by Monica Burns
“Surely you want to hear all the details, my dear. My father didn’t just slit my mother’s throat,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion as he lightly trailed his finger across her own throat as if it were a blade. The effect was chilling.
“He splattered the library with her blood. Thank God he had the courage to slit his own throat. As for my brother, he was a little less blood thirsty when he murdered his wife. Nigel simply broke Katherine’s neck before he had the decency to throw himself off the ramparts.”
“I did not murder my wife.” Furious outrage laced Nigel’s voice as he materialized behind his brother.
The sight of him over Lucien’s shoulder made her stomach lurch with dismay. Oh God, what was he doing here? He couldn’t have picked a worse moment to show himself. Desperately, she fought to keep her attention on Lucien and not his dead brother.
“Tell him I didn’t kill Katherine.”
She averted her gaze from Nigel’s angry expression, and shook her head in hopes that the ghost would understand her silent refusal. Things were already spiraling out of control, and she had no desire to arouse Lucien’s suspicions further. With a sudden move, Lucien completely removed the small distance between them.
“You disagree. But know this, yâ sabāha—I have no illusions as to my fate. It is only a question of when—and I refuse to put you in harm’s way.”
With his lips pressed close to her ear, his words were a dark whisper that reflected a pain she had already witnessed in her visions. But it was the depth of emotion in his voice that made it impossible to remain unaffected by his torment. Caught against the warmth of him, she drank in the scent of spice and sandalwood as she instinctively touched his cheek in a gesture of comfort.
“Damn it, the boy needs his head examined. Tell him Standish wants the Seth statue.”
“No,” she snapped in response to the ghost’s demand before realizing what she’d done. In an instant, Lucien jerked away from her as if he’d been burned. Horrified she might have unwittingly revealed her secret, she met his cold, dispassionate gaze.
“I agree, my lady.” His face was an inscrutable mask as his voice chilled the air. “Avoiding temptation is the wisest choice of all options.”
Spinning around, he strode out of the workroom, leaving Constance to stare after him with a sinking heart. In his own way he’d been trying to apologize, and he’d misinterpreted her outburst to Nigel’s prodding as discouragement. Angry she turned toward the ghost.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have less than impeccable timing?”
“Why didn’t you tell him any of what I said?” Nigel asked with intense displeasure. “He needs to know there’s no curse.”
“Even if that’s true, how do you propose I convince of him of that?”
“I’ll tell you what to say.”
For a moment, she simply stared at the dead man facing her. Was it possible for a ghost to be delusional? Shaking her head, she glared at him.
“If you think I’m about to tell Lucien I can see and talk to you, think again. He believes people who see and talk to spirits are charlatans.”
“And yet he can believe in this ridiculous curse.”
“I’m not so sure he isn’t right. What else can account for all this blood and mayhem in your family? It can’t be coincidence.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not that bloody curse,” he snapped with angry confusion. “My memory is faulty, but I know I didn’t kill Katherine.”
Nigel’s bewilderment was no greater than her own. Since early this morning, the whole world had suddenly turned upside down on her. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath and willed herself to relax. Although Lucien’s brother was no longer mortal, he could still be a wonderful source of information if she could help him focus.
It wasn’t unusual for a spirit to have memory lapses. For some reason, time didn’t exist when a person died. It would explain Nigel remembering some things vividly and others less so. In most cases, it was the result of his memory recording only those images that were of major importance to him at the time.
“Nigel, please. To help you and Lucien, I need more information. When you lose your temper you waste your energy, and we both know what that means.”
He nodded sharply as frustration furrowed his brow. Satisfied he was acting rational again, she tipped her head to one side as she studied him carefully. “I’m going to ask you a question you won’t like, but tell me why you’re so certain you didn’t kill your wife.”
Outrage hardened Nigel’s features as he glared at her, but he didn’t explode with anger as he might have earlier. With a dignified bob of his head, the ghost glanced away from her.
“We’d had a fight, and I left Katherine crying in our room. When I came back—” A stark expression of grief slashed across Nigel’s face as he turned away from her. “When I returned, she was lying dead on the floor. I don’t remember much of that moment except the horror of losing her. Katherine was everything to me. All I can remember with clarity is that someone had broken her neck. The next thing I remember is the labyrinth.”
“The labyrinth,” Constance murmured. “Lucien and Lady Lyndham said it doesn’t exist.”
Waving his hand in an almost dismissive manner, he nodded as he suddenly paced the floor. “I never thought it existed either, but it does. I’ve been in it. The problem is, I can’t remember how to get into it again.”
“How do you know you were in the labyrinth?”
“Because I was chasing Katherine’s killer. I chased the bastard all the way to the North Tower where we struggled. Clearly, I lost the fight.” There was a bitter note in his voice.
Startled, she shook her head in disbelief. “You were both murdered?”
“Yes.”
“But by whom, and why?”
“I don’t know,” he growled in a manner reminiscent of Lucien. “I can’t remember what the bastard looked like. Everything about him is nothing but shadows.”
Impossible. That’s what it was. Impossible. How was she supposed to help Lucien if his own brother couldn’t remember who his enemy was? It was just one more tiny piece of the puzzle. And like before she didn’t know which way to turn.
“Nigel,” she said in a pensive tone, “this man who murdered you. Is there anything about him that you can remember? The way he dressed, how tall he was, his voice? Anything?”
With a violent sound of disgust, he shook his head. “No. God knows I wish I could. I only know he wants the statue of Seth.”
“But you said Standish was the one who wanted the statue.”
“Yes, yes,” Nigel exclaimed in frustration. “Standish works for the bastard, or at least that’s what I think. Everything is such a jumble, it’s hard to be certain of anything.”
“But Lucien said the statue isn’t here. He’s not even sure it ever was.”
“My brother is wrong. It’s here. It has been all along, and it’s the key.”
She uttered a sharp noise of irritation as Nigel’s figure shimmered in the light of the workroom. “Blast it, man! Don’t say something like that and then just disappear on me.”
“I see now why I confused you with Isis when you first came to the keep.” Nigel directed a rueful smile in her direction as he faded away.
As the ghost vanished in a fine mist, Constance slammed her fist on the workbench in anger. This was the second time he’d done this to her, and she didn’t like it one bit. The dead man had the decidedly unpleasant habit of disappearing just when he was about to reveal an important tidbit. Equally disturbing was the way he’d suddenly materialized in the middle of her conversation with Lucien.
It had been an unsettling moment having both brothers berate her at the same time. Although she couldn’t really classify her exchange with Lucien as a reprimand. If anything it had been his attempt at an apology. And it had been exactly that—an ap
ology. He might not have begged her forgiveness, but his regret had been heartfelt.
Had his behavior this morning really been for her protection? There seemed some merit in the notion given the heart-wrenching manner he’d described the mayhem she’d already witnessed in her visions. And she’d be a fool not to admit his explanation made his actions far easier for her to bear. Still, she wasn’t ready to trust him yet.
Although it was difficult not to do so given his attempt to apologize. Still, it didn’t change anything—or did it? She nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment. The man had definitely been remorseful. In fact, he’d even used that special endearment he had for her. What if the Blakemore curse wasn’t real? Nigel had said he and Katherine had been murdered. But that didn’t explain Lucien’s parents or his grandfather and great-grandfather. Then there was everything else she’d encountered during her stay here at the keep.
Heaving a sigh, she shook her head. If ever there were a more troubled family than the Blakemores with their dark history, she’d yet to meet them. But could she fulfill her promise to Nigel? What was she supposed to save Lucien from? Himself perhaps? That would make sense given his frame of mind. If the curse didn’t exist, the torment Lucien was inflicting on himself was enough to drive any man mad. It was the memory of that small boy staring into the library at the horrible scene of his parents’ deaths that was so haunting. She couldn’t abandon that boy, and deep in her heart she knew she wanted nothing more than to free the man from the demons lurking deep inside him. And when she’d freed him? What then? What indeed.
Chapter Eleven
“Tell me, Edward, what’s this I hear about Oliver and Colonel Armstrong’s widow? Is the boy finally going to settle down at last?”
Lucien was the last one entering the salon as his grandmother questioned Edward Rawlings. The conversation was like a fly buzzing near his ear as his attention settled on Duncan talking to Constance near the terrace doorway. Damn the man’s hide for showing up unannounced again.
He knew bloody well why his friend was here, and it wasn’t to discuss county politics either. No, the man had come to see Constance. It was the fourth time this week alone. Thank God Edward had decided to pop in as well. The older man had sat next to Constance this evening, preventing Duncan from monopolizing her attention throughout the meal as he’d done for the past three nights.
“So I take it he’s quite serious about the lady?”
Edward shrugged. “I sometimes think the only thing that boy is serious about is his damned Egyptian Society. Apparently there was a bit of a commotion with the British Museum just last week about some artifacts that went missing.”
The mention of the Museum caught Lucien’s ear, and he dragged his gaze away from Constance to look at the older man. Edward’s son had always been known for being a bit wild, but this was the first time any possibility of real scandal had ever touched him. Oliver and Nigel had been closer in age, so a friendship hadn’t developed between Lucien and his cousin.
Growing up, Oliver always had a way of setting one’s teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the pompous attitude he possessed, especially when it came to discussing and classifying Egypt’s treasures. Despite his dislike of the man, he’d never tolerated any of the Set’s snide comments made in his presence. He despised people who were polite to the man’s face, while behind his back did nothing but express horror at his Saracen ancestry and the swarthy complexion of his skin. That was the one thing he could safely say didn’t bother him about Oliver. No, his reasons for disliking the man went much deeper than that.
Worse still, he had to endure the man’s company simply to avoid wounding Edward with Oliver’s betrayal. A perfidy he’d not even revealed to his grandmother. It was the only reason he went out of his way to endure Oliver’s presence and his pretentious discussions on the worship ceremonies of various Egyptian gods and goddesses. Curious to know more about what Edward’s son had gotten himself involved in, Lucien frowned.
“Are they actually accusing Oliver of something?” he asked.
“No, no.” Edward waved his hand as he took a puff on his cigar. “The boy has an alibi for the time in which the items were taken from the Museum.”
“Alibi?” Aurora snapped. “What the devil has he been accused of?”
“Well, there have been no formal accusations you understand, but Budge did question him about the disappearance of the items. Fortunately the two of us were having supper with Mrs. Armstrong at the time the items went missing. Seems a night watchman must have startled the thief as there were several precious items left untouched.”
“I don’t understand,” Aurora said in an astonished voice. “You mean someone broke into the Museum and didn’t take anything of value?”
“Apparently so.” Edward’s brow furrowed as he nodded. “Budge told me the day I left London that the only items missing were several religious artifacts for one of the lesser-known cults around the time of Ramesses.”
Lucien frowned. “What sort of items were taken?”
“An ancient text and several relics. Nothing of real value, other than for us intellectuals,” Edward said in a miffed tone.
Clucking her tongue, Aurora took another sip of her coffee. “Well at least the boy is clear of any scandal. Perhaps this lady friend of Oliver’s is making him more steady.”
“Time will tell, but the boy could do far worse. Mrs. Armstrong is a lovely woman.” Edward took another puff of his cigar as he turned to Lucien. “Speaking of beautiful women, Lucien, your lovely cataloger seems to have captured the Major’s heart.”
Rawlings nodded toward the terrace doorway. Turning his head, Lucien stiffened as he realized Constance and Duncan had moved outside onto the flagstone patio. What the devil was the woman thinking by going out there with Duncan? Not acknowledging Edward’s comment, he headed toward the liquor cart to quickly pour himself a brandy. Certain his grandmother and Edward were occupied in conversation, he moved closer to the French doors in an effort to keep Duncan and Constance in eyesight.
“Really, Lucien, you’re acting as if Constance were in some sort of danger.” Aurora’s cup clattered in its saucer as she glared up at him. “Do sit down.”
“I agree, my boy,” Edward cleared his throat. “Lady Westbury is in excellent hands with the Major.”
Muttering an oath of frustration, he threw himself into the chair opposite his grandmother. Even then he couldn’t stop himself from tipping his head to one side just to watch the couple standing on the patio. The sound of Constance’s laughter made him grit his teeth. More than two weeks ago she’d laughed like that with him. Giving her delectable body to him with a passion he knew he wouldn’t find elsewhere.
Damn it, he should never have turned her away. Stiffening, he swallowed hard. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? Of course he had. It was a necessary step for her protection. He’d ended the affair for her safety. And tonight was a glimpse into the future. The sight of her with Duncan had awakened the beast within him. He’d already imagined more than a dozen ways to end his friend’s life. Each successive idea more bloody than the last.
Even keeping his distance might not be enough when it came to keeping her safe. God, he needed to leave Lyndham Keep, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. If he was doomed to go mad, then a glimpse of her or a whiff of her exotic scent when she passed him in the hallway would make his descent into hell a little easier to bear.
“So are you going to tell us what’s troubling you?” There was just a bit of a smug satisfaction in his grandmother’s voice, and it annoyed him.
“Nothing’s wrong, Grandmother,” he said tersely as he saw Duncan dip his head intimately toward Constance.
The sound of Edward’s deep chuckle made him glare at the older man, while Aurora took another sip of coffee and eyed him with an amused look. “I agree with you, Edward, they do make a h
andsome couple, don’t they?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lucien growled.
The cup she held rattled noisily as she set it back into her saucer and put her coffee on the tray at her side. “It means you’re a bloody fool.”
“Your grandmother’s right, Lucien.” Edward blew out a puff of smoke from his cigar and nodded. “It’s obvious you have feelings for the woman, why do you persist in this ridiculous notion of the Blakemore curse?”
“Because I’ve yet to come up with any other explanation for six deaths.”
Edward shrugged in defeat. “You’ve your mother’s stubborn nature, boy.”
At the mention of his mother, vivid memories of her flooded his head. He rarely allowed himself to think about her or his father. It was too painful. Closing the box on those thoughts, he returned his attention to the open French doors. What the hell were they talking about out there?
“For heaven’s sake, Lucien. If you care for her, then tell her.” Aurora heaved a disgusted sigh.
“She deserves better than the dark, depraved madness existing within these walls. It’s not possible,” he snapped.
“What’s not possible, Lucien?” Duncan’s cheerful voice echoed from the patio doorway.
Jerking his gaze toward his friend, he glared at the other man before turning his head toward Constance. She was looking especially lovely tonight. The dark ivory satin of her gown suited her coloring. Her hazel eyes met his for a brief moment before she averted her gaze.
God help him, he wanted to drag her out of the salon and up to his room where he’d douse himself in her exotic scent and her sultry heat. His mouth went dry at the image filling his head. Remembering Duncan was waiting for an answer, he shrugged.
“It’s impossible winning an argument with my grandmother.”
“Ah, we’re in sound agreement on that fact.” Duncan laughed as he turned toward Constance. “I must be going, my dear, but I hope you’ll think about my offer.”
The words sent Lucien’s fingers digging into his palms as he hid his clenched fists behind his back. Bloody hell, had Duncan proposed to her in such short order? Jealousy lashed through him, and he tugged in a quick breath of air.