“Your lineage must indeed be ancient,” Georgina said, running long, elegant fingers along the edge of one of a pair of parquetry tables that graced the high-ceilinged stone room.
“Positively decrepit,” Jamie said, feigning a limp. “Like this place. I can’t imagine why my ancestors didn’t tear it down and start over instead of making additions.”
“A sense of history, perhaps,” Emma suggested with a smile.
She was the one who had asked for a tour of the tower. She had actually thought for a moment that Jamie would refuse. She had already been racking her brain for a graceful way to rescind her request when he had acquiesced.
“What’s above?” Georgina asked, pointing to a narrow staircase in the corner.
“The battlements,” Jamie said. “Open to the sky.”
“Then this really was a fortress,” Emma said.
“According to family legend, there was even a siege of Leighton. I assume, stubborn lot that we are, we successfully withstood it.”
“Is it haunted?” Georgina asked, looking around the stone structure as if expecting a specter to appear in their midst.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Jamie said. “Unless, of course, as our honored guests you would prefer that.”
“And what if I should, Mr. Leighton?” Georgie said, smiling in response to his teasing.
“I could probably arrange an artistic moan or two and some clanking of chains for your entertainment.”
“Please don’t bother on my account,” Emma said. “I prefer a more traditional musical evening myself.”
Both Jamie and Georgina had insisted she accompany them on this after-dinner excursion. She had welcomed the chance to see something of the house. Far better than staying downstairs with her brother-in-law or retiring early to her chamber.
Other than the servants and the countess, who had appeared frail but welcoming at dinner, they had seen no one else. She wasn’t sure, and did not wish to ask, whether there would be other guests joining their party. Charles had said it was to be a private visit, but she had never anticipated their numbers would be so few.
Perhaps that was because of their host’s health. They had been told before the evening meal that the earl was indisposed and unable to welcome them personally. Although no other information had been forthcoming, she had at least learned from the conversation that the present holder of the title was not Jamie’s father, as she had believed, but his brother.
“Clanking and moaning sound more interesting to me,” Georgina said, “but then I have just endured an entire season of musicales.”
“Including one very bad Italian soprano,” Jamie said.
“At Lady Eldridge’s. Yes, I had forgotten that,” Georgina answered, laughing.
“I have not. How could I? That’s where I first saw you.”
Georgina had been very open about her determination not to be disappointed if the offer they all expected did not materialize. It was obvious by her quick blush, however, that she was pleased Jamie remembered their first meeting.
What girl would not be? Emma thought. Especially since the compliment had been offered with such obvious sincerity.
As the two gazed into one another’s eyes, she averted her own, pretending to examine the architecture. It was obvious that if this had indeed once been a keep, it had at some point undergone extensive renovations.
Although still connected to the lower and upper stories by spiral stone stairways, the central area of this particular floor, which in medieval times would have been open except for the crosswall, had at some point been divided into rooms. The door to those was firmly closed, but there was light coming from beneath it, where the massive oak did not fit with absolute precision against the hand-hewn stones of the floor.
She glanced back at the couple, who were engaged in laughing conversation about the events of the Season. Feeling for the first time as if she might be superfluous, Emma turned her back on them to cross to one of the windows that looked down on the entryway. That meant the window where she had seen movement must be…
Her eyes again considered the closed door. Perhaps the housekeeper’s rooms? If so, her interest in the arriving guests would have been natural.
These isolated rooms might have been chosen to provide a haven from the normal commotion in a household of this size. Her own Mrs. Hardy might well find such solitude highly attractive at times.
“Shall we go?” Jamie said. “There’s really nothing else of interest up here.”
Startled from her speculation about the tower’s occupant, Emma smiled at him. “I was wondering if those are the housekeeper’s rooms.”
Jamie’s gaze touched on the closed door, that betraying tinge of color staining his cheeks. “Mrs. Dobbs’s rooms are near my mother’s. In the east wing. They find it more convenient.”
Emma waited for the explanation that never came.
“Of course,” she said when the pause stretched. “I quite agree. Georgina, did you noticed this tapestry? It is really very fine.”
She was thankful there was something near at hand to provide a bridge to a less uncomfortable topic. After a short discussion of the hanging, they made their way down to the more modern sections of the house.
As she prepared for bed later that night, the incident continued to nag at her. It was not so much that whoever was in the tower had been interested in their arrival, but that the normally outgoing Jamie had made no attempt to explain who lived there.
Given the opulence of the rest of the Leighton Hall, that anyone should choose to inhabit that damp, drear keep seemed a puzzle. More puzzling still was Jamie’s obvious reluctance to explain who had chosen to do so and why.
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA’S SLEEP had been restless, but that was hardly surprising since it was the first night she’d spent in an unfamiliar house. She lay in the high bed, watching dawn creep into the room. After a few minutes, she rose and, slipping on her robe de chambre, walked over to the windows.
They had arrived late enough yesterday that the countryside around the estate had been masked by dusk. Now, bathed in the purity of the morning sun, it should show to its best advantage.
She sat on the window seat, and then leaned forward, propping her elbows on the sill and her chin on her hands. A panorama of lush lawns and elaborately landscaped gardens, all shaded by stately oaks, spread out below her.
Invalid or not, the current earl seemed well served by his estate managers. Hopefully they would feel the same loyalty to his brother. She had begun to turn, intending to ring for her maid, when something caught her eye, stopping that motion.
A black horse flew along the crest of the nearest hillock, hooves scattering the morning mist. Even from this distance, it was obvious that mount and rider had achieved that rare perfect union of man and beast. As she watched, the horseman directed the animal down the slope and across the grounds toward the estate. Jamie Leighton? Out for a morning gallop?
Last night he had invited Georgina and her uncle on an excursion around the property. Although possible, it seemed unlikely he should wish to ride the grounds twice.
Not Mr. Leighton, she decided as the rider neared the house. She had relied more on instinct to arrive at that conclusion than on an ability to discern distinguishing characteristics about the horseman.
The bare-headed man astride the black was tall and broad of shoulder. Jamie was slighter. And fairer, she added to her assessment as the rider drew close enough for her to see the raven’s-wing gloss of his long hair.
She had hoped for a glimpse of his face, but in that she was disappointed. Before he reached the drive, he turned the black, directing the animal around the hall toward what she assumed were the stables at the back.
As he disappeared, she felt a strange emptiness. That might be explained by the beauty of the moment. The union of horse and rider. The mist along the hilltop. The contrast of green fields and open sky.
But there had also been something about the ride
r himself that compelled the eye. Some element of power or command or character.
Far too fanciful an explanation, she thought in amusement. Especially for someone not given to flights of whimsy.
This one could undoubtedly be blamed on being in the company of two young people who were discovering they got on very well together indeed, despite the outside pressures urging them to a “suitable” marriage. The growing attraction between Jamie Leighton and Georgina should please everyone involved. It certainly pleased her.
Still, she was aware of a gnawing, inexplicable feeling of loss. Because she was about to lose Georgie?
When she had married Robert Stanfield, Georgina was only six, a shy, lonely child who had spent far too much time in the company of servants. Although Emma’s brief marriage could not, by her standards, be considered a romantic success, she was enormously proud of what she’d been able to accomplish in healing the heart of that lost little girl.
The whole point of which, she reminded herself, had been to help Georgina become what she was today—a poised and elegant young woman, capable of taking her rightful place in society. She would be an exceptional countess, and the fact that she seemed to be falling in love with a future earl and he with her was what Emma had prayed for. Why then was she experiencing this unsettling sense of bereavement?
Unconsciously her eyes returned to the vista beyond the window, tracing along the ridge where the rider had swept the fog away before him. It was empty now, as tranquil as if that magnificent display of horsemanship had never taken place.
Perhaps that was Jamie’s ghost, his appearance arranged for her entertainment, she thought smiling.
She would be sure to thank him for it at breakfast and see what he said. He might avoid an explanation, just as he had avoided any identification of the tower’s occupant, but at least she would have given him the opportunity.
Still smiling, she turned and rang the bell for her tea, preparing to begin this day in exactly the same prosaic fashion she had all the others for the last dozen years.
“BECAUSE Miss Stanfield’s stepmother saw you, damn it,” Jamie said, the words clearly an accusation.
“Her stepmother?”
Alex had known Emma couldn’t possibly be the girl’s mother, but perhaps his question would prompt Jamie to supply additional information without his having to ask for it directly.
“Lady Barrington. She asked me at breakfast who was riding a black horse at breakneck speed over the hills this morning.”
“And what did you tell her?” Greystone asked, more amused than alarmed.
“That it was I, of course. I don’t think she believed me, but…I wish you’d warned me you intended to ride. I might have been better prepared for her questions.”
“I’m sorry if my appearance inconvenienced you,” Alex said. “Had I any idea your London guests would be up at dawn, I assure you I should never have ventured outside.”
“I didn’t mean that, and you know it. You’re the one who insisted you didn’t want to meet them. It makes it deuced awkward then to have to explain who the hell you are.”
“Why explain anything? It seems to me the woman’s damned impertinent for a guest.”
She would be, he thought with a ridiculous surge of satisfaction. Apparently no one had managed to stifle that youthful rebellious streak, although her pudding-faced husband looked as if he would delight in trying. Poor Emma.
“On the tour of the tower last night, she asked about your rooms. She wanted to know if they belonged to the housekeeper.”
“Good God, Jamie. You aren’t obligated to explain the arrangements of the household to her.”
“I know that, damn it. She does it in such a way that it seems a perfectly natural question. It isn’t until later that I wonder at her cheek.”
“And she is Miss Stanfield’s stepmother, you say?”
“For a dozen years. She married the viscount shortly after her mother died. Georgina’s very fond of her. So am I, of course, but she’s too sharp to be put off with lies and evasions. Eventually she’ll catch me out.”
“What can it matter if she does? I hardly think it’s her place to question how we do things at Leighton, no matter how they appear to outsiders.”
“And what if she becomes convinced there’s something peculiar going on here? What if they pack Miss Stanfield up and leave?”
Greystone laughed, although he could see that his brother was actually concerned about the possibility.
“You’re a catch, my dearest Jamie. An absolutely brilliant one for a viscount’s daughter with very little to bring to the table. It’s unlikely, I assure you, that they are going anywhere. Not until they have what they came here for.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take the chance.”
Jamie’s jaw was set in a way that indicated he’d said all he intended to say about the subject. It seemed his heart was engaged, which was exactly what Alex should have wished for, of course. Except in this case…
He put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder, pulling him into a quick, brotherly embrace. “I shall do my best to stay out of the path of true love, I promise you. No more rides. Unless the woman lays siege to the tower, I should be safe enough.”
“There is another solution,” Jamie suggested, his eyes suddenly serious. Almost pleading.
Alex might even have been moved to consider the plea had it not been for that brief encounter more than dozen years ago.
“Far better to let them wonder if there’s something strange afoot than to provide them with proof,” he said, smiling.
At the refusal Jamie had lowered his eyes, but not before Alex had seen what was within them. When they came up again, thankfully the emotion had been cleared, deliberately replaced by a teasing light.
“I think perhaps I should take Sultan out for a short run tomorrow, just to add teeth to the assertion that I was the one she saw this morning.”
“Try that,” the earl said laughing, “and he’s likely to add teeth to your backside, you feckless child.”
HE HAD KNOWN this morning’s ride was a mistake even before Jamie’s warning. It seemed he’d known it even as he had mounted the black. Yet he had been unable to prevent himself from making that run. The despair of knowing Emma was under his own roof and the understanding that her presence there could make no difference in his life had driven him from this refuge to that.
Only when he was astride Sultan, riding over the vast acreage that comprised the estate, could he be completely free. After last night’s realization of how much a prisoner to his own dread he was, he had desperately needed the sense of control, as well as the heady release, riding gave him.
That desire for freedom was part of the reason he was now climbing the winding stairs to the top of the tower. After enduring an interminable day confined to his rooms, wondering far too often what Emma Stanfield might be doing, he had finally given in to this urge.
Pushing the estate books away, he had blown out the candles and thrown his cloak around his shoulders. Then he had stood in the darkness a moment listening for the presence of any intruder into his territory. Hearing nothing, he’d stepped out of the sitting room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.
As he neared the top of the stairs, he tried to will his tension away by drawing the fresh, rain-scented air into his lungs. This staircase to the roof was one of the reasons that, despite the obvious disadvantages of age, chill and dampness, he had chosen to inhabit the keep.
He was safe here from the inquisitive eyes of both the servants and his family’s occasional guests, of course, but that might have been accomplished in any of the lesser-used wings of the hall. The easy access to the ancient battlements offered by the tower had been a lure he could not resist.
He stepped out onto the roof, automatically raising his eyes to the sky. There were no stars tonight. The clouds that had been building all day obscured both them and the new moon. It was as dark as even he could wish. He began to cross to the wall wa
lk, boot heels echoing loudly against the stones.
“Who’s there?” The voice, clearly feminine and coming from above him, stopped him in his tracks.
None of the servants, other than the footman who saw to his personal needs, ever came up here, although he had never been sure what stories were told about him that prevented them from venturing into the tower. Once a housemaid, either lost or acting on a dare, had come face-to-face with him on the stairs. She had crossed herself as if she’d encountered the devil and then she had run.
His mother would never brave the climb, especially not up to that narrow walk that ran inside the parapet wall. And the only other feminine occupants of the house—
“Forgive me,” he said calmly, despite the increased pulse of blood through his veins. “I had no idea anyone was here.”
His first instinct had been to flee without answering the challenge. Despite his many failings, he had never been a coward. Besides, she had obviously heard him. Jamie was hardly creative enough to continue to devise plausible explanations for his unexpected appearances.
“I believe I’m the one who should beg forgiveness,” Emma said. “Wandering guests are surely an anathema to any civilized household.”
Her voice had deepened slightly with maturity, but there could be no doubt with whom he was conversing. As Alex acknowledged that, she moved, the paleness of her gown drawing his eye to her location. She was standing very near one of the sets of steps that led up to the narrow wall walk, almost halfway across the tower from his own position on the roof.
“I confess I’ve been curious about the view from up here since Mr. Leighton showed us the stairs last night,” she went on. “I hope you don’t mind my trespassing.”
It was obviously a trap. If he granted her permission to roam, she would have confirmation of his authority to do so. A very clever way to verify his identity.
If he continued to make a mystery of it, however, she might, as Jamie feared, convince the girl’s father that Leighton harbored a madman. They would have the chit packed up and headed back to London on the morrow. While he trying to decide whether to sacrifice his privacy or his brother’s happiness, she spoke again.
The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman Page 11