Swear by Moonlight

by Shirlee Busbee

  A moment later, he lit a candle. Holding it aloft, he glanced at her, a delighted smile curving his handsome mouth at the sight she made in her boy's garb. The gray eyes traveled leisurely down her long, shapely legs, and Thea was not certain whether she was insulted or gratified at the expression gleaming in their depths.

  "You are inventive, I'll grant you that," Patrick finally said, putting down the candle on the nearby table.

  "Thank you," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She looked around, frowning. One thing was instantly obvious; there was no sign of Hirst—alive or dead.

  "There is no body; so is he alive or did you move his body?" she demanded, glaring at Patrick.

  Patrick was frowning as he glanced carefully around the room. "I had no reason to move his body and yes, he was dead. Quite dead." When Thea looked skeptical, he said, "He was lying faceup, right there in front of the desk; the scissors were in his throat."

  Thea felt faintly ill. Glancing away from the spot Patrick indicated, she said, "When I left him, he was lying over there—by the doorway."

  Patrick nodded. "I know. That is how I found him when I first came onto the scene. It was only after I came back down the stairs some time later that I found his body lying in front of the desk. It is apparent, that your brother-in-law must have regained his senses—no doubt while I was upstairs being knocked unconscious. And while I was unconscious, he must have come to and struggled with whoever killed him. That's the only explanation I can come up with."

  Thea regarded him in the faint light of the one candle. "Rather a convenient explanation, isn't it?"

  Patrick smiled, and there was something in his smile that made Thea aware of just how tall and powerful he was... and how very private and isolated they were. He slowly walked toward her, and only by the greatest effort was she able to keep from turning tail and running from the room. Stopping mere inches from her, he tipped up her chin with one finger.

  His eyes holding hers, he said gently, "You really shouldn't antagonize me, my sweet. I am on your side, you know."

  Ruffled and bitterly conscious of the leap of her pulse at his touch, she jerked her head away, and asked crossly, "How do I know that? Why should I trust you?"

  He grinned, a grin that made his eyes dance and was at complete variance with his earlier expression. "Ask yourself this: If you distrust me so much, why are you here alone with me? Why didn't you scream and run for your life the instant I let you go? You can't have it both ways, sweetheart. Either you trust me or you don't." His grin vanished, and turning her face back to him, he asked, "So which is it?"

  "Damn you! I have to trust you—I don't have any choice," Thea said, her dark eyes rebellious.

  Satisfied with her less-than-gracious answer, Patrick let her go, and murmured, "Indeed you don't. Having settled that question, let us turn our minds to what happened here last night—in particular Hirst's body."

  They spent several fruitless minutes searching the room but discovered nothing that gave them any clue or path to follow. Even a close examination of where Hirst's body had last lain revealed no sign of the terrible crime that had been committed. Thea was just as happy. Finding a patch of bloodstained rug was not high on her list of joyful discoveries.

  Flopping down in a decidedly unladylike fashion in one of the chairs near the desk, Thea said dispiritedly, "What I can't figure out is why move his body? What purpose does it serve?"

  Patrick, his hips propped against the edge of the desk, his arms folded over his chest, regarded her with a faint smile. "Well, for one thing, it prevents discovery of the crime by the authorities. It may even be," he concluded, "that his body was moved, hidden to give the murderer time to accomplish some task that Hirst's death would prevent."

  Thea shrugged. "Possibly. Edwina said that Hirst had told her, actually he left a note for her, that he would be gone to the country for a few weeks. She is not the least concerned about his whereabouts."

  "Which might not be a bad thing. Until we know more, it is probably just a well that as few people as possible are asking questions about the whereabouts of Mr. Hirst."

  Thea gave a little shudder. "I don't know if I like us being the only ones, except for the murderer, knowing that he is dead."

  Patrick nodded, his eyes on her expressive face.

  Thea jumped up and took a nervous step around the room. "This is all rather beastly, isn't it?" She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Are you ever going to tell me why you were here last night?"

  "Probably," he answered with a crooked smile. "But, at present, the secret is not mine to tell, so you shall have to control that curiosity of yours for a while longer."

  Thea snorted. "Well, this has all been a waste of time. We've learned nothing—except, of course, that someone has taken his body." She frowned. "Where would they have put it, I wonder?" An idea occurred to her. "Shouldn't we search the house? Perhaps his body is still here, hidden in one of the other rooms."

  "Are you so certain you really want to find a corpse?"

  Thea made a face. "No, but I cannot bear not knowing—as much for Edwina's sake as my own. It is unkind to watch her blithely going on her way, knowing that her whole world has changed." Thea bit her lip. "She may be young and foolish, but she loved him. She will suffer when she knows of his death."

  Patrick pushed away from the desk and walked up to her. Laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, he said, "Isn't it kinder to let her live in her dream world for the time being? Grief will come soon enough."

  Thea shrugged. Looking up at him, she asked, "What do we do now?"

  Patrick sighed. "Your suggestion that we search the house is not a bad one. I think we should make certain that his body is not still in this house." He looked at her. "I suggest that you remain here while I make a quick inspection of the premises."

  Thea shook her head. "No, thank you. I would rather find a corpse with you by my side than stay in this room all by myself." She shuddered. "He was murdered here; I'd rather not remain in this room alone."

  Patrick shrugged.

  Shielding the flame of the candle, he turned and led the way from the room. Thea followed closely behind his tall form, admitting wryly that she felt safe in his presence—and that inexplicably, she trusted him. As you trusted Hawley? taunted a sly voice in her brain. She gave herself an irritated shake. Of course she didn't trust him as blindly, as wholeheartedly, as innocently as she had Hawley! She would have been a fool to do so. She had learned too well from that experience the ways of men, and while all men were not utter cads—the men in her own family were proof of that—many, most, she amended, had to be viewed with a jaundiced eye. So while she did trust Blackburne, it was a wary, watchful trust.

  Lost in her thoughts, she was unaware that Patrick had stopped. She barged into him and had to clutch at him to keep from falling.

  He turned. "Surely, my sweet, if you wish to embrace, it would be much more enjoyable if we faced each other."

  "I certainly don't wish to embrace you!" Thea muttered, flustered by the incident and the mocking smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

  "Hmm, pity," he murmured, and turned away again.

  There was little conversation between them for the next several moments. The upstairs windows were tightly shuttered and so they were able to prowl around the entire upper floor without the worry that the light of the candle would be seen from outside. The search proved disappointing. Except for the room where Patrick had been attacked and one other, all of the other rooms were depressingly empty. They spent a longer time in the two rooms with the ghostly draped furniture, satisfying themselves that the dust covers hid only furniture and not a body. Patrick commented on the fact that the room where he had been attacked did not look any different; the wardrobe door still hanging open, the dust cover lying in the same position on the floor that he remembered.

  Both of them were convinced that there was no reason to search the third floor of the house, but in the interest of thorough
ness, they did so. The rooms were all rather small—and empty.

  While not looking forward to finding a corpse, as they descended the stairs from the second floor, Thea confessed that she was somewhat disappointed with the results of their examination.

  Patrick grinned down at her as she walked by his side. "Well, we haven't surveyed the ground floor. Perhaps, we shall find his body in the kitchen—all nicely laid out in the pantry."

  Thea shot him a look. "Aren't you taking this entire affair a bit lightly?"

  Patrick's expression grew hard. "Not at all," he said in a voice that made Thea glad he had stated that he was on her side.

  Due to concern about their light being seen from outside, they were cautious as they moved around the ground floor. With Patrick's comment in mind, Thea heaved a sigh of relief when the kitchen, the large pantry in particular, revealed no sign of Hirst's body.

  The search of the downstairs took them quite some time. While the upper floors had been virtually empty of furniture, such was not the case with the ground floor. Every room seemed to be stuffed with furniture. Gingerly removing dust cover after dust cover, fearful that at any moment she would find Hirst's body, Hirst's decomposing body, she thought with a lurch of her stomach, Thea was extremely glad when their self-imposed task was completed.

  They returned to the room where the murder had occurred. Seated once more before the desk, Thea said in half-disappointed, half-relieved tones, "Well, we know where his body isn't."

  Regarding his boots as he lounged once more against the desk, Patrick muttered, "I agree—but it doesn't help us very much." He frowned. "Moving the body was a dangerous thing to do. It would seem to me that the smart thing to have done would have been to leave it here to be discovered at will."

  "Except, as you said earlier, there must have been an imperative motive for it to have been taken from here and hidden." A terrible thought occurred to her. "What if we never find his body?"

  Patrick grimaced. "That's a distinct possibility—unfortunately. There is one thing that we can do though—you have to visit your sister and find out exactly where Hirst said he would be staying. Perhaps his stated destination will provide some sort of clue for us."

  It was Thea's turn to grimace. "Edwina is going to wonder why I am so interested in her husband's—." She stopped, not needing Patrick's sudden motion for silence; she had heard the shutting of the front door as clearly as he had.

  They both stood up, looking at each other. Patrick cast a swift glance around the room, his gaze lingering on the elegant three-paneled silk screen in the corner. Grabbing Thea's arm, he blew out the candle, thrusting it into her hands, and whispered, "Hold on to that, will you?"

  The room was now in utter blackness, and not waiting for Thea's answer, he dragged her across the room, crowding with her behind the silk screen. There was little space behind the screen, and Thea's back was jammed against Patrick's solid form, his arms wrapped in front of her, holding her tightly to him.

  "Not a sound," he muttered, as they listened to the steady progression of footsteps heading directly, it seemed, to the room in which they were hiding.

  From the heavy step, it was clear the person was male and knew precisely where he was going. As she listened breathlessly to his advancement, in Thea's mind there was only one question: Was this the person who had murdered Hirst?

  Chapter 7

  At the opening of the door Thea shrank closer to Patrick. Their intimate positions did not bother her at all; she was very grateful for his solid warmth at her back and his strong arms wrapped securely under her breasts. Clutching the snuffed-out candle tightly in her hands, she held her breath, waiting for the person who stood in the doorway to make the next move.

  He stood there for what seemed a long time to Thea, but in reality it was only seconds, then they heard him walk into the room, apparently shutting the door behind him. Even knowing that Patrick was with her, Thea was apprehensive—it could be a murderer standing just inside the room. The suspense was nearly killing Thea, and she almost sighed with relief when a faint light broke the blackness on the other side of the screen. He must have lit one of the candles that had been on the table near the door. From her position behind the screen, she could see a faint wavering light, but there was no way that either one of them could risk revealing their presence by peeking around the screen and seeing who it was that had entered the room.

  From the sounds of his movements, it was obvious that he was familiar with the room. He walked quickly toward the desk... and the Chinese screen that hid Patrick and Thea, but at the last moment, he swerved and it sounded like he was walking toward the row of books that lined the nearby wall.

  Intensely aware of Thea's slim form, particularly the firm buttocks pushed tightly into his lower body, Patrick fought to keep his mind on the matter at hand and not the distinctly erotic sensations her nearness aroused. As much as Thea, he was conscious that the person on the other side of the screen could very well be the man who had murdered Hirst, and more importantly to him, his mother's blackmailer. Manfully ignoring the warm flesh flattened against him, he considered stepping out from behind the screen and confronting the new arrival.

  Several things prevented him from doing so, not the least of these being Thea's presence. He would do nothing to place her in greater danger than she already was, and he had no way of knowing precisely how the mysterious arrival would react to being suddenly confronted. For himself, he was prepared to take the chance, but he could not risk bringing harm to Thea. Yet he could not simply stand there and miss an opportunity to learn something about the person who had entered the room.

  His gaze fell to the narrow crack in the screen where two of the sections met. Dare he look out?

  Thea must have been thinking the same thing, because the thought had hardly crossed his mind when she bent forward and carefully placed her eye to the crack.

  She could see very little, the narrowness of the crack severely limiting her view; except where the candlelight fell the room was in shadowy darkness. Breathlessly she waited, hoping the person holding the candle would come into sight.

  It was frustrating to be able to see so little, but eventually she was rewarded by the sight of a jacket-clad arm. She watched as the owner of the arm fumbled with several books, tossing them aside, some falling to the floor. Reaching into the space he had made, he scrabbled around for a second before giving a satisfied grunt as he brought out a small packet out from its hiding place. Thea could not see what it was he held in his hand, but it seemed to have been the reason for his trip to the house. He turned away, and she caught a glimpse of a broad masculine back as he began to walk toward the door.

  Thea didn't stop to think. The mysterious visitor might be Alfred's murderer; he had obviously returned to retrieve some important article and, having found it, was going to depart. She saw no reason not to confront him, especially not when she knew she had a loaded pistol in her pocket.

  Thrusting the candle into Patrick's astonished grasp, she yanked out her pistol. Darting out from behind the screen, she leveled her weapon at the retreating man, and yelled, "Halt! Stop or I shall shoot!"

  At the sound of her voice, the gentleman stiffened and almost simultaneously blew out the candle he carried. The room was plunged into darkness. Realizing that her actions might have been a trifle precipitous and that in the dark she would have no chance of hitting anything, Thea stifled an unladylike curse.

  There was nothing stifled about the curse that came from Patrick as he lifted her bodily out of his way and rushed past her in the darkness. Thea's ears burned, especially at the decidedly venomous phrase—"interfering goose-brained hoydens."

  The next few seconds were chaotic. The visitor ran from the room with Patrick hard on his heels, Thea gamely bringing up the rear. The trio, one after the other, dashed down the black hallway, their feet hitting the floor with resounding thuds. No one was making any effort to be quiet.

  The chase led to the back part of th
e house, and it was clear to Patrick that his quarry was hoping to reach the tradesmen's entrance near the kitchen. Once there, it would be a simple task to disappear into the alley.

  Heedless of the objects that might be in his path, Patrick increased his speed, nearly overrunning the other man in the dark. Wasting little effort on finesse, he leaped for the man and they both went down in a heap.

  It was an ugly struggle, the intruder fighting savagely to wrest himself free of Patrick, Patrick equally determined to hold on to him. They rolled and twisted; their groans heavy in the air as flying fists connected with solid flesh.

  Thea, following closely behind Patrick in the darkness, fell right into the middle of the tangled masculine mass. She went down with a gasp, the pistol flying from her hand. She had no way of knowing which man was which, but she weighed into the fight with fierce determination. She had to help Patrick.

  The writhing mass fought viciously in the blackness, painful gasps and moans revealing the damage that was being done by flailing fists and well-aimed kicks. After suffering a knee to her chest, a cut lip, and an elbow in her eye, Thea managed to get both arms around the intruder's neck and squeezed for all she was worth. He was much stronger than she had expected and despite her efforts to choke him, he would not stop using his fists against Patrick. Furious and frightened, Thea brought her teeth into play and bit down as hard as she could on his ear. He roared and reared up, almost falling over backward. She hung on like a bulldog and bit down even harder, her slender arms tightening even more around his neck as she used every ounce of her body to throw him completely off-balance.

  It worked, and together they went down in a heap, with the intruder on top of her, her arms still locked around his neck, his weight crushing her into the floor. She heard Patrick scrambling to his feet and releasing her savage hold on the man's ear, she caught her breath enough to cry out joyfully, "I have him! I have him!"