve coped so well all these years, but the last two months have been a strain.”
One question burned in his mind. “I understand your motives for hiding Jessica here. What I fail to understand is why you leave her alone at Blackborne for long periods.”
Sophia stared at him, disappointment marring her brow. She moved to the sofa and sat down. When she spoke, she looked him keenly in the eyes. “I sleep here most nights and only return to town to attend key functions, so my presence will not be missed. Since William’s death, I cannot afford to rouse my stepson’s suspicions.”
“Your stepson?” Finlay gave a contemptuous snort. “How you can call him that when you’re only five years older than the fop?”
“You might mock, might think it a ridiculous situation,” she said with a steeliness to her tone, “but one does what one must in a time of crisis. Had I known you were alive, I would have waited. So please, don’t play the pompous ass. It doesn’t suit you.”
Ah, there she was—not the frightened mouse or the arrogant society lady—the woman with a fiery spirit, the woman who sent his temperature soaring, who made him want to satisfy every carnal appetite.
“What role would you like me to play, Sophia?” The need to tease her took hold. “Should I be the dangerous devil most men fear? Should I be the intrepid enquiry agent eager to come to your aid? The raven who keeps your secrets?”
Or the consummate lover who would pleasure her as if no barriers existed?
“Be yourself.”
“And who is that?” He could hardly remember. The man with hopes and aspirations died long ago. And yet he suspected his love for this woman thumped just as wildly in his chest.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden slam of a door stole her attention. “Jessica!” she gasped, jumping to her feet. “Now you will see what we must contend with.”
Finlay followed Sophia out into the draughty depths of the great hall. A faint sliver of moonlight shone through the high leaded windows, drawing attention to the display of gruesome trophy heads on the wall. But he was more interested in the cloaked figure moving stealthily through the passageway.