by Monica Burns
He watched a flush crest Constance’s cheeks, and the tension coiling in his body created a dull throb in every muscle. In silence, he watched Duncan extend his goodbyes to first Aurora and then Edward. A moment later, he turned toward Lucien with an outstretched hand.
“I enjoyed myself, Lucien. Thank you for having me.”
“Good night, Duncan,” he said as they shook hands. He didn’t care that his voice was colder than an icicle. He wanted the man out of his house and as far away from Constance as possible.
With a glance in her direction, he saw Constance frown at his abruptness. Well, how did the woman expect him to react when another man was attempting to lay claim to her? Clearing his throat, Duncan expressed his thanks to Aurora one last time before leaving the room. With his departure, the silence in the salon hung thick and heavy around his head. His grandmother coughed slightly, and Edward rubbed his hands together as he looked at first Lucien and then the women.
“Well then, I believe I should be trotting off as well.” Edward stepped forward and kissed Constance’s hand then Aurora’s as he said his goodbyes. Turning to Lucien, he snapped his fingers.
“By George, I knew there was something I’d forgotten to mention to you. I happened to see Standish in the village the other day.” Edward grimaced at the statement. “Seems he’s convinced himself the Seth statue is here in the keep somewhere. I suggest you be on your guard for any of his tricks. God knows what lengths he’ll go to just to find the damn thing.”
Unable to prevent it, his gaze flashed over to Constance’s frozen features. There was a look of fear there, and he frowned. As if suddenly aware he was watching, her expressive features became unreadable. Returning his attention to Edward, he nodded.
“I knew the man had taken lodgings at the inn, and I assumed it was because of his interest in the statue.”
“Still no thoughts as to where it might be?”
Edward reached into his coat pocket to retrieve another cigar. For a fraction of an instant, Lucien thought the older man’s voice held a troubled note. But his fears were allayed as Edward lifted his head and smiled. From the man’s avuncular expression, his question had been one of curiosity and nothing more.
“None, but you’ll be the first to know considering you invested a considerable sum of money in the expedition that brought Isis here.”
“I did, didn’t I,” Edward said with another chuckle. “But then I had every faith in the skills and experience of the expedition leader.”
Reluctantly, he smiled at Rawlings’s jovial comment. “And your faith in my abilities is appreciated.”
“All right then, I’m off. Lady Westbury.” He nodded toward Constance then leaned down to kiss Aurora’s cheek. “Good night, Aurora. A pleasure as always.”
With a quick shake of Lucien’s hand, the white-haired man left the salon. Watching him leave the room, he heard his grandmother set aside her coffee cup one last time.
“I think I’ll turn in for the night. Constance, will you walk with me?”
“Of course, my lady.” The speed with which she agreed to his grandmother’s request served to reignite his irritation.
He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to know what Duncan had proposed to her. And if it was marriage— Clasping his tightly fisted hands behind his back, he directed a sharp nod in his grandmother’s direction. The old woman rose to her feet at a slow, dignified pace before stepping toward him. She offered her cheek to him, and he brushed his mouth over her papery-soft skin in a gentle kiss.
“Goodnight, Grandmother.”
“Goodnight, Lucien,” she said with a tender pat on his arm.
Constance moved to his grandmother’s side and offered her arm to the older woman. With a quick look in his direction, she murmured a quiet goodnight then escorted his grandmother out of the room. When they were gone, he slammed his fist into the hard back of a nearby chair. Bloody hell, he was in for a sleepless night.
He turned his head toward the liquor cart. A decanter of brandy would remedy that. If he was going to allow a woman to drive him mad, he might as well let her drive him to drink too. Crossing the floor, he poured himself a glass of liquor and drank it in one gulp. The burning sensation was reminiscent of his craving for Constance—hot and fiery. Taking the decanter with him, he crossed the hall into the library. There was no better place to face his demons than in the hell where they’d been spawned.
Constance awoke with a jerk. Sleepily, she rubbed one eye with her palm as she sat up in bed. She’d thought someone had been knocking at her door. Waiting a moment, she shook her head before sinking back into her pillow and closing her eyes. The sound came again. Bolting upright in bed, she frowned. It was an odd noise. More like a chisel tapping on stone, and it was coming from behind her headboard.
Scooting out of bed, she turned up the gaslight of her bedside lamp before padding across the cold floor to stoke the fire. The sound returned, only it had moved along the wall. Confused, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and picked up the lamp to examine the wall more carefully. The tapping on the wall came to a sudden stop before there was a scuffling sound lower to the ground that quickly moved away from her toward the corner of her bedroom.
After several more moments, the noise echoed in her room again, only it was much softer and as if it were coming from some distance away. Thoroughly bemused by the strange sounds, she returned her lamp to the bedside table and sank down onto the mattress to stare at the stone wall. Could the noise have been made by one of the keep’s numerous ghosts? She frowned. If it was a spirit, then why hadn’t she experienced any of her usual tactile sensations? No, there had been nothing of a ghostly nature about the sound. Something else had created the noise. But what and how?
One hand supporting her chin, she mulled over the strange happenings for several moments, but reached no conclusion. Frustrated, she glared at the wall as if it would offer up its secrets. When it didn’t, she hopped to her feet to pace the floor. Lyndham Keep was filled with more secrets and spirits than any ancestral home she’d ever visited. And it refused to reveal any clues to help her find her way through the maze of riddles she was trying to untangle.
When her journal had disappeared more than a week ago, she was certain it had been taken by one of the household staff. After reporting the theft to the housekeeper, she’d waited for the woman to find the thief and return her journal to her. But Mrs. Clarke’s investigation had turned up nothing but one innocent staff member after another, while her journal had remained missing.
Where was Nigel? Why hadn’t he reappeared? Perhaps he was waiting for another inopportune moment. She grimaced as she came to a halt in front of the fireplace and stoked the coals again. If that was what the ghost was waiting on, then it was doubtful the opportunity would present itself anytime soon. Ever since the morning after their night of passion, Lucien had avoided her with amazing agility. Whenever she entered a room, he was just leaving. The only time she saw him or heard his voice was at dinner and the occasional evening in the salon.
When he did deign to acknowledge her presence, it was in a polite, but distant manner. But the eyes were windows to the soul, and she had on occasion caught him staring at her with that penetrating gaze of his, his desire for her blazing in his blue eyes. And Duncan’s recent visits didn’t seem to please him at all.
Tonight especially, Duncan’s presence had appeared to stir up deep emotions in him. With each passing day she was finding it easier to read his moods, and tonight he’d been furious at Duncan’s presence. She stiffened as she stared at a small flame that suddenly flared out of the coals. Could he be jealous? Immediately, she dismissed the notion. She was too close to losing her heart to the man, and hoping he was jealous would only lead her further along a path of heartache. Her gift and his torment created a chasm between them that couldn’t be bridged.
Despite her best efforts, it was diff
icult not to remember the pleasures of that night in Lucien’s room. The memories made her nipples peak and harden beneath her nightgown. She bit her lip at the need to feel his hand on her again. Her body ached everywhere for him. Slowly, she slid her hand down toward the apex of her thighs. Even now, she could feel his finger stroking her, touching her with a hot intimacy.
She shuddered, craving his touch with a rush of hunger that threatened to consume her. Would he turn her away if she went to him now? She didn’t even need to ask such a question. Based on his behavior tonight, he would gladly take her into his bed. In the salon, the possessive look in his eyes had been stark and vivid. Seeing her with Duncan had infuriated him.
No, he wouldn’t turn her away from his bed tonight, but she was certain he’d reject her once their passion was spent. His belief in the Blakemore curse was too strong for him not to. It controlled his every action. He was already beginning to question having her remain at Lyndham Keep. And if she didn’t solve this puzzle of the Blakemore curse soon, he would send her away before she could learn the secrets clouding the air of the keep.
The thought of him sending her away pierced her like a sharp blade. She’d never known such longing before, and the pain of it was a physical ache that gnawed at her. With a quick glance at the clock on her dressing table, she heaved a sigh. Two in the morning and she was wide awake. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence these days. For a week now, she’d awakened in the middle of the night unable to sleep.
After the first few nights, she’d given up tossing and turning to sneak downstairs to the salon and play her violin. It gave her an outlet for her restless cravings. Music had always soothed her. It had become a panacea for any time she was troubled. Tonight it would work its magic again.
Throwing her robe on, she hurried from her room. The gaslights in the hall had been turned down low, but there was plenty of light to illuminate her way. The first night she’d crept downstairs she’d expected any number of things to happen, including another incident like the one she’d witnessed the morning after her night with Lucien. But the corridors had remained quiet and peaceful during her nightly visits to the salon.
At the foot of the main staircase, she hesitated as she thought she heard a sound coming from the library. When there was no repetition of the noise, she entered the salon and closed the door behind her. Seconds later, she picked up the violin off the top of the baby grand piano.
The wood of the instrument heated her hand with the same warmth Lucien’s caress had aroused in her. The memory of his hand on her skin sent a sweet tremor through her. If she was to be held hostage to her passion then she’d play out the emotions in her music. With a deft movement, she tucked the violin under her chin.
The familiar curve of the chin rest warmed and soothed her skin as she grasped the bow’s frog in her fingers. Eyes closed, she slowly caressed the instrument’s strings with the bow. It was a musical imitation of Lucien’s hands sliding across her skin. The heat of his imagined touch expanded and tingled across every inch of her body as she feathered the bow back across the strings. The violin’s haunting notes heightened the slow, teasing image of his dark hands stroking her body until her senses hummed with awareness.
Her nipples grew hard at the erotic images flying through her mind, and in desperation she focused all her attention on the difficult sonata she was playing. It was a useless attempt. The memory of Lucien licking her nipples until she was writhing beneath him was too delicious to clear from her head. With each note her bow pulled from the strings, it reminded her of the passion she’d shared with Lucien.
The memory of watching the two of them in the mirror over his bed sent her heart and fingers racing. What had begun as a slow arc of sensual notes quickly erupted into a flurry of sound that echoed the heat flooding her body. The bow danced across the strings of the instrument, and her breathing grew ragged as the pace of the music increased.
She had always loved this particular piece, and had played it many times with Sebastian accompanying her on the piano. But tonight she understood the meaning of the sonata. It was a cry of desperation. It represented the need and hunger of two lovers. And in her mind, her hands caressed Lucien, touching him, arousing him until he groaned with need. Need for her.
With each lyrical phrase she coaxed from the violin, her body reflected a hunger she knew only one man could satisfy. Each powerful note she played pulled every one of her nerve endings taut until they wept from the haunting music flowing out of her soul.
The violin’s notes became an extension of her emotions, and the melody evoked the tactile sensations of Lucien stroking her skin. God, she wanted to feel his touch again. She wanted his hands and lips on her—caressing her, tempting her. It was a craving that quickly peaked. She pulled another fiery passage of notes from the violin, her movements sharp and frantic as the bow flew back and forth. The fierce intensity of the music sent desire charging through her body
Dear God, her playing only seemed to increase her hunger for Lucien. The beat of her heart crashed against her breast, matching the violent pace of the sonata, while a fire burned in her belly. If only she could exhaust her emotions in the passion of the piece.
The bow darted its way across the strings in her attempt to quell the desire the music evoked in her. Fierce and exquisite in their composition, the strains of the sonata blazed their way through the room. Sweet heavens, she wanted to weep from the way the melody forced her to cajole note after note from her instrument with renewed fervor. It if were possible for a violin to cry it did so now, and the music she played swelled around her, caressing her like a lover. It was a poor substitute for Lucien’s embrace, but it was all she had.
She sucked in a fresh breath and her body arched in surrender to the emotion in the music. The notes escalated into a frenzied arpeggio and tension sailed through her as she envisioned her body responding wildly to Lucien until they were both satiated. Her fingers raced across the fingerboard at the intoxicating image. Each note flying out of the violin represented a kiss, a touch, a thrust of Lucien’s powerful body into hers. With several frantic strokes of the bow, she pulled the final furious passage out of the violin. An instant later, she uttered a soft cry of release and felt the familiar rush of liquid heat between her thighs.
Ragged breaths escaped her lips, and she sagged into the soft curve of the baby grand piano. Her heart pounding, she allowed the emotional outpouring of her frantic musical display to wash over her. Eyes closed, she imagined herself caressing Lucien’s hard muscles one more time, tantalizing him—teasing him into a frenzied pitch of need. A need that ended with wild, hoarse cries of excitement as they rode their desire to the ultimate peak. She shuddered at the image.
“Most impressive, my dear lady.”
With a jerk, Constance opened her eyes to see Nigel watching her from the darkened corner of the room. Setting her violin and bow down on the piano, she glared at the ghost.
“Must you do that?” she snapped. “It’s disconcerting when you simply appear out of nowhere like that.”
“My apologies. I’m afraid I have little control over my comings and goings.”
“Just like you have no control over knowing where I can find the statue, I suppose.”
“Not exactly, but I do remember where one of the entrances to the labyrinth is, although I doubt you’ll be pleased.”
“Where is it?” Trepidation hitched her breath as she saw the rueful expression on the ghost’s features.
“My brother’s bedroom,” he muttered.
“What?” She starred at him in disbelief. “Of all possible locations, that’s the only one you can remember?”
“I am sorry. If I could remember where another entrance was, I would tell you, but at the moment, this is the best I can offer.”
“And exactly how am I supposed to search his bedroom?” she snapped.
Nigel bent his head as he cleared
his throat. Rigid with horror, she shook her head vehemently. “No. Not again. You can’t ask it of me. I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Exactly what couldn’t you bear, my lady?”
The familiar low growl in her ear made her cry out in surprise. Wheeling around she took two quick steps backward as she looked up into Lucien’s dark features. His gaze scraped over her with contempt as he moved forward to search the area where Nigel was standing. When he found nothing, he whirled around to face her, a cold rage tightening the muscles of his jaw.
“Where is he?”
For a moment, she simply stared at him in puzzlement. “I don’t—”
“Standish, my lady. Where is he?”
“If you’re suggesting I was talking—”
“Suggesting?” he snarled. “I’m not suggesting anything. I know what I heard, and I want to know who the hell were you talking to just now?”
“I…no one…” she stammered, unable to think of a reasonable explanation, especially when she had no idea how much he had heard. What had he heard? Obviously her last comment or he wouldn’t have referred to it when he’d pressed his mouth to her ear just a moment ago.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Constance. Who were you talking to?”
“No one,” she lied. Telling him the truth would only make matters worse.
“You, my lady, are a liar,” he ground out harshly.
“I wasn’t talking to Standish,” she snapped. “I have no idea where the man is, nor do I care.”
“I heard a man’s voice, Constance. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I know he was here.”
“No, that’s not possible.” She stared at him in shock. How could he have heard Nigel? He couldn’t have.
As he stepped toward her, she shrank back at the fury on his face. His hands clamped on her upper arms to hold her in place. Something about his demeanor said he’d reached the edge of his patience.