Sophie sank to her knees in front of her. ‘‘Help arrived too late, didn’t it?’’
‘‘Too late?’’ Kellyn’s head snapped up. Her sudden vehemence sent Sophie to her feet and prompted the inspectors to raise their pistols. ‘‘The people of Penhollow rowed out to Rob’s sinking ship. But instead of saving the crew and passengers, they filled their boats with whatever cargo they managed to haul from the waves. Only when they’d satisfied their greed did they turn their efforts to rescuing those who hadn’t yet drowned. By then Rob was dead.’’
The icy malice in her features convinced Chad she would have lashed out were it not for the bonds holding her. ‘‘Rob Quincy lived a smuggler’s life and knew the risks. Knew his devil’s luck would someday run dry.’’ The hostility suddenly melted from her features, trickling in tears down her cheeks. ‘‘But Ellie Rose . . . my innocent Ellie Rose . . . If only I hadn’t let her go ...’’
She faltered, shutting her eyes. ‘‘A week later a surviving deckhand brought her body home to me. He told me what had happened, how he heard her screams through the shattered hull and tried to reach her. How he found her broken body washed up on the rocks the next day. And how, God rot them, the people here turned away as he carried her through their accursed village.’’
Her jaw working, she glared out at the schooner and at the little sailboat being guided by Ian back to the inlet. ‘‘That deckhand was an Irishman.’’
‘‘Grady.’’ Fresh tears glistened on Sophie’s cheeks. She backed into Chad’s arms, pressing her face to his uninjured shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, held on and buried his nose in her hair, seeking a haven from the horror Kellyn had described.
‘‘I put my baby in the ground,’’ Kellyn continued, her voice tight, swollen with sorrow. ‘‘I buried her with roses, and then I swore revenge.’’
Mama. A shimmer illuminated the air beside Kellyn. Ellie Rose’s intangible outlines took shape.
Gasping, Kellyn raised her head and searched the space around her. ‘‘Who’s there?’’
‘‘It’s Ellie Rose,’’ Chad said. ‘‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Not even the violence of her death could fully part her from you.’’
While the inspectors watched in bewilderment, Kellyn’s eyes sharpened into focus, then blurred behind tears. ‘‘Ellie Rose? Oh, God . . . I . . . I can see you.’’ Wrenching her shoulders, straining her neck, she struggled against the cords binding her wrists.
‘‘Untie her,’’ Chad said to the inspector.
‘‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’
‘‘Please, Mr. Haversham,’’ Sophie urged. ‘‘What harm can she do now?’’
Clearly puzzled, the man pulled out a pocketknife and slashed through Kellyn’s bonds. She reached out with both hands, a sob tearing from deep within as her fingertips passed through Ellie Rose’s form. ‘‘My child. Come to me. I wish to hold you. Just once. To feel you against me one more time and smell your sweet, precious hair . . . Oh, for that I’d give my life.’’
Haversham traded astonished glances with his men. ‘‘She’s lost her mind, though it won’t likely save her from the noose.’’
That last word sent a shiver across Chad’s nape as he considered how close his own neck had come to meeting the same fatal embrace. ‘‘Why don’t we back away,’’ he said, ‘‘and allow her a moment to reconcile herself to what has happened.’’
When Haversham looked about to protest, Chad held up his hand. ‘‘A few minutes, Inspector, I beg you. Afterward I believe you’ll find her willing to go along with you without a fuss, and perhaps to cooperate in helping you track down her ship, as well.’’
With a shrug Haversham signaled for his men to move away. Chad and Sophie followed them toward the mouth of the cave. He gestured to the rapier still held by one of the officers. ‘‘Do you feel it giving off an odd energy?’’
The man regarded the weapon and wrinkled his brow. ‘‘It’s wet. A bit cold.’’
‘‘Nothing else?’’ When the officer shrugged, Chad said to Haversham, ‘‘If I were you, Inspector, when I no longer needed that rapier for evidence I’d dispose of it where no one will ever find it.’’ He looked to Sophie for confirmation. She nodded and he continued, ‘‘Kellyn stole it from Edgecombe, but I sure as hell don’t want it back.’’
‘‘Or its mate, either,’’ Sophie added with a shudder. ‘‘We have another, almost identical sword up at the house, Inspector, and we believe the weapons once belonged to Meg and Jack Keating.’’
‘‘You don’t say.’’ Haversham rubbed the back of his hand across his chin. ‘‘Given the bizarre circumstances of this case, Lord Wycliffe, we may need both swords for evidence. But the law is the law. Once we’ve finished prosecuting, both weapons will be returned to you.’’
‘‘At which time,’’ Chad said, ‘‘I’ll either toss them into the sea or . . .’’
‘‘Or seal them both in the tunnel beneath Edgecombe,’’ Sophie finished for him. She reached out, combing her fingers through his hair and caressing the curve of his ear. ‘‘If only Meg had found Jack before he died, she might not have gone on her rampage.’’
The revelation resounded through him. ‘‘And Kellyn would not have had Meg’s example to follow. Good God, how many lives might have been saved, both then and now . . . ?’’
‘‘We’ll never know,’’ she whispered, and huddled against him as shivers traveled through her.
He tried to warm her, to absorb her trembling into his own body. ‘‘Inspector, are we free to go?’’
‘‘Indeed you are, my lord. But don’t stray far. We’ll need you and Miss St. Clair for questioning. And those relatives of yours as well, miss.’’
‘‘And what about this fellow?’’ The man holding the rapier angled his chin at Nathaniel. ‘‘Shall we take him into custody?’’
Chad had all but forgotten his groundskeeper, still standing on the rocky ledge outside the cave, gazing with a bemused expression at the soft glow surrounding Kellyn. ‘‘Mr. Haversham, arresting Nathaniel would be a mistake. He hasn’t done anything wrong, for all Kellyn tried to use him against us.’’
‘‘No, indeed, sir,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘He’s like a child, and doesn’t understand any of this.’’
‘‘Ah, but he does.’’ Chad swept her damp hair from her face. ‘‘It’s true that he didn’t understand quite a lot of what happened, but in the end he recognized the evil of Kellyn’s and Grady’s actions and summoned the courage to defy them for our sakes. We owe him a debt.’’
Sophie’s face lit up with a brilliance that stole his breath. ‘‘Thank you, Nathaniel,’’ she whispered. She turned back to Haversham. ‘‘May we take Nathaniel up to the house with us?’’
The inspector nodded and gestured to the cave. ‘‘You’ll find our torches and means for lighting them just inside. Take one with you. And find some dry clothes as soon as possible, both of you.’’
After stepping up into the tunnel, Chad reached a hand down to Sophie to help her climb up. Once beside him, she stood for a moment with her arms around his waist, her body pressed to his, infusing him with hope for the future—a future with her.
‘‘Take me away from this place,’’ she said.
‘‘Gladly.’’
As he set about lighting a torch, Sophie called to the servant, who lingered outside the mouth of the cave. ‘‘Come, Nathaniel, it’s time to go home.’’
The torch flared to life as she said the word home. And Chad wondered, would Edgecombe ever feel like home to him, now that the danger was past and he was free to begin rebuilding his life? Or would the estate remain a place of abandonment and tragedy, with the memories of his mistakes always present to haunt him?
Nathaniel stepped up into the cave, then turned and raised a gnarled hand in a gesture of farewell. ‘‘Rest now, little roses.’’
A harsh and continual cry—ker-rik, ker-rik!—wrested Sophie from the warm pleasure of a dr
eam. With reluctance she opened her eyes to see flashes of a black head and a gray wing as a tern took flight from the window ledge.
A moment later the bird’s white underbelly soared into view, but farther away now, little more than a speck against a patch of blue sky. Sophie watched it disappear again as disappointment gripped her. In her dream she had returned to Edgecombe to find the house no longer abandoned or filled with menacing shadows. Sunlight had streamed through every window, while laughter and the beginnings of new, happier memories echoed through the rooms. Best of all, a grinning Chad had met her at the door, wrapped her in his strong arms and welcomed her home.
All too tempted to drift back into the beauty of that dream, she let her eyes fall closed, but the tern doubled back and let out a squawk as it swooped past her window.
With a gasp Sophie came fully awake. Her gaze darted to the window with its emerald damask curtains, then up at the carved medallion in the center of the ceiling. Where was she? This was not the room she shared with Rachel at Aunt Louisa’s house.
She pushed against the mattress, struggling to disentangle her limbs from the sheets—sheets far too fine to have graced any bed in a farmer’s house. It hadn’t been a dream after all, not entirely. She was at Edgecombe . . . lying in the very bed where Chad had first introduced her to passion.
But where was he? And how had she gotten here?
Memories tumbled back: Kellyn and Grady; the desperate struggle on the beach, the pain etched on Chad’s face as Kellyn drove her sword into his shoulder. . . .
‘‘Chad?’’ Sheets and all, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wore a chemise, nothing more. But she didn’t care—she had to find him, had to know if he was all right. ‘‘Chad, where are—’’
‘‘Sophie, dear, you’re awake.’’
She gaped as Aunt Louisa came through the doorway. The woman gently closed her hands over Sophie’s shoulders and eased her back onto the pillows. ‘‘There, there, now. You mustn’t jump up so quickly.
We can’t have you swooning again.’’
As Aunt Louisa straightened the bedclothes around her, Sophie pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘‘I fainted?’’
‘‘Well, more like dropped from exhaustion. You’d just gotten up from the dining table, and your legs simply gave way beneath you. You might have fallen and hit your head if the earl hadn’t caught you. Then Barnaby carried you upstairs. Don’t you remember?’’
‘‘Oh, I ... suppose ...’’
Vague at first, the details formed in her mind. After leaving the beach, she, Chad and Nathaniel had returned to the house to meet with the anxious concerns of the others—Rachel, Mr. Hall, Reese and Uncle Barnaby. Questions had been answered and lingering apprehensions put to rest over a meal prepared by Nathaniel. Mr. Hall had treated Chad’s shoulder and had seemed confident that with proper attention the wound would not fester. Ian had joined them briefly before going back to the farm to fetch Aunt Louisa, and the inspectors, meanwhile, had conveyed their prisoners back to the village to await transport to Truro.
All that Sophie remembered. But as to what happened afterward . . .
‘‘How long have I slept?’’
‘‘Oh, you’ve been out since yesterday afternoon. Sleep seems to have done you a world of good.’’ Aunt Louisa pressed a palm to Sophie’s cheek. ‘‘Your color is back, thank goodness. Your young man will be happy to see it.’’
‘‘My young man?’’
‘‘Why, yes, the earl. He was terribly worried about you. Tried to carry you upstairs himself, but of course he couldn’t quite manage it, not with that stab wound. Nasty business, all of it.’’ Aunt Louisa reached for a pitcher, poured a cup of water and handed it to Sophie. ‘‘Drink this, dear, but not too fast.’’
Sophie sipped the cool water, but found difficulty swallowing around a sudden tightness in her throat. ‘‘You know, Aunt Louisa, he isn’t my young man.’’
No, at least not beyond the boundaries of her dream. Yesterday, on their way back through the tunnel, Chad had held her hand but nonetheless led the way in pensive silence. A distance seemed to have opened up between them. Once back at the house Sophie had hoped he might devise a way for them to steal off together for a private word—there remained so much left unsaid between them—but he had shown no intention of doing so. She hadn’t understood; she still didn’t. She thought she had made her feelings quite clear down on the beach, and . . . she had believed he shared those feelings.
Thinking back on his embraces, his kisses, the urgent relief shredding his voice as he had helped her from the water . . . how could she but conclude that he cared for her deeply?
Then why hadn’t he spoken?
Oh, but perhaps she hadn’t made her feelings clear, or not clear enough. She had told him she trusted him—more than trusted him—but she hadn’t said she loved him. Of course, there had been others looking on—the inspectors, Kellyn, Nathaniel. It hadn’t seemed the right place or time.
Could Chad believe she still harbored resentment against him? Why hadn’t she simply told him what she felt for him?
With a smile softening the lines around her mouth, Aunt Louisa sat at the edge of the bed and took Sophie’s hand. ‘‘He isn’t yours? Are you sure of that?’’
With a sinking feeling, Sophie sighed. ‘‘I don’t see how he could be.’’
‘‘Odd thing, then, that he sat in that very chair for hours on end yesterday, just watching you.’’ She pointed to the overstuffed chair near the window. ‘‘I finally had to order him off to bed—the vicar did say he needed to rest that shoulder as much as he can. Yet the earl was back again this morning as soon as the sun rose, sitting in that chair, keeping vigilant watch. The only reason he isn’t here now, Sophie, is because I shooed him downstairs for some breakfast. He left but a few minutes ago.’’
Sophie’s heart pressed against her breastbone. ‘‘He was here all that time?’’
‘‘Indeed he was.’’
She sat upright and pushed the covers away. ‘‘I need some clothes. . . .’’
‘‘I brought you a dress from home, but—’’
‘‘I’m fine, Aunt Louisa, I promise. Just help me dress, and quickly.’’
Downstairs Sophie hurried into the dining hall. A plate of untouched food sat at the head of the table before an unoccupied chair. Only a half-empty cup of coffee gave any indication that Chad had been here. She opened the terrace door and stepped out. A gentle breeze sifted through the dogwoods and fruit trees. The cries of seagulls out over the water clashed with the chirps of wrens and sparrows and the ceaseless ker-rik of the lone tern. But there was no one on the terrace or in the gardens below.
With a rising sense of urgency not to let another moment pass without speaking to him, she strode back inside and into the hall.
‘‘Sophie.’’
She pulled up with a start. He stood just inside the drawing room doorway in breeches and boots, linen shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows, his collar and top buttons open to accommodate the bandages around his shoulder. He was freshly shaven, and a fringe of gleaming golden hair spilled across his brow to conceal the healing scrapes. To her he looked . . . magnificent; the sight of him stole her breath and held her immobile until he spoke her name again.
The quiet caress of his voice sparked immediate tears and sent her rushing into his arms. In deference to his injury, she stopped just short of jolting into him; instead she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his as he gently enfolded her.
All the things she had wanted to say abandoned her on a sob, absorbed into the heat of his skin and the smooth weave of his shirtfront. They held each other for some moments, his head bent over hers, their cheeks pressing, their heartbeats thudding in rhythm through their clothing.
Finally his head came up and he flashed a smile that lit his eyes with the full glow of a moorland sunrise and filled her with overwhelming joy. Then his head dipped again and his lips found hers. He kissed he
r deeply, thoroughly, as though he’d never have enough of her; he went on kissing her until the strength drained from her limbs and a fiery heat surged through her; until she knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that she could never let herself be kissed by another man.
He drew back again, still smiling. ‘‘That, my Sophie, is only a beginning . . . if you’ll let it be.’’
Her breath quivering in her throat, she trembled against him. ‘‘We said so little to each other yesterday once we returned from the beach. I was afraid that perhaps you didn’t . . .’’
‘‘Didn’t what?’’ A shadow of his former sternness returned. His voice turned gruff. ‘‘Didn’t want to be with you?’’
Hesitating, she nodded and whispered, ‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘How could you think such a thing?’’ He sounded angry. His arms closed around her with fierce insistence. ‘‘Never think that, Sophie. Never.’’ His hands swept into her hair, and he tipped her face up to his. ‘‘I came to Penhollow wanting to redeem myself for the things I’d done, doubting whether that redemption would ever come. I’m not certain when it happened, but along the way everything I did, everything I risked, became for you. To be the man you deserved, one you could be proud of. Do you understand?’’
‘‘Oh, yes. And I am proud of you. So proud.’’
His hold on her gentled. ‘‘I didn’t speak of these matters yesterday because I had a good deal of thinking to do. My future isn’t clear, not by any means. My fortune is still in shambles and it will take me some time to restore it. But I will; I promise you that. As I sat watching you sleep last night and this morning I began making plans.’’
His arm around her shoulders, he walked her further into the drawing room. ‘‘I’m going to lease my London town house and Grandview, the Wycliffe family seat. Edgecombe will be my home for the next several years.’’
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