Belong To Me (book 4) (The Fielding Brothers Saga)

by Marie Higgins

  She shot him a glare. “So bored was I, in fact,” she continued, ignoring the suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, “that I went to Allison’s hotel room and tried to enlist her help for an escape.”

  Ian remained silent for a few moments, trying to decide whether anger or hurt ruled his emotions. He knew he’d have to break her down slowly because she’d not forgiven him, but doubt crept into his mind, making him wary. Would he come home from work one day and find her gone? “What did Mrs. Archibald say?”

  Charlotte laughed lightly, dabbing the corner of the linen to her mouth. “She flatly refused to help.” She eyed him harshly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think my friends are conspiring against me.”

  He let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Perhaps they think we are made for each other.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “You are very humorous. I thought I’d convinced them I deserved better than a husband who’d abandoned me right after our wedding.”

  Holding his tongue from biting back in defense, he stroked the lower half of his face. Her words hurt, and although it took courage to admit, he really deserved her anger. “Let me rephrase that,” he said softly. “Perhaps Mrs. Archibald and George think you are the woman for me.”

  “You deserve nothing less than a piranha,” she hissed, quickly lifting the wineglass to her lips again.

  He chuckled at her temper. “Well, then I suppose I’ll just have to prove to you how loving and attentive I can be, won’t I?” He set his napkin on his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “Which brings me to our next subject.” His fingers drummed on the tabletop. “I’ve been invited to a ball tonight, and I’d really like to show off my beautiful wife.”

  Her hands twisted the napkin on the table while a frown marred her face. “Are you asking or commanding?”

  He shrugged. “I’m informing, but if you don’t want to go, I’ll understand.”

  She sighed and her rigid expression eased a bit. “Does that mean I can remain at home?”

  “No, but at least I’ll understand your frame of mind when your fangs sink into my neck at oft times during our evening.”

  “Oh!” She threw her napkin on her plate and jumped away from the table. “I’m just as much a prisoner as I was three years ago when you rescued me from those kidnapers.” She turned and shot out of the room.

  Ian leapt, reaching for her, but wasn’t quick enough. The loud slamming of the door echoed through the house, and left a pain of sadness in his chest. He’d have to work really hard at softening her heart, or the next month would be unbearable.

  * * * *

  Charlotte held her chin erect and pasted on a smile. Her surprisingly attentive husband grasped her elbow as he introduced her to his friends and associates at the ball. She caught a few raised eyebrows and thought she might have heard whispers behind her back, but she knew how to ignore gossip. As Ian pulled her from one couple to the next, she studied his sinfully handsome face and admitted that he actually seemed proud of her.

  Certainly, he knew the art of deceiving.

  Ian had these people wrapped around his little finger. His flowery words charmed and enticed the women, and the stories of his investigations lured the men to hang on his every word. As her gaze skimmed the length of his body, her heart skipped a beat. He looked masculine and refined in his black coat tails and trousers. The white silk shirt ruffled at his neck and wrists, and the silver necktie accented his bronzed skin perfectly.

  Her silver-blue evening gown coordinated perfectly with his attire, making them an exceptionally looking pair. The long elbow-length black gloves accented her black gold necklace and earbobs. She patted the tight twist bun her maid had fixed and her fingers swept along the diamond studs sprinkled throughout her hair.

  When Ian whisked her around on the dance floor, his precise steps and rhythm let her know how expertly he’d been taught. He fit right in with this crowd.

  The moment came when Ian gave permission for other men to take her out on the dance floor, and she inwardly sighed with relief to be away from his overpowering presence. His masculine spice scent hung in the air around her, and it surprised her that most of the men she danced with didn’t come close to comparing with Ian’s alluring sexuality.

  Time away from her husband gave her leave to ask about the mysterious castle and the lord who presided there. It surprised her to think not many people knew about the castle, but of course, the castle was sitting in what they considered farm country. Finally, a charming older gentleman, Lord Marcum, told her the castle had been empty for many years, until about four months ago. The occupant of the castle hadn’t come into town to make his presence known, so not many people knew about him. There was plenty of gossip, but nothing factual.

  Her overactive imagination kicked into high gear, and she decided tomorrow she’d do a little investigating…without Ian’s help.

  The dance ended and her weary legs carried her to the wall as she waited for the butler to bring around a tray of champagne. She scanned the room for her husband, but couldn’t find him in this crowd. Suddenly, his intoxicating scent touched her senses and the warmth shooting through her warned her of his nearness.

  “Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Mrs. Fielding?”

  Her head swung toward Ian. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  His finger stroked her bottom lip. “The frown upon your tempting mouth.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

  “Before we call it a night, will you dance one waltz with me? I’d like to feel you in my arms one more time before we leave.”

  His tender words made her heart leap, yet she silently scolded him. She found it harder and harder to fight her own battle of personal restraint. She placed her hand in his and he escorted her to the dance floor.

  His unmoving stare held her attention. “I heard you’ve been asking about the castle,” he began.

  She gasped softly. “Um...yes. I overheard mention of an old castle that’s located on the outskirts of town and my curious mind couldn’t help but wonder.” She paused. “Do you know anything about it?”

  He grinned. “What sort of things do you want to know, my sweet lady?”

  Excitement made her breathing accelerate. “Well, I’ve heard it’s been empty for many years and that nobody has seen the owner.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you know who lives there?”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Why the sudden interest?”

  She laughed lightly. “You certainly don’t know me very well. I just love a good mystery.”

  He laughed as his arm tightened around her waist. “Ah yes…the story of your missing slippers and the puppy.” He winked. “A man lives in the castle. I’ve talked with him on a few occasions, but he’s very reclusive. I think it’s because of his deformity.”

  “Is he an old man?”

  “No. Probably middle age, maybe slightly younger.”

  “I wonder why he has chosen to live alone?”

  “Like I said, I think it’s because of his deformity.”

  “What does he look like? Is he an ogre?”

  He chuckled. “I would tell you, my dear, but I don’t want to frighten you. I’m aware of a woman’s sensitive nature.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, tosh, Ian. You can tell me.”

  He shrugged. “He’s not a monster, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s a normal man. Brown hair, a beard and mustache, normal physique. You know, an ordinary man if you ask me, except of course, for his face.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “He has some kind of a scar or burn on the left side. It’s somewhat of an oddity because it practically covers up his eye and most of his face.”

  A shiver ran through her. “I wonder how he could receive such a mark?”

  “I don’t have that knowledge.”

  “And the castle, is it really old?”

  “Yes. I think it’s one of the oldest standing bui
ldings around these parts. I could be wrong, but it’s what I’ve heard.”

  She sighed heavily. “That’s amazing.”

  “Yes. Perhaps someday when this man comes out of seclusion, I’ll take you there.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Charlotte smiled. This bit of information would get her through the rest of the evening and pump her full of energy for the morrow when she’d get to work on her own investigation. It made her curious why this man interested Ian. Her husband really didn’t give her any indication of why he was investigating him, but there had to be a reason. Ian even mentioned on the paper she’d read that he thought this mysterious man was perfect. It seemed impossible the only reason Ian would be interested was to find fault with the man.

  As her mind began working, she routed out her plans. She’d visit Ian’s office tomorrow, but wait until he left. Snooping was her only way to get information, and his office and the study at home were the only two places that would hold anything of value. One way or another, she was going to discover important information about the mysterious man who lived in the castle. She’d prove to Ian she was more than just a decoration.

  The next morning, Charlotte pulled herself awake, and through her groggy state, she smelled the fragrance of a rose as it caressed her cheek. Ian loomed over her on the bed, just as he’d done the morning before. Because of their late night, she wasn’t ready to rise, so turned away and rolled toward the wall.

  “Charlotte, my dear, wake up.”

  She groaned with resistance and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

  He chuckled, and then the bed moved as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, I’ve got to go to work.”

  She let out a few more grumbles of protest. His fingers moved her chin toward him, and his lips nestled hers. He’d kissed her just as he’d done yesterday morning.

  “Charlotte, I’m going out of town this afternoon and I won’t be back until late tonight. If you need anything, let my butler know.”

  Although she kept her eyes closed, this information brought her mind alert. She waited until Ian left the room then sat up and listened for him to leave the house. When the clip clop of the horse’s hooves echoed down the street, she swung her legs off the bed. She shrugged into her wrapper as she snuck into Ian’s bedroom.

  His scent lingered in the air, making her feel warm all over. She pushed away the feeling and moved to his closets, searching through pockets on his trousers and jackets. When she came up empty, she looked through dresser drawers, trying to find any papers with his handwriting, but once again, discovered nothing.

  She left the room and padded down the stairs, hoping the servants wouldn’t hear. She didn’t want to explain why she was sneaking around. Entering his study was easier than she thought, and she closed the door softly behind her. She searched through the files on the desk first, reading each paper or receipt that she could find. After about an hour of going through his desk, Charlotte sighed with disappointment. She’d come up empty. The last place to go was his office, but she’d have to wait until he and his secretary were gone.

  She returned upstairs to her room and dressed in one of her more modest dresses. The yellow cream-colored frock clung nicely to her, and the short waist jacket accented her slender hips. The high neck collar didn’t show any hint of skin, and the long straight sleeves hugged her arms down to her wrists. The straight skirt dragged behind a small train. A matching bonnet completed her ensemble. By the stares and glances from the people on the streets as she rode the buggy into town, she knew she’d dressed well today.

  When she entered her husband’s office, a mousy looking man sat at the first desk. He quickly scrambled to rise. This must be Ian’s secretary. What had he called him…Mr. Stout? She didn’t have time to think up an excuse for being there before the man took off his hat and bowed.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hello. I’m Mr. Fielding’s wife.”

  He nodded. “Mr. Fielding spoke of you. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ewan Stout.”

  When he reached a hand out in greeting, she shook it once before releasing him. “Nice to meet you, also.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fielding, but your husband has traveled to the next town over to get some supplies. He won’t be back in his office at all today.”

  “Thank you. I suppose I’ll just have to go shopping without him.”

  “Do you need money?”

  “Oh, no.” She smiled. “As I’ve discovered before, all I need to do is say my husband’s name and most of the shop’s clerks fall at my feet.”

  The man laughed. “Yes. Fielding is certainly a well-respected man around here.”

  “Well, I’ll be going. Have a pleasant day, and I hope to see you soon.”

  She exited the building and made her way through the crowd to her vehicle parked across the street. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to wait too long before Mr. Stout left. This morning’s warm sun beat down upon her, making her uncomfortable at times. An hour later, the man finally walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. She glanced down at her pocket timepiece. It was the same time of day as yesterday when she’d been there. As proper as she could, she hurried across the street to his office and tested the door. When the door opened, relief poured through her. Quickly she entered and rushed to her husband’s office. The first place she looked was on his desk. Most of the papers she’d seen yesterday were here, except for the lone article that had captured her curiosity.

  Her gaze skimmed through the papers again, but it wasn’t there. Irritated, she slumped in Ian’s chair and exhaled deeply. She moved her gaze around the room and noticed a small filing drawer she hadn’t seen yesterday. Her hopes lifted as she crouched and pulled out the drawers. There were files with some of Ian’s clients, so she scanned through the names in hopes of finding something about the castle. Luck was on her side again, and the file was named plain and simple—Castle. She opened the file and found another paper. It was dated today.

  I’ve found fault with Lord Thatcher. It’s rather comical, yet I shouldn’t be the one to point out the bad in people. But the man knows something that’s vital to this mystery, yet he won’t relent. He knows of my interest, but he says nothing. He’s like a dark closet with many ghosts.

  A smile touched her lips as refreshing energy soared through her body, and the mystery was more than she could stand. So many questions ran rapid through her mind. What kind of ghosts did this man have in his closet? Is that what her husband was searching for? And why would Ian want to know? More importantly, what was the connection between Ian Fielding and Lord Thatcher?

  She put away the file and left the office before the secretary came back. She decided to go to the castle and do a little snooping. It was time she met the mystery man as Ian’s wife. Ian gave the impression he knew this man well, so the deformed lord would indeed accept her into his house, she just knew it.

  Chapter Seven

  Lord Thatcher shielded his eyes with his hand as he glanced up at the sun, calculating the time. He hadn’t even been outside for two hours and already he was eager to return indoors. Today’s heat practically seared his clothes to his body.

  Looking upon the acres of unkempt land, he sighed and swiped his fingers through his hair. What was he going to do about this hellhole? How was he going to keep it up? Servants were definitely necessary, but right now, he didn’t know if he had the funds to provide for them. It was bad enough he’d been slaving away for months already trying to make the rooms halfway livable.

  He kicked his boot in the dirt. He definitely needed to hire grounds men, but his primary concern was to purchase some tall iron gates to keep out all of the curious onlookers who came to peek at the castle and its new lord. Rumors had been circling the city about a new lord occupying Bath’s haunted house, and although he wanted to put a stop to it, he didn’t think going into town would do it.

  For fifty years, he’d been the only person sane enough to
live in this castle. That was too long to go without servants, no matter how ridiculous the notion of ghosts. In fact, the only good thing about this castle was the inspiration the atmosphere gave him to write a mystery novel. Ghosts and old castles ignited his creative mind. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but if his investments paid off, he’d be one of the richest men in Bath in a couple of months. If not...well, he didn’t want to think about it.

  He picked out a few yard tools from the utility shed needed to get the front yard in order. There were other things to be done also, but at least this would get him started on making his home presentable.

  After about an hour, the hot sun nearly baked his clothes on his body and suffocated him. He put aside the hoe, yanked off his shirt and set it aside. He surveyed the premises for inquisitive peepers, but thankfully, nobody was about. With a chuckle, he thought about the ghosts that kept most people away. He could probably work out here in nothing but the skin God gave him and still not be noticed.

  He grasped the hoe in his gloved hands and pounded it into the dry earth, preparing the ground for seed. Time seemed to pass remarkably fast as his labored breathing and birds in the trees kept him company. Then another sound pulled his attention away from the dirt.

  Wheels from a buggy crunched on the gravel nearby and he snapped his head toward the sound to his unwelcome visitor. The sun glared in his eyes, but as the buggy grew closer, it blocked the sun’s brightness. When he focused on the intruder in the vehicle, he blinked, certain his eyes were deceiving him. A woman was driving the buggy?

  He rubbed the sweat away from his eyes, but when he focused again, there sat a vision in gold staring at him. He waited for her to scream at his deformity, to turn her horse and head back the way she came. But she didn’t. Brave woman.

  For the sake of propriety, he quickly spun around and grabbed his shirt to hide his naked chest. When he turned, she stopped the vehicle and smiled. It struck him funny to see such a reaction when he was used to women fainting when they first looked upon him. But the lady didn’t even flinch. Certainly out of the ordinary.