“Francesca,” he growled, placing one final kiss on her stunned lips before releasing her so abruptly that she wobbled on shaky legs. At the door he paused and turned back to glare at her, as though silently blaming her for what had just happened. “Don’t open your door again in the middle of the night, whatever you may think you hear out in the corridor,” he ordered, stomping out and slamming the door behind him.
Once in the corridor he waited long enough to hear the quiet click of the lock turning before returning to his own room. As was his habit, he checked the wardrobe and under the bed before climbing between the sheets, his body hard and aching with being denied the one thing he really wanted. Tucking his hands behind his head he stared blankly up at the ceiling and wondered what the future held for either of them.
He knew what he would like to happen to Francesca. She should be happily married to a man who would appreciate the beautiful gift life had awarded him, and spend his days adoring her, providing for her and spending as much time as humanly possible making her happy. The knowledge that that incredibly lucky man wouldn’t be him created an ache deep within his chest that made him want to roar out his fury at the unfairness of it. He tried to find peace with the thought that at least one of them would be happy, but couldn’t find it within him to be that generous. Not where Francesca was concerned.
He turned over and stared blankly out over the empty moor outside his bedroom window. One thing he did know was that he had to leave Much Hampton soon. The kiss they had shared minutes ago had held a fiery passion that shook him and he had been far too close to losing complete control for the first time in his life. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to leave her ruined.
It made the need to find out who owned the house in the village and why the villagers were scared of them even more urgent, and not just because the lives of the men from the Star Elite were at risk.
CHAPTER NINE
The following morning, life changed considerably for everyone living at Thistledown Manor. Francesca arrived in the kitchen to learn from an unusually uncooperative Madeline that Bertie and Simon had already left for Launceston and wouldn’t be back until tea-time. After several futile attempts at conversation, Francesca gave up and retreated to the morning room to resume her inventory of the furniture and ornaments.
Over the past several days she and Madeline had worked their way through almost the entire lower floor of the vast mansion, the morning room and the sitting room being the last two rooms needing to be done. Collecting her rolls of parchment from the bureau, Francesca dipped her quill, aware that the task would take twice as long if she had to do it herself. But even so, she didn’t feel that she wanted Madeline’s company, especially if she was still put out with Francesca for her behaviour toward Mr Lindsay and his threats. It almost felt to Francesca that Madeline was on Mr Lindsay’s side, and that left her to wonder if her companion had any previous association with the stranger. She couldn’t ignore the fact that with each day that passed, she was beginning to realise just how little she really knew her friend. Could she really consider Madeline her confidant now? She wasn’t sure, but did know that if Madeline was innocent of anything to do with the strange goings on in Much Hampton, and realised that Francesca had suspected her of being duplicitous, it would irrevocably damage what was left of their relationship. If Madeline left Thistledown, Francesca wouldn’t be able to stay either, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.
Thistledown had become her home. Despite its desolate location and pathetic state of abandonment, it held many happy memories. The time she had spent here with her uncle was precious to her. Although she had lost her uncle, by staying at the house she felt as though she kept a part of him alive and with her. He had been the only person she had ever felt was true family. He had never sought to denigrate her, and always seemed to embrace her foibles and eccentricities. They had shared many interests and had spent hours talking about them, often arguing affectionately over issues they couldn’t agree on, arguing affectionately with a lot of teasing and laughter. The thought of leaving the precious memories behind tore her apart.
Tears stung her eyes. She wanted desperately to lay her head down on the table and cry her eyes out. In addition to her fears over her uncertain future, she now had to face the added confusion of Simon’s kiss last night.
She had no idea why he had sought to return to her room and kiss her so desperately, but the passion that had flared between them had shaken her. She couldn’t quite make her mind up if she was angry with him or not for leaving her just as abruptly.
Steadily ignoring the persistent thump of pans accompanied by the clatter of plates and tinkle of cutlery emanating from the kitchen, Francesca turned her attention to the papers on her desk. She felt a growing urgency to get the inventory completed and sent off to her solicitors at the earliest opportunity.
Sometime during the morning the loud slamming of the kitchen door made her jump. Throwing her quill down on the parchment in disgust, Francesca pushed away from the desk. While she could accept that she had been rude to Mr Lindsay last night, it really wasn’t Madeline’s place to be so angry about her rudeness. After all, it wasn’t as though Madeline owned Thistledown Manor. Determined to have it out with her companion once and for all, she marched into the kitchen only to find it empty.
“Madeline?” she called, checking the sitting room before peering out of the window. She caught the flurry of movement over near the well and watched as Madeline began to raise the bucket. Shaking her head, she poured herself a drink and headed back to her work. Silence settled around her, only broken by the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantel.
At some point during the afternoon she must have fallen asleep because she awoke hours later with her head resting on the parchment she had been writing on. The first thing that drew her attention was the absolute silence within the house. Frowning, she yawned and listened for the familiar banging of pots and pans as Madeline moved around the kitchen. Pushing out of her chair, she glanced out of the window and gasped at the darkness outside. A jagged slash of lightening shot through the air, making her jump. Although she expected the loud rumble of thunder that followed, the ominous sound made her shudder.
Something wasn’t right.
Picking a blanket off the back of a chaise, she drew it around her shoulders and went to the kitchens. It was as empty and lifeless as it had been the last time she checked it. She moved to the fireplace and frowned at the empty spot where the bucket of water was usually kept. Had Madeline not returned from the well?
She moved to the window, wondering where Bertie and Simon were, and why they hadn’t returned from Launceston already. A shiver of fear settled deep in her belly at the thought that she might have to spend the night in the house alone. Puffing out her cheeks, she studied the ominous clouds gathering in the skies above, blocking out all sign of daylight. The clock above the fireplace assured her that it was past four o’clock and, although dusk had started to descend, it was far darker outside because of the approaching storm.
Where was Madeline? Francesca searched the sitting room and kitchen for any sign of a note but couldn’t find anything. A quick check of Madeline’s room revealed a neatly made bed, and tidy dresser, but no Madeline. Frowning, Francesca moved toward the window. Madeline’s room overlooked the rear of the house, including the stable yard but because of the poor light outside, it was impossible to see anything. When another shard of lightening lit the sky, she quickly drew the curtains and turned toward the room. A thought popped into her head and she stole a guilty look at the door.
Could she do it? Should she? By searching Madeline’s room while she wasn’t there, she was all but confirming that she didn’t trust her companion. But this was the perfect opportunity to uncover some of Madeline’s secrets. If there was anything, any old letters, or personal items that gave Francesca some idea of what her friend was so desperately trying to keep hidden, surely she owed it to herself, and her uncle’
s memory, as well as Simon and Bertie to find out what they were? She knew Simon wouldn’t miss the opportunity, but could she?
Guilt stole through her as she opened the top drawer of one of the two items of furniture in the room. Although Francesca had pleaded with her friend to take one of the more opulent guest rooms, Madeline had insisted on living in the less furnished room in the far corner of the first floor. It contained a single utilitarian bed, a chest of drawers and a small chair that had been repaired so many times, it was only luck holding it together.
She felt like she was committing some sort of crime as she rifled through Madeline’s familiar clothes. Skirts, petticoats and undergarments were all very well worn, if somewhat shabby. One or two outer dressers were of an old fashion and had clearly been worn hundreds of times. Francesca had insisted on paying her friend as a companion and had furnished her with higher than average recompense. It had taken many hours of arguing for Francesca to persuade Madeline to accept the reward for having to live so far away from society and all of the luxuries it offered. So why wasn’t any of it being spent of purchasing better clothing? Was Madeline saving up for something?
Francesca frowned and continued to search the rest of the drawers, perturbed when she found nothing of a personal nature in any of Madeline’s belongings. It was as though she had no previous life. Well, none that she wanted to remember anyway, Francesca thought. But why? At some point over the course of her life she would have been given things; little trinkets and the like that she wanted to keep, so where were they? She didn’t appear to have even kept the letters Francesca had sent her.
Shaking her head in consternation, Francesca quickly closed the drawer and rose to her knees. She was so deep in thought as she wandered back through the corridors that at first she wasn’t aware of the soft thumps coming from her bedroom. Until particularly loud thump drew her attention. Her heart hammered alarmingly in her throat. Thinking it was Madeline, she moved to the doorway and gasped at the sight of a stranger searching through her drawers.
Her soft gasp drew the man’s attention and he spun around to stare at her with such malice that Francesca immediately felt sick with fear. She didn’t stop to think, merely spun on her heel and ran as fast as her feet could carry her, down the stairs and through the hall toward the back of the house. She could hear the thumping of heavy boots behind her, but daren’t slow her pace to look behind her. She was running so fast that she pushed the door to the kitchen open with such force that it slammed back against the dresser and hit her side as she flew through the doorway. It was enough to send her careering off balance, landing over the table with a painful thud.
Gasping against the pain in her hip, she lunged for the back door, wrenching it open with all of her might, slamming it loudly behind her. Blinded by the darkness outside, she ran forward driven by fear and the raging storm. Within seconds of being outside she was soaked from head to toe, but was oblivious to everything but the need to escape.
She screamed when she slammed into a solid wall of masculine flesh.
“What the –”
She began to wriggle and squirm against the firm hands that were holding her steady. “Let me go,” she pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes as panic held her in its firm grip. “Please, I’ve done you no harm.”
“Calm down, miss,” the richly masculine voice ordered from above. She sucked in a sob and glanced upward at the same time that the firm hold was immediately loosened. The sudden move made her stumble backward. She was about to run for her life when another pair of arms swept around her only this time, the voice above her was achingly familiar.
“What is it, Francesca? What’s happened?”
Francesca stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Someone is in my room, upstairs. A strange man.” She was aware of a sudden flurry of movement behind her and watched in amazement as another stranger burst through the kitchen door and disappeared into the house at the same time as the first man ran around the corner of the house toward the abandoned wing.
“It’s alright, darling, they are with me,” Simon murmured, savouring the feel of her warmth against him.
At her blank look, Bertie sidled closer. “They are here to help,” he said calmly, looking at her in concern before switching his gaze toward the house. “Where’s Madeline?”
Francesca began to sob. “I-I don’t know,” she whispered, unsure if anyone heard her.
“Let’s get out of this wind,” Simon suggested gently, realising that he hadn’t warned either Archie or Pie to be careful if they needed to chase anyone across the moors.
Once inside the kitchens, he watched as Bertie immediately moved to light a fire.
“Where’s the bucket?” he said when he went to pour water to put on the fire to boil.
“I saw Madeline at the well earlier, but for some reason she hasn’t come back.” She was too busy wiping her eyes to notice the telling look that passed between Simon and Bertie.
“Lost him,” Pie gasped, returning to the kitchen angrily. “Damned idiot jumped out of the window. Served him right if he broke his blasted neck.” He stopped and stared at Francesca, looking abashed at his free use of bad language. “Erm, sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled, shooting Simon an apologetic look.
Simon squatted down in front of Francesca and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. She looked adorable wrapped in the blanket with her hair hanging in wet abandon over her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the lingering fear in her tear-stained eyes, he would have been more than happy to kiss her into relaxing against him. As it was, he had more pressing matters to contend with, like finding the missing companion.
Rubbing her frozen fingers, he waited patiently for her to calm down. He was about to ask her what had happened that afternoon when Archie reappeared at the kitchen door.
“Nope, sorry. Ran for his life over the moors, but I got a good look at him,” he grinned, rubbing his bruised knuckles.
Simon grinned at him, pleased that someone had sought to teach them a brief and brutal lesson they wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He was still relieved beyond words that Hugo had sought fit to send reinforcements. At least it meant now that Francesca could have the protection she deserved while he went after the smugglers.
“Tell me what happened, Francesca,” he asked softly, ignoring the careful study of his comrades. “From when you first got up this morning.”
“I came downstairs and tried to talk to Madeline but she was in a bad temper and wouldn’t speak to me. I decided to leave her to it and went about finishing the inventory. By late morning she was slamming around in here something awful and I decided to have it out with her. She was clearly angry at the way I had behaved toward Mr Lindsay last night, but by the time I got here she was already at the well and drawing the bucket up so I returned to the inventory. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up a while ago to find the house quiet and empty. I searched the house but she wasn’t here, and I couldn’t see outside. I searched her room, Simon,” she admitted guiltily, glancing down at her feet in misery.
“What did you find?” Simon had not had the opportunity to go through Madeline’s room himself because she rarely left the house. At least Francesca had had the forethought to take the opportunity that was presented to her.
“Nothing,” Francesca sighed with a frown. She lifted her beautiful eyes to his in confusion. “Absolutely nothing. There are no pictures, no letters, no little trinkets ladies usually like to keep to remind them of better times, or those closest to us. Nothing.” She studied the dark frown
that settled over Simon’s face in consternation. “I searched the drawers, everywhere. There is nothing to say she even has a life, let alone one she wants to remember.”
“What happened when you finished the search?”
“I was wondering where everyone had got to, when I heard thumping coming from my bedroom. I thought it was Madeline so went to the doorway only to find that – that man -” she fought to control the fear that
still lingered and shook her head when she couldn’t find the words to describe the emotions that had tumbled through her. “I ran. I just turned and fled. He chased me through the house and, well, you know the rest.”
Simon nodded, studying her pale cheeks, and the worry clearly etched on her delicate features. “I think it would be best if you moved to another room for now,” he suggested softly. “It might help you to sleep better if you don’t have the memory of him invading your space.”
Francesca nodded silently, certain that he was right. “Why are you so late?”
“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Archie declared apologetically, moving forward and bowing almost theatrically before her. “Archie Balfour, ma’am, at your service.”
Simon shook his head ruefully at his friend’s attempt to lighten the sombre atmosphere within the kitchen.
“This here is Pie Masters,” Archie nodded to the tall man beside him.
“P-pie?” Francesca’s brows rose.
“Because I love pies, ma’am,” the big man replied gently. “It’s a nickname.”
Francesca merely nodded and smiled gently at them.
“They are your - ,” she hesitated, trying to find the right word.
“Associates,” Simon finished for her. “They have come to help. The moors are too big, and there are too many people involved in this for me to do this by myself. I need more hands. They will be here to keep watch over the house in case we have any more visitors.”
He chafed her hands again, concerned at the fine trembling he could still feel in her fingers.
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