“It’s too obvious,” Jane argued, putting her hands on her hips. “And besides, she is too old and slow to go tramping about the moors in the dead of night. She’d be liable to turn an ankle!”
“Perhaps you should advise her of the dangers inherent in house haunting,” Raleigh said dryly. He lifted his quizzing glass and leaned forward to gaze at a chipped vase, and Jane sniffed at the annoying affectation.
Vexed at him beyond caution, she turned upon him with a frown of disgust. “I don’t see why you must carry on with that absurd business!”
“Oh,” he muttered, dropping the glass immediately. “Habit, I guess. And fashion,” he said, straightening.
“Must you be such a slave to the latest fad, no matter how ridiculous?”
“Certainly, Jane, it’s part and parcel of being a dandy, y’know,” he drawled.
But his light tone had an edge to it, and Jane could not count him serious. She sniffed in disapproval. “Well, you look positively silly, gaping through the thing, and I hardly think it necessary for admittance to society. I have certainly never seen Wycliffe using one.”
“Wycliffe always had tons of money, address and good looks to his credit. He never needed a quizzing glass,” Raleigh said, surprising her with the sharpness of his retort.
“Nonsense. You have a title, enough money to get you by, and you are far better looking than Wycliffe.”
Raleigh stilled, staring at her with a curious, unreadable look. “Do you think so?”
“Naturally! Despite my spectacles, I am not blind,” Jane answered, in her usual matter-of-fact fashion. But she did not feel matter-of-fact; she felt odd and dizzy. Perhaps she should have denied his appeal, for she certainly did not want to feed his already oversize vanity. Nor did she want him to think her susceptible to it.
But it was too late. As she watched him rather breathlessly, Jane realized Raleigh was getting that lazy look she had seen before, his lashes drifting lower over eyes that focused on her with heady regard. She heard his low hum of interest and then her own soft squeak of dismay as he stepped toward her.
Although Jane knew she ought to flee or at least step back, away from that slumberous gaze, she could not, and suddenly he was there before her, tall and solid and Raleigh. Perhaps she said it, speaking his name aloud in a shaky voice, or perhaps her awareness of him only screamed silently through her brain, sizzling along all her nerve endings until she had to close her eyes against the strength of it.
But even in the ensuing darkness, Jane knew his nearness, his heat, the heady scent of him, and his touch. Inhaling deeply, she felt him lift her chin, and then his mouth was on hers, gentle and insistent, taking first her upper lip and then her lower with deepening pressure as if he were savoring a taste of one of his luscious desserts.
Jane trembled as he lifted his palms to cup her face and pressed kisses to the corners of her mouth and her cheeks. Her heart thundered so loudly she could not discern the words he muttered against her skin, whisper-soft and beguiling. His hands slid down her arms even as his mouth moved down her throat, spreading moist heat in a startling burst of sensation. Light-headed, Jane reached out, grabbing hold of his coat to keep from falling.
“Jane.” He said her name on a sigh, and she gasped as his touch traveled from her waist upward, his thumbs brushing against her breasts with a casual intimacy that roused desires she had never dreamed of possessing. Seized in the grip of them, Jane threw her arms around her husband’s neck and pressed her mouth against his with such fiery urgency that he groaned.
Dizzy from her own boldness, Jane had no idea how his tongue entered her mouth, but suddenly it was there, creating a whole new set of enthralling sensations. And she reveled in them, casting aside a lifetime of restraint without a moment’s hesitation. It was as if she were no longer unattractive Jane, the runt of the litter, but a woman as beautiful and desirable as the man who held her.
Afterward, Jane wondered if she might not have slid to the floor, oblivious to the moldy drapes and filthy surroundings, so eager was she to get closer to the body that warmed her own, but to her everlasting gratitude, further intimacy was forestalled by a bloodcurdling shriek that rang through the chamber like a death knell.
Raleigh loosed her immediately, and Jane blinked up at him wildly, caught in the grip of something so powerful she could not break free. She felt a stranger to herself, for she could not reconcile her recent behavior with any past experiences. But she had no time for embarrassment or remonstration. The screeching continued, accompanied by masculine yells, and when Raleigh turned toward the door, she hurried to follow.
Jane had but stepped over the threshold when she saw one of the new servants, the female member of the farming duo, racing headlong through another room, directly toward them. Her face more crimson than Jane suspected her own to be, the young woman paused to gasp for breath and point behind her.
“A…a giant! Run for your lives!” Having issued that warning, she proceeded to do just that, taking off for the rear of the house with amazing agility.
Adjusting her crooked spectacles, Jane had time only to look once, inquiringly, at her husband, before the girl’s sibling appeared, white-faced and shaking, to aim an accusatory finger at the both of them.
“I stayed the night, I did, even through the crying and clanking, like the bones of lost souls in torment, and the strange goings-on outside when all good people should be sleeping, but I’ll not remain in this hellish place another minute.” He stormed off, a great big strapping farm youth fleeing like a frightened rabbit.
“Oh, dear,” Jane said, for apparently the new servants had been haunted in their cellar rooms as soundly as she and Raleigh had been in the family wing. She knew a moment of fleeting guilt and regret before the girl’s words penetrated her dazed mind.
“A giant?” she echoed in puzzlement, glancing in question at the man beside her.
Raleigh shrugged, but they gamely set off in the direction from which the two had come, and swiftly came upon the other female servant clutching a broom in a threatening pose.
“Oh, my lady!” she said, slowly lowering the makeshift weapon with a look of relief. “I don’t know what to make of it! They both run from there, screaming their heads off about a giant!”
“We’ll just see about that,” Jane said with a sniff that denoted her disapproval of the fleeing siblings. She marched into the chamber in question, Raleigh at her side, only to halt in annoyance when she saw what had frightened the servants. Just inside the vast crowded room, a great gray sheet lay in a pile on the floor, where it apparently had fallen, uncovering what appeared to be a huge human appendage.
“I say, it’s a foot,” Raleigh commented beside her. “And a rather large one, at that.”
Moving closer, Jane saw that the so-called giant was only a piece of broken statuary, perhaps Greek or Roman, for it was similar in form and texture to those highly prized by antiquarians like Wycliffe. She reached out a hand to touch the smooth surface, wondering how Cornelius Holroyd had managed to get the thing into the room. But there was no denying the size of the chamber, filled with other sheet-covered lumps, large and small. Perhaps a statuary collection?
“I have it!” Raleigh said, so suddenly that Jane started before turning toward him. “The Castle of Otranto. Delightful book by Walpole. You remember it, don’t you, Jane?”
For a moment Jane thought he had taken leave of his senses, but then she eyed him with interest. “Of course! A giant was seen in one of the castle rooms, including at one point, if I recall correctly, his foot!”
“Just so!” Raleigh said, obviously pleased with himself. Approaching the piece, he lifted his quizzing glass only to drop it again with an irreverent grin. “Lud, it looks like it might be valuable, though we would have to ask Wycliffe or your sister to know for certain.”
“I told you there might be something worthwhile among all these castoffs,” Jane said.
“So you did,” Raleigh answered, sending her a smile so fraught
with hidden meaning that her cheeks flamed brightly. Confused, Jane was relieved when he turned toward the doorway. “Ah, Mrs. Graves,” he said.
To her surprise, Jane found the housekeeper was standing not far from them, although she had not heard anyone approach. No doubt she had been too intent upon her husband to notice, Jane thought ruefully.
“They have gone,” Mrs. Graves intoned. “As I knew they would.”
“And just how did you know that?” Raleigh asked, lifting his brows in wry question.
“No one stays at Craven Hall.”
“Except you,” Raleigh noted dryly.
“Mrs. Graves,” Jane said, moving between her husband and the servant, “did you hear anything unusual last night that would have…disturbed the new employees?”
The housekeeper shook her head. Then, without another word, she slowly walked away, without pausing to acknowledge the arrival of the other maid, who still had her broom in a fierce grip.
“Peg!” Jane said, ignoring Raleigh’s smug look at the housekeeper’s strange departure. “As you can see, there is no giant, only a piece of rock.” She smiled, trying to make light of the incident, for she did not want to lose this girl, too. “I hope you will not let the foolish antics of the others sway you.”
To Jane’s vast relief, the maid shook her head. “Don’t you worry about me, my lady,” she said, staring after the housekeeper. “I’m not afraid of bullies—be they dead or alive.”
Chapter Twelve
Raleigh watched the remaining servant, Peg, with interest, for it appeared that she felt the same as he did about the odious housekeeper. Unfortunately, he did not have the heart to sack the woman in the face of Jane’s wishes. Although always soft where females were concerned, he suspected that Jane could wrap him around one of her dainty, capable fingers as no one ever had before. He could only be thankful that, knowing her, she would never realize it.
The maid returned to her work just as Antoine scurried toward them, his mustache twitching ferociously. “They have left!” he cried, obviously outraged by the defection of the other two servants. “When I told them we could not spare a coach to carry them, they set off on foot At a run!”
“Contemptible!” Raleigh agreed.
“Babbling like lunatics, they were!” Antoine said. “Cowards! Fools! Idiots! What are we to do now?” he asked, throwing up his hands. “We must have some help.”
“And so we shall,” Raleigh said. However, instead of looking forward to an excuse to escape Craven Hall for the day, he found himself suddenly loath to leave. Certainly there was nothing to keep him here, and yet…He gave his wife a sidelong glance. She was standing stiff and prim at his side, as if she was just as sour as the old housekeeper.
But Raleigh knew differently, and the clandestine manner of that discovery made it twice as intoxicating, for he was the only one privy to this secret. Stifling a groan as he felt the full effects of his knowledge, Raleigh turned back to his valet. “Perhaps you can do better than I,” he suggested. “You take the coach into the village and hire a staff.”
Eagerly accepting the challenge, Antoine nodded. “Very well, my lord. I shall do just that.”
“But…don’t you have to see the solicitor?” Jane asked, anxiety taking her voice up an octave.
With wry question, Raleigh looked at her only to see that the eyes behind her spectacles were flashing with something akin to panic. Grinning at that telltale sign of spirit, Raleigh shrugged. “Though I doubt the man will have returned, Antoine can check the office for me, can’t you?”
The valet nodded once more even as he inched backward, as if he did not want anyone depriving him of his chance to leave the wretched hall, however briefly. “As you wish, of course. Is there anything else I can do for you while I am out, my lord, my lady?”
Jane shook her head numbly, while Raleigh reached toward his elegant, embroidered waistcoat. “Just one more thing,” he said, causing his valet to pause expectantly. Lifting the quizzing glass from where it dangled in his buttonhole, Raleigh handed it to his valet. “For you, Antoine, for all your efforts.”
The valet looked down at the gold and mother-of-pearl glass and glanced up at Raleigh in astonishment. “But, but my lord! This one is your favorite!”
Raleigh shrugged. “It is yours now, and when we return to London, I want you to sell the lot of them. I have decided to set a new fashion.”
“What?” the valet asked, his eyes fairly bulging from his head.
Raleigh grinned. “I’ll think of something.”
Shaking his head, Antoine turned and hurried from the room, as if fearful that whatever lunacy was affecting the staff and his master might infect him, too.
When alone with his wife at last, Raleigh slowly swiveled to face her. He was filled with a curious elation, along with a fierce desire to take up where he had left off with her, and he eyed her expectantly. Unfortunately, one look at her told him that she was not so inclined. Stifling a sigh of disappointment, Raleigh turned his back toward her. “Help me off with this, will you?”
Her squeak of alarm made him smile. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in a high-pitched voice edged with anxiety.
“I’m going to assist you,” he drawled, dragging out the pause, “with this room.” He looked over his shoulder at her startled expression. “You don’t want me to soil my coat, do you?”
She shook her head numbly, and Raleigh leaned closer, seeking his advantage. Her small hands hid a surprising strength he had only just discovered, and the feel of them tugging at his plum superfine made him close his eyes. Lud, he was desperate for small pleasures, wasn’t he?
But now that he knew what awaited him with his not-so-prim wife, Raleigh felt anticipation sizzle through him like an infusion of the finest champagne. He had kissed many females in his day, but in Jane he sensed a well of untapped passion that had knocked his experienced boots off. How, exactly, he was going to mine this unexpected treasure Raleigh was not certain, but he was more than game for the attempt.
Freed from the garment, he turned and watched her hang it with her usual precision upon what looked like mounted deer antlers. However, a telltale flush in her cheeks warmed him considerably. His wife was not indifferent to him, and the news sent delight soaring through him like a fresh wind off the moors.
An hour later, Raleigh still retained his good spirits, despite the fact that he had been sitting on a dusty floor going through piles of hoary old belongings that he normally wouldn’t touch with the tip of an elegant glove. A windswept rain had begun to lash against the windows, making him glad that he had decided to remain indoors, but he could not put down his mood entirely to the weather. As he leaned back against The Foot, he realized, with some astonishment, that he was actually enjoying himself.
How had that happened? Raleigh grinned, for he had only to glance across the floor toward his companion to find the answer. The woman he had always seen as quiet and dull was bursting with enthusiasm. As the afternoon wore on, tiny bubbles of it would escape her, and he was delighted every time it happened. She loved poking around the old crates, finding this and that, showing and sharing them with him, and Raleigh took his pleasure from her company.
But that was not all of it. Although initially reluctant, he was vaguely aghast to find himself becoming interested in his task. The bits of history to be found were curiously compelling, especially when they came across a pack of old letters from his grandfather, imploring Cornelius to “divest” himself of that “ramshackle existence” and return home.
The missives sounded so familiar that Raleigh was hard-pressed not to feel a kinship with the old bugger, though they certainly had little in common except for a scapegrace reputation among their more stolid relatives. Raleigh had barely accumulated enough possessions to fill a room, let alone this rambling wreck.
Tossing the packet aside, Raleigh pulled the next container forward. A crate, it looked deep and dark and especially filthy, and he eyed it dubiousl
y. “You don’t suppose there’s vermin in here, do you?” he asked his wife.
Totally unsympathetic, as usual, Jane looked up from the box she was going through without blinking. “We should ask Charlotte for one of her cats.”
“I doubt if the poor tabbies could handle these giant, chain-rattling Northumberland creatures. Better we get home-bred ones from one of the local farms,” Raleigh remarked dryly, and for a moment, he thought her lips twitched, but then she went back to her business. Sighing, he dived in, only to come out with a vase.
Or rather an urn. To Raleigh’s surprise, it appeared Grecian in origin and oddly familiar. Indeed, it very much resembled a specimen he had seen in Wycliffe’s collection. Wycliffe’s very expensive collection.
“I say, some of these things might be worth some money,” he said, lifting the delicate object for Jane’s perusal. “Doesn’t this look like one of the precious treasures Wycliffe keeps in the gallery at Casterleigh?”
“I told you not to dismiss everything here,” Jane said, and something in her voice made him glance up at her curiously. All afternoon he had noticed the strange shifts in her mood, from oddly wistful to surprisingly defensive when he complained about his great-uncle’s home.
Then suddenly it struck him, with startling clarity. Jane had not only made Craven Hall her new hobby, but she had taken her attachment a step further. Somehow, she identified with the building itself.
Loosing a great sigh, Raleigh set down the vase and leaned back, resting his wrists on his knees. It was ridiculous, and yet, it made a weird kind of sense, considering his bride. The place was a ramshackle mishmash stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Indeed, he thought it appallingly ugly, but Jane saw it as a romantic windswept eccentricity that had been neglected and only needed attention to thrive. Worse yet, Raleigh began to suspect that, to her mind, acceptance of this house, awkward and unlovely as it might be, signified his acceptance of her as his wife.
And so he took a deep breath and tried to see it with her eyes. Looking up at the carved ceiling badly in need of repainting, Raleigh told himself it wasn’t so utterly dreadful. Once he got past his horror of dust and grime, he could consider the basic structure, which was probably sound. Rooms with beamed and plastered ceilings and tiled floors flowed into newer additions of parquet and faded silk, but Raleigh supposed that they could be made to look all of a piece.
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