The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1)

by Chasity Bowlin

  At the end of the corridor, she removed the ribbon tied around her neck that held the key and unlocked the door to the tower. She climbed the stairs with her heart pounding in anticipation. As she neared the top, she heard the sound of footsteps and sighed in relief.

  Entering the chamber, she leaned back against the door and took in the length of his perfect form. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, blond and perfect—she could not have ordered a better specimen.

  “My darling… you have been gone too long,” she said.

  “I may yet be gone for good!” he snapped. “You were supposed to reel in your husband. He very nearly ruined everything!”

  “Edmund will do nothing,” she said. “He is not well liked enough by anyone with a title to be able to get a petition through the House of Lords. His pleas will fall on deaf ears and your plan will continue as always. There will simply be one more body to contend with than initially believed.”

  “Two,” he corrected. “As for your husband, he has already been taken care of. His fat, bloated corpse will be found in a thicket near the road.”

  “You should have told me!” she snapped. “We were not ready for that yet!”

  “We’re ready when I say we are!” he shouted back at her. “We’ve dawdled long enough. We’ll eliminate the others and when Christopher assumes the title, we’ll eliminate him. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of hiding in this goddamn tower while you fuck every man in this house!”

  Eloise stepped back. His jealousy was becoming a problem but, for the moment, she still needed him. “Lady Agatha will be easy enough to explain away. As for Beatrice, there will be no one to raise a fuss or request an inquest. Graham can assume the title and then die of an unfortunate accident. He admitted himself that he is a poor horseman, did he not? It all sounds perfect, but I worry that so many deaths, even with reasonable explanations will raise questions.” She stepped forward, loosening the ties of her gown so that it fell to her feet revealing that she was nude beneath it save for intricately embroidered stays and silk stockings tied with black ribbon garters. She noted how his eyes darkened as they roved over her form. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, my love.”

  He didn’t touch her, but allowed her to run her hands over his body. “You left out Christopher… or have your feelings for him gotten in the way of your ultimate plan?” Eloise was an insatiable creature and while he had no qualms about her taking every footman in the house to her bed, her dalliance with Christopher stirred his envy. It wasn’t about her, but about his resentment of his half-brother, the English bastard who’d had everything while he’d eked out a meager existence in the infantry.

  “No,” she stated firmly. “I will be Lady Blakemore and you will take his place with no one the wiser. Just as we’ve always planned. I would never have married into this dismal family otherwise. Edmund is a plodding fool and Christopher… well, we had to establish a history between us so that when we become engaged after Edmund’s death, no one will question it.”

  “Are you certain you do not prefer him? The gently-reared bastard over the coarse and impoverished one?”

  “Thanks to my father-in-law’s excessive spending and my now late husband’s inability to say no, you’re both more impoverished than I like.”

  He grinned at her, tugging her close. “Edmund has been stopped… Sir Godfrey will have to take his chances with the money lenders. And in a few short months, you and I will rule this house together.”

  “We’ll dismiss the servants and hire an entirely new staff who will never suspect a thing! And in a few years, when Christopher is a dim memory to those he knew at school, we can leave this dismal spot and go to London. Lights and parties and the theater… and we can indulge our every desire no matter how wicked it is.”

  He smiled, but there was a hint of cruelty in his gaze. “Did you not enjoy fucking that footman last night? Was his cock not enough for you?”

  Eloise pressed herself against him, hoping to entice his appetite enough to lighten his decidedly sour mood. She adored him, but she had learned that his moods could be capricious and often vicious. “I only did it because you told me to! You are the only one that I want, Alain… and I want you right now. Take me.”

  “I’ll give you what you want… but you have to do something for me first,” he said, his hand coming up to tug her hair from its chignon. When the mass of it was wrapped tightly in his fist, her head pulled back with the kind of violence that she both craved and feared, he kissed her neck. “Say yes, Eloise.”

  “Yes! Yes to anything!”

  “Find a way to get to Lady Agatha… the foxglove has been too slow. Give her more of it and let us at least end one part of this farce.”

  There was no hesitation, no doubt as she uttered her agreement. “Anything, my darling. Anything for you.”

  He bit her neck, his teeth sinking in hard enough to form a bruise there. “For us. For our future.”

  “Yes… for us,” she whispered as his fingers dug into her hips. “For us.”

  *

  “Just braid it and pin it up, Betsy. Let’s make this quick before I shout the house down,” Beatrice said, rubbing her tender scalp. They’d been fussing with her hair for what felt like hours.

  Betsy huffed and murmured something under her breath.

  “Do not think to take me to task,” Beatrice snapped. “Certainly not after all your talk of inevitability. You are as much to blame for my fall from grace as I am!”

  Betsy did roll her eyes then. “Hardly that, Miss. And it isn’t your fall from grace that’s such a burden. It’s the knots in your hair! Tell him next time that he can put his hands anywhere but near your hair or so help me, lord or not, I’ll take a chunk of his hide for it!”

  “Really? Should I go tell him this now?”

  Betsy blanched. “No! I’m only talking! But do have a care. You might find it tiresome to have me brushing your hair for hours. But think about what man will still have me when I’ve got muscles in my arms to rival the blacksmith!”

  Beatrice blinked for a moment and then, despite her best intentions, a giggle escaped her.

  “I didn’t say such to be funny!” Betsy protested. “It’s true!”

  After a moment’s struggle, Beatrice regained her composure. “You are absolutely correct. It is not funny. It’s ludicrous.”

  Betsy grinned. “But it got you out of your mood, didn’t it? How you could spend a night with a man like that and still be a grump the next day is beyond me! He wasn’t a total oaf in bed was he? Sometimes it doesn’t matter how they’re put together if they don’t know how to use it!”

  Beatrice blushed furiously. “That is not an appropriate question!”

  “Did you enjoy it? How’s that for appropriate?” Betsy asked, jabbing more pins into the braided chignon.

  “I did and that is all I intend to say on the matter. He is your employer.”

  “If you want this to be a proper house where servants know their place, you’ll have to sack the lot of us and start fresh,” Betsy said. “We’ve grown too used to being able to carry on without appropriate supervision!”

  Beatrice paused. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something in what Betsy said that had given her pause. “Betsy, if someone were to assume the role of Lord Blakemore and send all the servants away, and assuming there was no one left in the family to properly identify him, who would gainsay him?”

  Betsy shrugged. “No one, I suppose. The servants let go would most likely be too terrified of being turned out without a reference to make much of a fuss about anything. And when you’re new in a house, you won’t risk losing a position by poking into much of anything if you’re smart.” She stepped back, cocking her head as she surveyed the chignon and then sighed as she reached for more pins. “Why would you ask such a thing? You’re not thinking that his lordship isn’t his lordship, are you? Surely not after last night!”

  “No. Not in the least,” Beatrice said. It
was true. She believed it and it broke her heart. If he weren’t the Lord of Castle Black, she could be with him forever. Pushing that thought aside, she added, “I’m fully convinced beyond the shadow of any doubt that he is Lord Graham Blakemore. But there was an odd thing that happened yesterday and it sounds positively mad to say it, but have you ever noticed that Christopher seems to be in two places at once in this house?”

  The maid stopped, growing unnaturally still. “I just always assumed he was using the tunnels or that I’d lost track of time from one sighting to the next. But it wasn’t even two days past that I saw him up here in the corridor heading toward his chamber as I went to the laundry… and then I saw him outside through the kitchen window heading toward the beach. Even with the tunnels, there’d be no way for him to get that far that quickly. That’s not the first time I’ve seen the like, either.”

  Did Christopher have a double? Was such a thing even possible? And if so, who had brought him to Castle Black? Was it Christopher at the root of all the plots and schemes or was it Edmund? The more she learned, the less things made sense!

  The only thing she could be certain of was that Graham was not an imposter. If someone intended to have Christopher replaced by another, then Graham’s return would have most certainly put a kink in their plans. As the younger son, he would have been given the title only after Graham was declared dead. All this time, they’d assumed he could be the villain when, in fact, he might very well be the next intended victim.

  Even to her own mind, the plot seemed far-fetched, yet there was no other possible explanation for what she had seen. Implausible as it seemed, it was the only option that could account for all that had occurred thus far.

  Beatrice rose, excitement buzzing inside her. “I have to find Graham. Oh, Betsy… bless you for saying such wildly inappropriate things! I believe I know exactly what’s going on in this house now!”

  The maid shook her head in confusion. “Well, I certainly don’t know what’s going on and I think I prefer it that way! He went to Lady Agatha’s chambers, but I don’t know if he’s still there or not. But I don’t think you need to be running around these halls on your own, either. I know Mr. Edmund isn’t in, but there are still strange things afoot!”

  “It’ll be fine. I promise… but I need you to do something for me.”

  The maid crossed her arms. “What is it?”

  “Has Christopher left his rooms yet?”

  “He wasn’t in them,” Betsy replied in the tone she always reserved for scintillating gossip. “Not all night. I reckon that’s why Mrs. Blakemore had to wear out that poor footman. Mr. Christopher went into the village to spend the evening at the inn with Mary, the tavern wench. He’s been doing that a lot lately, come to think of it.”

  Beatrice sank down onto the edge of the dressing table. If he was spending his nights in the village with the tavern wench, was it his doppelgänger that Eloise had been with in the tower? If so, why would she have spent the night with the footman? Unless her lover was absent as well. More questions than answers continued to arise, but her certainty about what was happening did not waver.

  “If he returns, watch him. Watch him like a hawk… I cannot explain more except to say that there is someone else in this house who comes and goes through those very same tunnels that you and I used, who looks enough like Christopher to be easily mistaken for him!”

  Betsy didn’t immediately gainsay her, which meant she knew more.

  “Out with it. Do not withhold information now,” Beatrice urged her.

  “How can that be, Miss? It’s the only thing that makes sense, I grant you. But there’s no family to resemble him. He’s only got the one brother and they are night and day!”

  Unless they were not the only brothers. “I am going to check on Lady Agatha and find Graham. Be vigilant if Christopher returns.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Graham had just emerged from Lady Agatha’s chamber when he felt the weight of an all too familiar form crash into him in the corridor. One arm snaked around her waist, both to steady her and to give him an opportunity to hold her softness against him for just a moment longer.

  “You are certainly in a rush,” he commented.

  Beatrice stepped back. “We need to talk… privately.”

  “Where do you suggest?”

  “Your chamber,” she answered and spun on her heel to head in that direction.

  Graham followed behind her. Once again, he found himself admiring the sway of her hips. That admiration was only deepened by the fact that he knew precisely what was hiding beneath her prim skirts. The urge to have his hands on those hips again, to plunge into the soft heat of her body until he lost himself robbed him of any sense.

  She reached the chamber first and opened the door. As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. It was unintentionally seductive, but nonetheless effective.

  Following her into his rooms, Graham forced himself to keep at least an arm’s length between them. Otherwise, he’d have her bent over the nearest piece of furniture and whatever it was she’d wanted to say to him would be forgotten.

  “What is it that you’ve discovered?” he asked.

  “I’ve discovered nothing, but some things have simply become clearer to me upon reflection.” She paused and then said in a rush, “I do not think Christopher is a villain. I think he is to be another victim.”

  His brows shot upward. “How did you come by this conclusion?”

  “Betsy said something to me, that if I wanted to be in a house full of servants that knew their place and behaved properly, we’d have to sack the lot of them and start fresh. It dawned on me then, as isolated as we are and as little as we’ve been in society, that no one would know if someone else, who looked enough like him, took Christopher’s place.”

  “You’ll need to explain that a bit better.”

  “You’ll think me utterly mad, but I need you to hear me out!” Beatrice insisted.

  He stepped closer to her. “I have often thought you maddening, Beatrice, but never mad. Tell me what you are thinking and I promise you that I will give it all the consideration deserved by virtue of the source.”

  He was too close, Beatrice thought, too overwhelming as the heat of him seared her. “I can’t think when you do that,” she whispered.

  Closer still, he crowded her, his hands skimming over her hips as he tugged her close enough to feel the hardness of him pressing into her. Beatrice felt herself swaying, leaning into him, craving the rush of desire and the pleasure that he’d incited in her the night before. “It’s about Christopher,” she said, her voice breathless with need and the weight of anticipation. “Graham, this is unwise.”

  “And yet I find myself both unwilling and unable to care,” he said, one hand cupping her neck until her head tipped back.

  Looking up into the dark blue of his eyes, she felt herself falling, the importance of what she’d needed to say forgotten in the wake of the desire that seemed to consume her whenever she was in his presence.

  A knock sounded at the door, but it was opened before they could bid anyone to enter. Betsy stepped inside, trembling and ashen faced. “I’m so sorry, Miss! But something awful has happened! You must both come at once!”

  Disappointed and more than a little embarrassed, Beatrice stepped back. “What is it, Betsy?”

  “It’s Mister Blakemore, Edmund! One of the tenant farmers found him, Miss!”

  “Found him?” Graham demanded. “Is he injured?”

  “Gravely, my lord,” the maid offered with a terrified nod. “I cannot imagine that anyone could recover from such a wound. You must come at once!”

  “Has someone fetched Dr. Warner?” Beatrice asked. Whatever her feelings for Edmund, she did not wish him dead.

  “Aye, Miss. The doctor is seeing to him now.”

  As Betsy departed, Graham turned back to Beatrice and uttered, “This is not finished. Do not think for a moment that we will reverse
course, Beatrice. We are only delayed.”

  Beatrice had no intention of reversing her course. It seemed impossible at any rate, comparable to battling a force of nature. Now that she had ceased resisting, the only course of action left to her was to simply capitulate. She meant to enjoy him for as long as she could. “I will not, but let us see to Edmund first. I cannot help but feel this is related to the respective attempts on our lives!”

  “If Edmund is as gravely injured as Betsy stated, we may have very limited time to ascertain if he can identify his attacker. Let’s go,” he urged.

  Beatrice followed him from the room, dreading what was to come.

  *

  They found Dr. Warner tending to Edmund in a small room off the kitchen. The frenzy of activity gave further testament to Betsy’s assessment of the situation. Some of the older servants, those who might have known Edmund as a boy, wept. Others, maids who had undoubtedly spent the better part of their employment at Castle Black dodging his unwelcome advances, remained dry eyed. Graham could not fault them for it.

  Entering the narrow room, Edmund lay on a small cot, his face pale and his skin clammy. The blood-soaked bandages about his midsection told the truth of it. A wound to the gut was one of the more brutal ways to shuffle off the mortal coil, but shuffle off he undoubtedly would. What the bullet didn’t do, fever would.

  “What is his condition?” Graham asked.

  Warner turned back and shook his head, his silence speaking volumes.

  From the bed, Edmund sputtered a cough and opened his eyes. They fixed on Graham immediately but, for the first time, they held no hostility.

  Stepping forward, Graham squatted on his haunches next to the injured man, until they were eye to eye. “Who did this to you, Edmund?”