by Olivia Drake
Nicholas dashed over to the table to eye the dish of sweets.
“No more than one piece,” Annabelle called.
“You may have two,” Lord Simon contradicted her.
“With all due respect, my lord, he’ll make himself ill.”
“Nonsense, I used to sneak more than that when the nanny’s back was turned. Now come,” he said, lowering his voice to a murmur, “I need a word with you. Alone.”
He placed his hand at the small of her back and nudged her toward a private corner of the library. That peculiar melting sensation assailed Annabelle again so that she forgot her momentary pique. She caught a tantalizing whiff of his scent, a blend of leather and spice. The warm pressure of his touch seemed as intimate as a kiss …
No, she must not imagine his lips on hers. Nothing could be more scandalous. Not only was Lord Simon her employer, he had been born with a sterling ancestry, while she could not even put a name to her parents. Rather than spin reckless dreams, she would do well to remember her proper place in the household.
She stepped away and set the folded shawl on the nearest table. Keeping a circumspect distance from him, she murmured, “Dare I hope you’ve news to relate about the gunman, my lord? Has he been apprehended?”
Lord Simon grimaced. “Unfortunately not. The fellow is as much a mystery as ever. I’ve interviewed all the servants and tenants, and none of them have seen anyone suspicious lurking on the hillside.”
“In the kitchen, they said you’d gone into town to ask questions, too.”
“I spent a good deal of time tracking down the various ne’er-do-wells who often drink ale at the Copper Shovel. But I’m convinced none of them have the brains or guts to commit a heist right underneath my nose.” Looking disgruntled, he leaned against a bookshelf and crossed his arms. “I’ve also kept a watchman stationed near the site each night, but to no avail. The villain seems to have gone into hiding.”
“Maybe he’s given up. Maybe he realized he went too far in firing that shot. And now that he knows there will never be a chance to dig for treasure, he’s left the area.”
“I hope not,” Lord Simon said grimly. “That would rob me of the chance to wring his neck for nearly killing you.”
He looked so fierce that Annabelle’s heart constricted. She mustn’t let herself think he cared for her. It was only that he wanted to see justice served.
“What will you do next?” she asked.
“I intend to begin excavating the site. I expect it shouldn’t take more than a fortnight.”
Excited, she took a step toward him. “Do you really think there’s treasure buried there?”
“Why else would the gunman have shot at you? Judging by the coin you discovered, along with what Nicholas picked up, there may be a cache of buried artifacts—or even a tomb.”
“A tomb! With a mummy like the ones in Egypt?”
“One can always hope.” He eyed her with keen interest. “After I resigned my commission last year, I’d intended to travel throughout the Mediterranean countries in search of antiquities. That had long been my passion, to study ancient civilizations. So you see, it would be quite the peculiar twist of fate for me to find such artifacts right here at home.”
Hearing the enthusiasm in his voice, Annabelle realized with a pang just how much he had sacrificed. “You gave up that journey because your brother and sister-in-law had died. And you had become guardian to Nicholas.”
“Yes.” His mouth slanted wryly. “Quite reluctantly, I’ll admit. It was not the plan I’d envisioned for my future.”
Annabelle imagined him on the brink of departure, about to fulfill a lifelong dream, only to be called back to care for the child of the man and woman who had betrayed him. Put in that light, his actions at least became more understandable.
She glanced across the library at Nicholas. Having eaten his cake, he had gone in search of something to read. He knelt on the floor in front of one of the shelves, his head tilted to read the spines of the books.
What a blessing that Lord Simon had overcome his aversion to the boy. For as long as she lived, Annabelle knew she would never forget the joy of seeing him embrace his nephew that day in the nursery. It had made her want to weep with happiness.
“Things do have an odd way of turning out for the best, though, don’t they?” she mused.
“Indeed so.”
The husky note in his voice lured her gaze back to Lord Simon. He stood watching her intently. His black lashes were lowered slightly, his eyes a deep and fathomless gray. Annabelle felt a deep-seated throb of desire. Though she knew little of men and their ways, she felt certain in that moment that he wanted to kiss her. And her imprudent heart reveled in the knowledge.
She reached for her shawl. “I should return to Nicholas now,” she murmured.
Lord Simon’s hand settled warmly over hers, stopping her from leaving. “Not yet. There’s another reason I called you over here. You know about the Samhain ball, don’t you?”
For days, the kitchen had been abuzz with chatter about the upcoming annual event. The castle would be cleaned from top to bottom, the ballroom floor polished for dancing. By long tradition, the aristocratic guests would each bring a contingent of their servants. That way, the staff could take turns attending their own Samhain festivities outside the castle.
“Of late, there has been talk of little else,” she said.
“I would like to invite you to the ball.”
A lurch of longing assailed her. How she would love to be a part of his world, to don an exquisite gown, to know the exhilaration of dancing with him. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord. However, it would be more appropriate for me to attend the servants’ party.”
He smiled as if he’d expected her refusal. His thumb rubbed over her palm, heating her skin and eroding her defenses. “Do come, Annabelle,” he said, her name a caress on his lips. “You know you’d enjoy it. Please, I want you there.”
When he looked at her like that, she could not draw a deep breath, for the swift beating of her heart constricted her lungs. How was it that he had the power to stir her desires against her will? She ached to accept his invitation, yet feared that what he truly wanted was a forbidden liaison. Nothing could be more dangerous to a woman in her position than to succumb to the master’s seduction …
Quick footsteps tapped in the corridor. An instant later, Mrs. Wickett walked into the library. The housekeeper stopped short, her gaze riveted to Annabelle and Lord Simon. The slight narrowing of her dark eyes indicated censure.
Annabelle swallowed a groan. Of all times for Mrs. Wickett to appear! The woman already believed Annabelle wanted to lure Lord Simon into an illicit relationship. How very damning the scene must look with them standing so close together, Lord Simon’s hand on hers.
Mrs. Wickett bobbed a curtsy. “Do pardon me, m’ lord. One of the servants reported hearing a commotion in here.”
Lord Simon straightened up, cool hauteur shuttering his face. “There was a crow flying loose,” he said. “Thankfully, Miss Quinn caught it, and I released it out the window.”
“A crow … inside the house!” The housekeeper looked aghast. “Why, ’tis a portent of death to someone here—”
“Enough,” Lord Simon said rather forcefully, with a glance at Nicholas, who sat cross-legged on the floor with a book in his lap. Lord Simon strode toward the housekeeper, with Annabelle close behind him. Then he addressed Mrs. Wickett in an undertone, “There’ll be no talk of such foolish superstitions. Is that clear?”
A mask of subservience came over the woman’s plain features. “Of course, m’lord.”
“Mrs. Wickett,” Annabelle said, “would you happen to know who shut the door to the library earlier?”
Lord Simon aimed a quizzical frown at her. “Shut the door?”
“When Nicholas and I arrived, the door was closed. I thought perhaps one of the servants had discovered the crow and went to fetch help. But no one ever came.”
&
nbsp; “I heard naught of it,” Mrs. Wickett said doubtfully.
“Then find out,” Lord Simon ordered.
“Aye, m’lord. And I did come to seek ’ee for another reason. There be visitors in the drawin’ room.” The woman slid a chilly look at Annabelle. “’Tis Lady Danville and her daughter, Lady Louisa.”
Chapter 19
Holding Nicholas’s hand, Annabelle paused outside the old cemetery beside St. Geren’s Church. Vines climbed over the low stone fence that enclosed the graveyard, and brilliant colors painted the oak and beech trees. A gust of wind sent a shower of red and gold leaves over the gravestones. Autumn here in Cornwall was much milder than in Yorkshire, yet she was glad to have worn the gray mantlet over her gown.
She glanced down at Nicholas. Carrying a little bouquet hastily gathered in the castle garden, he looked far too sober for a boy of eight. “Dearest,” she said, “it’s quite all right if you wish to change your mind. You don’t have to do this.”
Nicholas lifted his chin with a trace of ducal pride. “I want to leave roses for Mama. They were her favorite.”
Annabelle gave him a commiserating smile. “Then do lead on, Your Grace.”
Unlatching the iron gate, she allowed the boy to precede her into the cemetery. This visit had not been in her plan for the day. She had made arrangements for Nicholas to remain at the castle while she went to shop in Kevernstow on her afternoon off. But he had begged to accompany her, asking if he might visit the gravesite of his parents. The request had tugged at her heartstrings. Apparently no one had brought him here since the day of their funerals nearly a year ago.
Why had she never thought to stop after Sunday services? Perhaps because she’d been too absorbed in watching Lord Simon flirt with Lady Louisa.
Scolding herself for even thinking of the man, Annabelle followed Nicholas down the gravel path. On either side of them stretched rows of tombstones, some mossy with age, others overgrown with brambles. Then there were those that had regular visitors, for the plots were well tended with manicured grass and fresh flowers.
Nicholas headed toward a mausoleum made of pale marble. The grand square building stood in a prominent location shaded by a stand of oaks. Scarlet and gold leaves dusted the large stone angels that flanked the entry with its iron gate.
The boy stopped, glancing up at her. “I don’t want to go inside. Do you think Mama will mind if I put her flowers right here?”
“I’m sure she’d think it the perfect spot.”
As he laid the posy of roses at the foot of one angel, Annabelle found herself blinking away tears. It didn’t seem fair that a child should have to mourn the loss of his mother and father at such a young age. Maybe in a way it had been a blessing that she’d never known her own parents. At least she had no memories to cause her grief.
Kneeling beside the boy, she guided him in saying a few prayers. Then they retraced their path and went out the gate. In an effort to cheer him, she said, “Would you like to stroll along the high street, Your Grace? Perhaps we might find a bakery and buy you a sweet.”
His face brightened. “A chocolate tart?”
She laughed. “I can’t promise, but we’ll see.”
Annabelle also hoped to find a shop that sold dry goods. She needed to purchase fabric suitable for a fine gown, for she had decided to accept Lord Simon’s invitation to the Samhain ball. The thought buoyed her spirits. It would be a shame to avoid the glittering assemblage just because she feared to encourage his attentions.
After all, it wasn’t as if the man would be pursuing her. He would be busy dancing with his harem of ladies from the neighborhood. Annabelle could enjoy the festivities from her place with the older women, and perhaps even dance a time or two with an elderly gentleman who was kind enough to partner the governess. Heaven knew, it might be the only chance in her life to attend such a splendid event.
As she and Nicholas walked past the old stone church with its ancient bell tower, she spied a pair of men talking in the garden outside the rectory. Mr. Bunting and Mr. Tremayne.
Annabelle’s steps faltered, and she regretted her lack of foresight. Had she not been so lost in thought, she could have crossed the cobbled street with Nicholas in an effort to avoid encountering those two. But it was too late now.
Mr. Tremayne lifted his hand in a quick wave. He said something to the vicar. Mr. Bunting swiveled around to glower at Annabelle, his eyes dark in his foxlike face. Then he turned on his heel, his black clerical robes flapping as he disappeared into the rectory.
Not so the assistant curate.
Mr. Tremayne came hurrying down the path, obliging Annabelle to stop. In a blue coat with a maroon waistcoat, his wavy brown hair neatly combed, he looked far too stylish to be an underling cleric in a rural church. “Why, Miss Quinn! And Your Grace! What a rare surprise to see you here in the village.”
Bowing, he caught her gloved hand and brought it to his lips.
His effusive manner made Annabelle uncomfortable, and she smiled politely while withdrawing her fingers. “We were visiting the cemetery. Our coachman is waiting at the Copper Shovel to take us back to the castle.”
Nicholas tugged on her arm. “But Miss Quinn, aren’t we stopping at the bakery?”
Annabelle groaned inwardly. She had hoped to give the impression that they had no time to talk. “Of course, darling.”
“Then I shall accompany you,” Mr. Tremayne declared. “It is only proper that such a pretty lady have a gentleman to escort her.”
Nicholas looked askance at the man. The boy made no comment, however, as he started ahead of them down the narrow lane with its charming collection of houses and shops. A few villagers stopped to smile at him for it was unusual to see the Duke of Kevern in their midst.
Annabelle reluctantly tucked her fingers in the crook of Mr. Tremayne’s proffered arm. Although she’d seen him at church, it was the first time they’d been alone since the party at the castle when Lady Milford had come to visit. On that occasion he had spoken disdainfully of Lady Milford’s bastard birth, and his intolerance had told Annabelle much about his character.
But perhaps she ought not judge him so harshly. Many people held the same prejudice. It would be charitable to give him a second chance. Besides, she didn’t want enmity to spoil such a beautiful autumn afternoon.
“I’m glad for your company,” she said. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve had a chat.”
“Indeed! And so much has happened in the interim.” He placed his hand over hers. “Words cannot express how worried I have been about you, Miss Quinn.”
As they strolled down the street, she frowned at him. “Worried?”
“Everyone in the district has heard about the shooting last week. To think that a scoundrel has been roaming the estate, armed with a weapon, firing at you and the duke! Why, it is not to be borne.”
Annabelle looked ahead at Nicholas, who had stopped to peer into a shop window. That dreadful incident still had the power to make her tremble, though she took care to hide her feelings. “I greatly appreciate your concern. However, I’m sure the fellow is long gone. He wouldn’t linger here for fear of suffering the wrath of the duke’s guardian.”
Mr. Tremayne still looked troubled. “I do hope you are right. Mr. Bunting heard from Lord Simon that there may be buried treasure near the place of the shooting—ancient Celtic artifacts. Is that true?”
Annabelle thought it best to reveal as little as possible. “I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to pose your questions to his lordship.”
“Well! If there is, then the villain may return to steal such rare and costly items. I trust Lord Simon has posted guards at the site?”
“Day and night, so you may relax your mind on that matter.”
As they continued to stroll, Mr. Tremayne cast a sidelong glance at her. His blue eyes were narrowed as if to hide his thoughts—or perhaps it was just a defense against the brightness of the sunlight. “I would venture to say, Miss Quinn, that you are
more precious than any cache of old relics. If there is the slightest possibility that the villain is still lurking about, I wonder that Lord Simon would allow you and the duke to come into town unaccompanied.”
Annabelle felt reluctant to admit that she hadn’t asked Lord Simon’s permission. It simply hadn’t seemed necessary.
Nevertheless, she kept her watchful gaze trained on Nicholas, who had stopped to observe two young boys tossing a ball back and forth in the street. “We’re perfectly safe with the coachman,” she said. “And I’m sure we can depend upon you to protect us here in Kevernstow.”
“Absolutely!” Mr. Tremayne placed his hand over his heart in a rather theatrical gesture. “I am always at your service. Indeed, the moment I heard of the shooting, I came straight to the castle to offer my support to you. But alas, his lordship turned me away.”
Annabelle slowed her steps. “Lord Simon did?”
“Why, yes.” The assistant curate’s smooth features took on a rather hangdog look. “It’s happened on several other occasions, as well. Just yesterday afternoon, in fact. He said you were much too busy with His Grace to entertain a caller.”
Annabelle was dumbstruck. That must have been right after Lord Simon had left them in the library. As to the other times, she spent most days up in the schoolroom with Nicholas, isolated from the rest of the castle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I rather thought that might be the case,” Mr. Tremayne said, patting her gloved hand. “I’m afraid the fellow seems to have taken something of a dislike to me. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but on Sundays he always hurries you and the duke into your coach after church before I can speak more than a word or two to you.”
She had noticed. Since Lord Simon rode his horse to services, he didn’t need to depart straightaway; he stayed to mingle with Lady Louisa and her friends. “I hardly think that’s a reflection on you, Mr. Tremayne. He’s merely a protective guardian to the duke.”
“Ah, but I must respectfully disagree. His antagonism toward me is quite palpable. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to offend him.” The assistant curate paused to give her a rather intent stare. “Or perhaps I can. He is very possessive of you, Miss Quinn. And I believe he views me as … a rival for your affections.”