Yes, like fraying threads of a brilliant tapestry – pull one thread and the others will unravel. “Logan, we must hurry.”
They raced to her room and Logan helped her don a warm garment with a bulky ermine cloak to ward off the early winter chill. He then escorted her downstairs, out the terrace doors before leading her by hand to the garden.
The air was crisp, the night clear. The dark nocturnal veil was beginning to lift, though stars still dotted the vast sky above.
His grasp was strong. “I will not allow you near the same wooded area where I found you. That terrain is far too dangerous.”
Nodding, Arabella inhaled a deep breath. The scent of pines, of decaying earth and dirt assailed her nostrils. She knelt to the ground, heightening the aroma of soil as she ran her hands through the strands of grass carpeting the chilly ground.
Slamming her eyes shut, another flash crossed her mind though this one was muted, the colors not the least bit vivid.
“What do you remember?” Logan asked.
He stood stock-still, though his hand clutched hers. That was his one form of support. Steadfast, he allowed her to be at one with her thoughts.
Several moments passed, surrounded by the howl of the wind as it whipped her hair into her face, the crisp song of rustling leaves swaying, the heady silence that followed when the gust subsided. A lone owl hooted in the distance.
“Arabella?”
“The owl. I heard one like it the night you found me though that isn’t what I am recalling. No, it was dark.” She again studied the sky above them. “The moon was cloaked by ominous clouds. The scent of rain lingered in the air. My damp hair clung to my face and my boots were wet, my heels echoing against the paving lining a long drive. There was a rut and I splashed in a puddle, though I refused to slow.”
Her heart raced with the recollection, as if she were now experiencing it firsthand. Her pace, quick and determined. Though she wore a cloak, her hands and arms were visible. She clutched her reticule so tight that her gloves were stretched beyond reason.
“Are they chasing you?” Logan prompted.
Contemplating his question, Arabella studied their current surroundings. The different shapes of nature shrouded in shadow. Trees, shrubs, mountains and hills. The dark stone of Logan’s Winterthorne.
Dark stone.
Present brought the past to life.
“I am in an alley. I am racing towards something. No, I am racing towards someone. Someone I do not wish to meet. I feel uneasy.”
The murky veil of obscurity was lifting, sights and sounds filling her head, causing her ears to ring as muffled memories flooded her senses. A woman’s terse voice …
“What took you so long?” Though it sounded like Arabella’s voice, it was different. Laced with impatience and a vicious undercurrent, it came from someone else.
“You summoned me in the middle of the night, Sybil. My employer is not pleased. You may have gotten me sacked tonight. Was that your intention or are you truly in trouble, as your note indicated?” Arabella’s response dripped with irritation.
Arabella had met her sister on the night that her life was upturned … the relentless realization battered her brain like waves crashing against the sandy shore.
“Sybil wrote to me stating it was urgent, seeking assistance.” Arabella released Logan’s hand and proceeded to the structure before her, touching the cold stone of Winterthorne with her fingers then flattening her palms against it.
Another flash, of her head hitting a different stone from a different structure.
Where was she?
Though she couldn’t place her locale, Arabella remembered struggling to remain upright as a sharp pain seared her skull. She recalled confusion quickly setting in, remembered studying Sybil’s hands as they reached for hers, as Sybil tugged Arabella’s gloves from her hands with force.
Arabella screamed, but Sybil placed a sticky hand over her sister’s mouth, smothering her voice as a bitter, iron taste caused Arabella to gag.
Her sister’s hands were covered in blood.
Once her sister no longer considered Arabella a threat, she removed her hand.
“My God, Sybil!” Arabella managed in a raspy whisper. “What have you done?”
At the time, her mind had already begun sinking into a gloomy abyss, though she fought unconsciousness for as long as possible.
Sybil laughed as Arabella hit the cobblestone hard, with a loud grunt. Arabella couldn’t move, though she attempted to focus.
Her twin came closer, “It isn’t I who have done something dear sister – ’tis you.” Sybil grabbed Arabella’s arm, clamping the bracelet on her wrist and fumbling with the clasp.
“I shall resume my first role, the only part I have ever truly despised and, though I hate to admit it, this shall be my greatest performance to date. You.”
Arabella had struggled to free her wrist, though Sybil quickly overpowered her.
“I am sorry, dearest sister,” Sybil muttered aloud. “But I must escape. Those who are chasing me will not rest until they have found me. That is where you come in. I shall take what is yours in the hopes that I will survive.”
She had stroked Arabella’s face. Though Arabella attempted to jerk free, her body wouldn’t follow her silent command.
“Rest assured,” Sybil cooed, her tone cloying, causing Arabella to swallow hard against the urge to retch. “I shall turn your drab life into something special. In fact, shall do much more with it than you ever have.”
“Sybil, no—”
Another pain seared Arabella’s skull. It was now throbbing. Sybil rubbed her hands against her twin’s, which were also sticky with blood now. She then pressed a knife into Arabella’s palm.
The transfer seemed complete.
“Goodbye, sister,” the vision of Sybil’s profile blurred as dogs barked in the distance. “I wish I could say I shall miss you…”
Arabella’s heart pounded within her chest, panic rising until she thought she would scream. Her own sister had done this to her. Switched places with her.
Left her to die.
Leaning against the stone wall for support, she tried to steady her emotions, to remind herself that she was here, now, in the present.
Logan placed his firm, hand on her shoulder. “You are safe.”
Safe?
But was she? And for how long?
“Sybil orchestrated this charade, Logan,” her eyes searched his. “She switched places with me, she stole my life. My God, Logan, my sister intentionally placed me in danger.”
Her voice rose an octave. “My sister ensured that I would be hunted for her sins, for her crimes. Her hands were covered in blood. She held that knife. She placed it in my hands, transferred the blood to my hands in an effort to make me appear guilty. Sybil left me to die for her sins.”
Arabella’s eyes darted across the landscape. “Those men will be back for me. I am certain of it. Sybil did something terrible and they will return seeking retribution from the wrong person.”
Arabella clutched her abdomen, her breathing becoming more and more labored.
What had her sister done?
Soothing her back with gentle, circular motions, Logan assured her, “I will keep you safe from harm. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”
How is that possible?
Sybil had been thorough. Too much so.
Shaking her head, Arabella grabbed Logan’s arm in an attempt to steady her rising panic. “Sybil planned this, Logan. We have no idea the intricacies of her plans nor do we comprehend what else she has done, what other crimes she has committed. All I know is that my sister has stolen my life and conspired against me, scheming so her enemies would pursue me for something I didn’t do!”
Sybil had stolen her twin’s neat, stable life.
With that realization, Arabella had been thrust into a nightmare, a horror tale much like The Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. Her sister had created a monster,
though in her own likeness.
Arabella had unwittingly become that monster.
Hunted by the faceless phantoms from her sister’s past. Cast aside by her creator, left to die. No, to be hunted like an animal, then die.
Mind racing, senses, reeling, Arabella clenched and unclenched her fists. Her sister had handed her over to a pack of wolves. Surely, there had been another solution? Yet, Sybil chose to thrust Arabella in this state of torture.
Logan stood before her, untying the cape at Arabella’s neck. “Breathe. One breath, followed by another.”
Though she inhaled, her breaths were ragged. “God help me, an uncontrollable rage is building within me. I can’t control it.”
“Your sister has that effect on people,” Logan quipped.
Her gaze snapped to his, thrusting her wrist in the air, the silver bauble glimmering in the pale light. “And now I am her. She has taken everything from me.”
Arabella leaned against the fortress behind her. Winterthorne. Sturdy. Menacing. With a history not many fully understood.
Much like Arabella herself.
“I want her to pay,” she managed through clenched teeth, her body beginning to shake from a fury she fought desperately to control. “She must suffer for what she has done.”
Clenching her fists tighter until pain radiated through her knuckles, Arabella continued, “Promise me she won’t get away with this, Logan. Swear to me that Sybil will pay.”
Logan splayed his hands on her hips, “I swear it, Arabella.” His smooth tone was lethal.
Lethal.
The Dowager Viscountess’s description echoed in Arabella’s mind. Yes, it was true. Logan was deadly.
He displayed it in his cadence, now dripping with a violent rage intermingled with a thirst for vengeance, in his hardened eyes now focused on the deed at hand, even with the twitch pulsating frantically within his clenched jaw.
If one was in danger, as Arabella is now, Logan would be the man you would insist be at your side.
This was also the man to aid her with her plan.
She believed Logan, believed in him with all her heart, with her soul, with her very being. They were a unit now, possessing an unbreakable bond.
Stronger together than apart.
Together they must protect each other and they must uncover more of the truth for Arabella knew not why or how, but somehow she suspected that this was just one of many wrongs Sybil had committed against her.
No wonder Logan despised Sybil.
Arabella did, as well.
Fiona sat in a chaise studying her latest and what she referred to as her “most colorful needlepoint to date,” while Arabella roved the shelves lining the walls of Logan’s library.
She read titles, pulling the volumes that sounded familiar and skimming them. Hoping something would ignite another spark of recognition.
Her mind still reeled – how could her own sister betray her? Such treachery on its own is bad enough, but to suffer such machinations by the hands of your own twin …
How could Sybil be so wicked?
Why did she despise Bella so?
More importantly, if she was capable of this, what else could Sybil possibly be capable of? The infinite possibilities caused chills to wrack Arabella’s body.
Logan stood from behind his desk then proceeded towards her, his long panther-like strides barely audible as he joined her.
Placing his hand on the small of her back, he whispered, “Found anything?”
“No,” Arabella grimaced. “Though I now know that you have a penchant for impropriety. What if my chaperone notices your hand on my back?”
“I shall do this without remorse,” he caressed her neck. “Your bruises are healing.”
Arabella nodded. “Yes, too bad my anger is not abating.”
“I know,” Logan embraced her in a most improper way. “What you are feeling is understandable. You have been betrayed by your sister. Most would react in the same way, I assure you.”
Arabella leaned into him, placing her cheek against his vest. “How is it that you can make all of this insanity sound rational? How is it that you comprehend what I am feeling better than I do myself?”
This man did understand her. He didn’t fault her for feeling betrayal, rage, panic, and for her insatiable thirst for vengeance.
“Anyone else would be fleeing in the opposite direction from me,” she laced her hands around his neck, meeting his gaze. “But you … you are placing yourself in harm’s way for me.”
Kissing her forehead, Logan whispered. “I would do anything for you. Besides, I do have a penchant for impropriety and peril.”
“Am I not the fortunate one?” she smiled.
“Yes,” the Dowager Viscountess interrupted their tête-à-tête from her seat near the windows. “I dare say you are both quite fortuitous, for you have a chaperone who isn’t scolding you at this very moment for that kiss and embrace.”
Logan and Arabella’s heads both snapped towards the elder woman.
“I am not blind,” she assured them with perfect annunciation. “What I am, is happy to see Logan so content, however, do not think for one moment that I am opposed to rapping your knuckles with my cane if you attempt anything less than marrying each other after this intrigue is settled.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Logan tipped his head, resting it against Arabella’s. Her blonde curls intoxicated him with her signature scent of lavender and vanilla.
Arabella stifled a giggle. “I promise, my Lady.”
Fiona winked at them.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ambrose,” the footman announced from the doorway. “You have a visitor.”
Logan squeezed Arabella’s hand. “Both of you remain here.” It was his only command as he raced down the hall.
He found his visitor in the parlor, the same room as he previously instructed his footman to direct all visitors, though this particular caller was far from threatening.
“I assured your footman that I wasn’t armed, though he failed to believe me,” Lady Victoria MacAlistair held her hands in the air then twirled, a flourish of indigo satin rustling as she spun in place. “Apparently, he is under the absurd notion that I am hiding something under my skirts.”
Shrugging, Logan kissed the back of her gloved hand. “I shall have a conversation with him.”
“No need. I am formidable and it gives me a respectable amount of satisfaction to learn that he noticed.” Victoria winked at him.
“Indeed,” Logan offered her a smile. “Dare I ask what brings you here? Did Colin send you?”
Colin and Victoria were family. Half-siblings through their father. Most unconventional. She and her husband, Tristan, Colin’s half-brother through the men’s mother, had welcomed Logan into the fold.
Their entire families had. Both branches. What Logan wouldn’t give for a clan like theirs … though complicated, they loved one another and offered unconditional support and protection. Through scandals and misunderstandings.
It never ceased to amaze him.
Victoria peeled her gloves from her long, patrician fingers. “I insisted upon this visit.”
She must have perceived Logan’s confusion for Victoria clarified, “You seek information about Arabella Sutton and her employer.”
“Are you acquainted with her employer?” Logan steeled his shoulders, inhaling a deep breath in the attempt to calm his erratic pulse.
Could this be the lead they sought?
“Why, Logan Ambrose, how you underestimate me,” Victoria slapped her silk gloves against her palm. “You could learn a thing or two from that footman of yours for I am Arabella Sutton’s employer.”
Upon leading Lady Victoria into the library, Fiona’s squeal of excitement was so high-pitched that it caused Logan’s ears to ring.
“Victoria!” The Dowager Viscountess stood, leaning against her cane. “Oh, my darling! I am thrilled to see you!”
Victoria raced to the kind woman, embracing her in an immedia
te hug. “I have missed you, Fiona. As have Tristan and the children.”
“How are Ian and Sophie?” Fiona reached for Victoria’s long, auburn hair with shimmering highlights, brushing it away from her shoulder.
“They are growing so quickly, I can hardly believe it. Much like your granddaughter.” Victoria’s smile was like a ray of sunshine illuminating the room. “We all played together just yesterday. Eve and the children have resided at Kellington Manor with us while Colin has conducted his investigation.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for keeping them safe,” Fiona patted the young woman’s cheek.
A glint of understanding emanated from Victoria’s azure eyes. “Always.” She turned towards Arabella, offering her a sweet smile. One clearly meant to place her at ease. “Hello. Pray, forgive me for interrupting your afternoon.”
Arabella held a thick, leather-bound volume in her hand. “There is no need to ask for my forgiveness. This is Logan’s home and I take it that you are … well acquainted.” Tilting her head to the side, she studied the scene with a quizzical expression.
“I shall allow Lady Victoria to explain,” Logan interjected. After all he had learned in the parlor, it seemed like the most logical course of action.
With a bemused smile, Victoria squeezed Fiona’s shoulder. “I have known this fashionable woman since the day I was born.” She paused to smooth the multicolored fur around Fiona’s neck. The elder woman wore a gown resembling a rainbow, with the pattern repeating, until it made one dizzy to study the garment for too long. “Logan, on the other hand, is a dear friend of my half-brother – my husband’s half-brother. They are one and the same, you see. Colin is related to me through my father and Tristan through their mother though there is nothing incestuous, I assure you.”
Logan coughed behind his hand.
“What? Have I offended your demure sensibilities?” Victoria mocked.
A fit of laughter gripped Arabella. She clamped her hand over her mouth before lowering it and placing her hands behind her back. “My apologies. I just … I considered my family to be unconventional. Now I feel slightly less self-conscious about my own twin trying to kill me.”
The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 Page 12