by Rebecca King
She immediately thought of Rupert, and his sudden appearance the previous morning. She had been certain he hadn’t been in the cottage – for some odd reason, he had decided to climb through the window, rather than use the door. Was it Rupert trying to gain access again?
If so, why?
What was he after?
A small voice warned her that none of the Star Elite would want to scare her in such a way, and may already have been diverted by events elsewhere that she wasn’t aware of.
That meant she was on her own.
She fought to quell her panic. The memory of being held down while cruel fingers tried to strangle the life out of her rose to the fore, bringing with it all the fear and horror she had felt at the time. Was the same person returning to finish what they had started?
She didn’t know, but she couldn’t wait for them to gain entrance. She couldn’t simply sit there and do nothing. Unfortunately she had no idea where Hugo or any of the Star Elite were. They could be at the Manor, or they could be out and about investigating the spy smugglers. That left only one person she could turn to – Simon.
Silently making her way to the kitchen, she pulled the box off the dresser and lifted the lid. The weight of the gun was strangely reassuring in her hand as she tested its weight for a moment. She wasn’t sure she could use it, but if not using it meant the person outside killing her, then she would be left with no choice. Although touching the cold metal made her shudder with distaste, she tucked it in the depths of her cloak, carefully making her way back into her bedroom. Sure enough, the scratching continued; unless she was mistaken, it was louder than before. Were they close to breaking through? To know for certain, she would need to fold back the shutters, and she had no intention of doing that.
Satisfied that the intruder was busy, she quickly moved through the cottage to the back door. Her heart hammered in her ears as she slowly slid the bolt back and lifted the metal latch. The door opened as little as possible; only enough to allow her to squeeze through. With the gun held tightly in one sweaty palm, she slowly dropped the latch and studied the garden. If the person was at the front of the cottage trying to gain access to her bedroom, she would be safer heading to the left of the garden. As long as she was quiet, she could disappear through the hedge and make her way to the Manor, and Simon, without being seen.
She felt sick as she broke away from the solid reassurance of the cottage and, although she wasn’t a worshipper, sent a silent prayer that she would get through the night alive. She scurried across the garden. There was no way of knowing if she was making too much noise, and half expected the sound of running feet behind her. At the hedge she paused. A quick glance behind her, gun held in readiness, confirmed that nobody was following. There was enough moonlight to cast some shadow on the gardens around her, but they weren’t deep enough to hide anyone. She was alone, thankfully, and so far undetected.
Easing through a gap in the hedge without making it rustle too much was difficult. She pushed her way through anyway, convinced that she would be heard and the intruder would give chase. Mentally plotting which way she needed to run to get to safety, she paused and waited but again. There was nothing except the heavy pounding of her heart.
Shaking her head, she stuck to the hedgerow as Archie had done earlier, and began to walk as swiftly as she could toward the Manor, without breaking into a run. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Everything within her screamed to run; take flight and not stop for anything or anyone. But she didn’t want to make a noise and alert the intruder that she was outside. At the moment, as far as she was aware, she had the advantage. She couldn’t afford to lose it. Failure would mean death and, despite her broken heart, she wasn’t ready to die just yet.
Lengthening her stride as much as she dared, she half-walked, half-ran toward the Manor, quickening her pace the further she got away from her home. She was oblivious to the cold night air stinging her cheeks, and almost dropped the gun when she realised she was still holding it tightly. How she didn’t shoot herself, she would never know, and she carefully tucked the heavy object back in to her cloak out of the way.
Half an hour later, the looming bulk of the Manor became visible through the trees. She had to pass through the woods to get there; something she hated the thought of. Maybe she had spent too much time with the Star Elite, but the trees provided someone with far too much shelter to hide and pose a danger to her. Still, she had no choice: if she wanted to get to the Manor, and safety, she had to go through them. She could only hope that one of the Star Elite was on watch in the trees, and would notice she was here.
Deliberately she had kept her hood down, so any of the Star Elite would know it was her. It was bad enough evading an unknown assailant, but what she had seen of the men from the Star Elite in daytime had unnerved her, and she had no intention of coming across any of them in the middle of the night.
She breathed a huge sigh of relief when the looming bulk of the Manor appeared before her, and she quickened her pace in eagerness to get her ordeal over with now that her goal was in sight. She considered knocking on the front door of the Manor, but the house was only partially lit. Her entrance would cause a rumpus and, undoubtedly, notify Romilla of her presence. The last thing she needed was to face her spiteful stepsister’s scorn tonight.
Should she just walk straight in? Nearly everyone in the area, herself included prior to Hugo’s arrival, never bothered locking their doors. Most didn’t have anything worth stealing. Such was the community spirit that people didn’t feel the need to lock their possessions away. Harriett had no doubt the Manor’s doors would be unlocked, despite the risk of the spy smugglers and an attempted murderer: servants would be milling around practically constantly, both inside and outside of the house. Harriett could, tonight, walk straight in. Would anyone recognise her if she did? Or would her unannounced entrance in the kitchen also cause a kerfuffle that would wake the entire household?
Straightening her shoulders, she made her way to the rear of the house. On this occasion, Romilla had to be the least of her problems. While someone was prepared to try anything to take the life from her body, she could certainly handle Romilla’s spiteful put-downs. She had to. The alternatives were to remain outside all night, or return to her cottage and the person trying to break in.
Easing open the door, she slipped into the warm kitchens of the Manor and almost wept with relief. She had never been inside, and didn’t know where she should go. The faint glow beneath the door on the opposite side of the room drew her attention.
Carefully, she tip-toed across the kitchen. She should be shouting out for anyone, but was loath to tell Romilla she was there, at least until she had found her father and explained to him what had happened. If only she could find him.
Easing open the door, she blinked several times, pausing while her eyes adjusted to the light. Tinkling laughter echoed from the far reaches of the house, making Harriett shudder with distaste. Romilla. She wondered if her stepsister was laughing with Simon, and fervently hoped not. It meant that she would either have to interrupt them, and explain her unannounced arrival to them both, or she would have to hide until Romilla went to bed and attempt to catch her father before he retired. A surge of unfamiliar jealousy swept through her at the thought of Romilla laughing with Simon.
It was all such a mess that she began to wonder if she would have been better just taking her chances in her cottage.
She was about to turn around when a gentle cough in her ear made her gasp and spin around in shock. Her wide eyes flew to the man standing directly behind her, and she sagged with relief when she recognised her father.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, reaching out to him. Immediately, the warm reassurance of her father’s arms swept around her, steadying her rocking world. She took a moment to lean against his solid warmth and gather her shattered wits about her. The ready acceptance she found in his arms humbled her, and she began to wonder why she had spent so much of the past
few years keeping a wary distance from him.
“I’m sorry,” she began, unsure where to start. She wasn’t sure if she was apologising for appearing unannounced, or the awkwardness of the past.
“Come on, this way,” Simon whispered, tugging her into a darkened corridor. They emerged in his office, where he sat her beside the fireplace before he poured her a brandy and pressed it into her hand.
“Drink this. You look as though you need it,” he murmured softly, eyeing her pale and trembling features in concern. “When you have stopped trembling, you can tell me what has happened.” He wondered where the men from the Star Elite were, and how she had got to him without being escorted. Surely they hadn’t allowed her to wander over here by herself? He made a mental note to speak to Hugo about it as soon as possible.
He was starting to have doubts about Hugo, and his intentions, not only toward his daughter, but toward the whole investigation. His first impressions of the man had been of a solid, dependable fighter who was true to those he cared about and would fight to the death to protect the ones he loved. Now, he wasn’t so sure the man didn’t only want to feather his own nest with the best options available to him at the time. He could only feel sorry for Harriett, who had clearly been as fooled as he was, and was undoubtedly going to get hurt. His thoughts turned to the couple in the sitting room at the front of the house and he made a pledge that Harriett should never witness what was going on.
“What happened?” he asked several moments later, rising to close the door when another round of laughter echoed through the room. Although Romilla’s screeching voice was loud and easy to hear, there was a deeper baritone underlying the noise that Simon hoped couldn’t be identified as Hugo’s. A quick glance at her as he shut the door confirmed she hadn’t picked up on Hugo’s tones.
First thing in the morning he was going to pack Romilla off to her relations, and get rid of Hugo while he was at it. He didn’t care what Hugo wanted or needed for his investigation; his daughter was now going to take her rightful place at the Manor, and was going to remain there until the investigation was over and the Star Elite had gone home – or wherever they were scheduled to go when this was over.
Decision made, he sat on the chair nearest to her and listened intently as she described what had driven her to leave the relative safety of her own home in the middle of the night. Although he was delighted she had turned to him in her hour of need, he was furious that none of the Star Elite had actively protected her as Hugo had promised they would. Where were they?
“You didn’t see, or hear, anyone?” He cursed when Harriett slowly shook her head.
“Look, tomorrow I am going to insist Romilla leaves. She should have gone by now anyway, and has run out of excuses as far as I am concerned. The only thing stopping her leaving is her, and I want her out of my home.” He didn’t mention that he would also be giving Hugo his marching orders.
“If you have finished your drink, I’ll show you up to the guest room beside mine. If you need anything – anything at all - I will be right next door. Just shout and I can be there in a trice.” He rose and waited for Harriett to climb wearily to her feet before escorting her from the room. He hated the fact that they had to sneak up the back staircase like thieves in the night, to escort Harriett to her room without alerting Romilla to her presence. But from the paleness of Harriett’s face, and the trembling the brandy had done little to appease, the last thing she needed was a dose of Romilla’s malice.
He stayed with Harriett only long enough to make sure she had everything she needed. He was pleased that he had already ordered the room to be prepared for Harriett’s arrival. At least now the bed was made, and the room cleaned and highly polished.
Harriett glanced around at the opulent room and was slightly shocked. She had only seen the Manor from outside and wasn’t prepared for the richness of the furnishings that was luxurious, yet quietly understated. It appeared that Simon had maintained the house well, but had not spent unnecessary money lavishly furnishing and decorating the Tudor property, instead allowing the decorative ceilings and wonderfully carved panelling to speak for themselves.
It was simply beautiful.
Her room was wood panelled, with a highly decorated ceiling. Painted white, the ceiling appeared in stark contrast to the darker wood covering the walls. The four-poster bed in the centre of the room looked as old as the house, and was just as ornately carved. The high mattress was plush, furnished with a huge mound of pillows and blankets, and was encased by thick, brocade bed curtains.
“It’s beautiful,” Harriett whispered, a wave of exhaustion creeping over her. She was so tired, so confused and upset that she just wanted to climb into bed, pull the covers up to her ears and forget the world.
“Make yourself at home, Harriett,” Simon murmured, a wealth of meaning in his voice. “I am just in the room next door. If you need anything, come to me. I’m going to secure the house when everyone has gone to bed, and then I will retire for the night. I don’t know about you, but I am ready for a good night’s sleep.”
Harriett nodded and watched him leave, slumping on the edge of the bed as soon as she was alone. She hadn’t wanted to raise the issue with her father, but had seen the quick, worried look he had thrown her when the noise from the front of the house and reached them. She had heard Hugo’s husky laughter, until then not realising that she had only heard him laugh once, and that had been at Jemima and Eliza’s wedding. Around her, he had been nothing but solemn, watchful almost, to the point of being forbidding.
Tears stung her eyes. Swiping them away angrily, she shrugged out of her cloak and toed off her shoes. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, she knew she couldn’t sleep. Fear still teased her senses, refusing to allow her to relax enough to consider giving herself over to sleep again just yet, leaving her to lie down on the bed and stare sightlessly up at the ceiling to contemplate the events of the past day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later, when she thought about it, she would not be able to understand what had driven her to leave the safety of the bedroom and follow the noise. They weren’t being overtly loud, but in the quiet of the rest of the house, the joviality was easy to follow. The hushed tones made it difficult to hear what was being said, but it was enough to put Romilla into gales of tittering laughter, accompanied by Hugo’s husky laugh. Each burst of jocularity pierced Harriett’s heart until she didn’t think she could bear any more.
But like a rabbit staring down the barrel of the hunter’s gun, she knew that she couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t move and had to wait for fate to deal the final blow. She just had to see with her own eyes; if what her ears were telling her was the truth.
She stood in the shadows outside the door to the brightly lit sitting room. She heard Hugo’s voice drop several notches in warning, but couldn’t hear what was being said. Silence had settled; the laughter had stopped. Her heart hammered in her ears, and she wondered if they were about to leave the room.
Moving instinctively to one side, she immediately saw the occupants of the room but nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes.
Romilla was perched on the edge of a small table, her legs on either side of Hugo’s hips as he stood before her. One hand was resting on the desk at Romilla’s hips - she couldn’t see where his other hand was. Her stomach roiled at the sight of Romilla’s moist, and parted lips, whispering to Hugo while her arms wrapped around his neck.
Harriett had seen enough. Turning away, the betrayal burned through her and scarred her very soul. She knew she would never forget the sight she had just witnessed. Her flight was halted by Simon who was standing directly behind her. His eyes were sympathetic as he stood back to allow her to run up the main staircase to return to her bedroom.
By the time she reached her room, sobs trembled through her, demanding escape. Locking the door behind her, she climbed beneath the thick covers of the bed, still fully dressed, and gave in to the heartbreak
that overwhelmed her.
The couple in the room were the recipient’s of Simon’s fury. Romilla was left in no doubt as to the inappropriateness of her wanton behaviour, and was instructed to pack immediately. Although it was the middle of the night, Simon wasn’t prepared to allow such a doxy to remain in his house a moment longer. Rousing his butler, he sent word for the groom to get the carriage ready to take her to Launceston where she could await a post chaise to take her to Hades, as far as he was concerned.
Although he couldn’t stand the woman, Hugo couldn’t allow Simon to cast Romilla out in the middle of the night. The risks to her were too great, and Simon would be held accountable if she was raped or murdered on the way to Launceston.
“Then I suggest you escort your doxy to Launcester, because I am not having her in my house.” Simon wanted to shout and throw things, but was aware of the noise carrying to the heartbroken woman upstairs who had already heard, and seen, more than enough for one night.
“She isn’t my doxy,” Hugo replied patiently, casting a sobbing Romilla a dour look. She would have liked to have been. Indeed in all of his four and thirty years, Hugo had never been propositioned so blatantly before and felt tainted by the overpowering scent of her perfume still clinging to his shirt.
“No wonder you insisted on coming here to conduct your investigation,” Simon spat, making no attempt to hide his contempt for the other man. “Going well, is it?”
Hugo sighed. He could understand the man’s anger. The situation they had been found in had indeed been most compromising. He could only be grateful Simon wasn’t out to protect his stepdaughter’s best interests, or Hugo could have been facing a lifetime of being married to the awful woman.
“We have the investigation in hand, yes.” Hugo replied, glad that Romilla had left for her room. The sweet, cloying perfume she wore had made him start to feel queasy. Although she was pretty to look at from a distance, up close her eyes were hard and calculating. When accompanied by the thin lips and heavily rouged face, you were left with the distinct feeling that you had only met one of the Romillas on offer, and that the real Romilla, the cold and calculating one, would only come out and strike when there was something in it for her.