Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  “Yes, but now that you are found, you can be It,” Irene said with unassailable logic.

  “You didn’t have to follow me in here. You should have found your own covert.” Francis said aggrievedly, sounding no more than a young boy to Irene’s perpetual little girl.

  “I was scared to hide alone.”

  Libbetty sympathized with her. She was nearly as chicken-hearted, because her courage failed her at the thought of being caught in someone’s chamber searching for clues. “Please, Francis, be It this time. It is too much to ask of Irene to have to search all by herself in this huge place.”

  “All right,” he agreed sulkily.

  “Hurray!” shouted Irene, her usual sunny nature restored.

  A while later, Libbetty passed along another hall, searching for a hiding place. Behind her, slowly fading, excited squeals and giggles from the other guests told their zest for the game.

  No one had found Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth after the previous round, leading Libbetty to suspect the enjoyment in hide-and-seek could sometimes be less than innocent.

  In a corridor she had not entered before, she saw a huge old oak wardrobe. With difficulty, she pried the door ajar and poked her head inside. It contained nothing but cobwebs, one of which brushed against her face, surprising an exclamation from her.

  She almost closed the door and went on, but hearing someone approach made her jump in and pull the door to. The door grated and stuck slightly ajar. The little band of light piercing the blackness offered reassurance and eased her shut-in feeling.

  Seconds later the door creaked open again, briefly limning Lord Cauldreigh against light from the hall, before he climbed in and pulled the door tight, enclosing them in darkness.

  “I am hiding here,” Libbetty hissed.

  “I know. I watched you go in.” He made rustling noises.

  “Find your own spot.”

  “It’s much more amusing to hide with someone. You don’t like being alone in the dark, do you? I know I dislike it excessively. There’s plenty of room for both of us.” He moved closer to her, the warmth from his body nearly touching her.

  “If you do not leave, I shall.” Libbetty brushed by him.

  His arms quickly clasped around her and held tightly, preventing any further movement. “Let me go,” she squeaked.

  Cauldreigh loosed his hold, but kept his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “You don’t want to be found, do you?”

  Libbetty recalled her plan to make Lord Cauldreigh fall in love with her. With the recent drama, the plan had taken a remote place in her mind. Here was an opportunity to see if he could care for her. “It isn’t proper,” she demurred, but mildly.

  “Ah, but you can’t expect me to leave when I’ve been waiting this age to be private with you.” He gently exerted pressure on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

  She did not resist the pressure of his arms, with a shiver half of curiosity, half misgiving. She smelled Lord Cauldreigh’s male fragrance and felt the muscles of his torso move as he bent to kiss her. In the dark he fumbled, finding the corner of her left eye, then her nose, and finally her mouth.

  The brush of his lips on her face briefly aroused pleasant sensations in her. Then a maelstrom of emotion hit her—the feelings Lord Neil stirred with every glance. No, she could not love Lord Cauldreigh. She fought to break free. Briefly he tightened his hold, but as she resisted more wildly, he released her.

  “Oh, you are odious!” she exclaimed.

  He laughed. “Do you mean to say that you didn’t enjoy that kiss?” His tone expressed disbelief, and Libbetty’s cheeks burned in shame at the calculation of her scheme.

  “No, I didn’t,” she lied. “You surprised me. I never expected you to behave so—so ungentlemanly. You are abominable, a snake in the grass, a cad, a—a trifler. Let me go at once, you villain!” She groped in the darkness for the door and threw her full weight against the unyielding wood.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bishop. I didn’t mean to upset you, truly.” His hand brushed her arm. “Don’t leave, I’ll behave myself, I vow.”

  “You are impossible. I would never stay here with you after that—that display!” The door stuck fast, giving the lie to her words, and she redoubled her efforts. Suddenly it yielded with a creak, tumbling Libbetty out into the passageway and caroming her into Lord Neil, who stood just outside, arms akimbo.

  Her chin smacked his elbow—luckily padded by his coat, or she would have bitten her tongue. She grabbed at him to regain her balance, clutching a handful of sleeve, sprawled against him in a most ungainly way, aware of the hard body under the evening clothes. For a moment she relaxed, not wanting the touch to end, but immediately she drew back, heat spreading across her face all the way to the tips of her ears. Libbetty glanced up sidelong.

  His smug and knowing expression confirmed that he had heard all, or most, that had passed between her and Cauldreigh. She pulled away, trying to make herself small, shaking inside. He unfolded his arms, grinning at her, and clapped his hands soundlessly. “Bravo, Miss Bishop,” he said.

  Her face flamed painfully. “You, sir, are no better than your nephew. Anyone who would eavesdrop on another’s conversation is beneath contempt.” She fled down the hall to the sound of his mocking laughter.

  *

  Trevor stepped out and leaned against the wardrobe in a pose of studied nonchalance. “Hullo, Uncle Neil,” he said.

  Neil restrained the strong urge to plant his nephew a facer. “You had best take care,” he warned with no attempt at polite sparring. “You could find yourself leg-shackled.”

  Trevor shrugged. “I only kissed her. She no more wants to find a husband than I to take a wife. She doesn’t have a matchmaking mama guarding her every moment.”

  How could Trevor react with such nonchalance? Elizabeth might seem to tease and play the coquette, but she had no notion of the passions she aroused. She was an innocent—her antiquated father had seen to that. “Nevertheless, if you were caught together, it would damage her reputation. You’d be expected to repair the injury in the only honorable way.”

  “You exaggerate. Nobody would expect me to marry the girl because of a kiss in a closet.”

  “You don’t know how narrow-minded country people can be.” Neil refused to ask Trevor what he felt for the girl. He knew Trevor had carried on flirtations with a number of young ladies before taking up his commission in the army, but Miss Bishop was a different matter. God, at the moment he wanted to shake Trevor like the sulky boy he resembled. He turned abruptly and walked away before his rage erupted. He had to remember how unthinkable any connection between him and Miss Bishop would be.

  If Trevor’s feelings for the girl grew serious, Neil would step aside. But he would never forget how she looked this night, like a peach confection.

  *

  Back in the small ballroom where the game-players gathered, none of the other participants had yet appeared. Francis apparently still searched. Or perhaps the next round had started, with another person as It. In any case, she now had a chance to investigate.

  If Lord Neil were not the person wishing Cauldreigh’s death, Mr. Colton was the best candidate. She did not like to think that amiable man could wish anyone harm, but she felt almost sure of Lord Neil’s innocence.

  It was rumored Jonathan had financial difficulties. Perhaps she could find evidence of this in his bedchamber. Duns from people to whom he owed money. Or he might have a gun. She did not know which room was Mr. Colton’s, but she had already found most of the guests’ rooms. She would not allow her previous cowardice to prevent her from finding what she could. If she were caught, she could claim to be searching for a place to hide. It was an opportunity not to be missed.

  She returned to the corridor where she had found Francis and Irene and stopped at the first of the doors she had opened, recalling the appearance of the rooms. Two had been decorated in a feminine style—no doubt Miss Clarke’s and Mrs. Dalrymple’s. Which ones
were they? That was just before she entered the hiding place of Irene and Francis—another room decorated for a woman, although there were no other female guests at The Castle. Therefore, the first three rooms she had looked into must belong to three of the four male guests: Mr. Colton, Lord Chester, Captain Forsyth, and Sir Rodney. But which three of them?

  Jonathan was family. His chamber would be closer to those of the other Colton men. She passed the doors she had opened earlier in the evening. Then there was Lord Cauldreigh’s room. Across the hall and down just a little, the room she and Edwina had used on that first visit. She opened the next door.

  A man’s room. Walnut paneling, a massive four-poster bed with dark blue velvet hangings, a large walnut armoire against one wall. Libbetty entered and shut the door behind her.

  A masculine smell greeted her nose, spice and some woodsy odor and another ineffable essence. She inhaled deeply and walked to the armoire. As she opened it, the male scent strengthened. She recognized it now. Before she could take steps to retreat, the entrance to the hall burst open and Lord Neil stepped into the room. “Good God, what are you doing in here?”

  Jumping, she slammed her hand in the armoire door. Her startled squeak changed into a yelp. Lord Neil instantly came to her, lifting her hand and checking it over. He drew her to a table on which sat a pitcher and bowl, and plunged her hand into the pitcher. Earlier it likely contained hot water, but the contents had cooled enough to soothe the throbbing of her battered fingers. “Does that feel better?” he asked. She nodded, though she couldn’t contain the tears spilling from her eyes.

  He pulled her hand from the water and examined it, touching the fingers despite her wincing protests. “Not broken, I think, but it will be tender for some time.” He picked up a discarded cravat from a nearby chair and dried her hand. “You still have not said why you are in my room.”

  Between confusion at his nearness and the pain in her fingers, she forgot the excuse she had intended to use. “I thought it was Mr. Colton’s room.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Mr. Colton? What have you to do with him? Or are you collecting kisses from all the Coltons tonight?”

  She jerked her hand from his. “No, of course not. I was planning to search it.”

  “Search? Mr. Colton’s room? Whatever for?”

  “I thought there might be some evidence that he is the one trying to kill Lord Cauldreigh.”

  He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. She watched, absorbed in the rise and fall of his broad chest. When he opened his eyes, he gripped her shoulders. “Do not look for clues.” The words rasped harshly.

  “Why not? I want to help. I know you’re not trying to kill Lord Cauldreigh. But somebody is.”

  “You don’t know what a dangerous game you play.”

  “I have to protect Lord Cauldreigh.”

  “He has your brother and any number of people doing that. Your help is not needed.”

  “He needed my help a few days ago,” she reminded him.

  “God, when we came here, I thought matters could not get worse.” His fingers still dug cruelly into her shoulders, but his pained grimace made her ignore her own discomfort.

  “Worse? What has happened? Did something happen tonight?”

  He yanked her next to him and pressed his lips over hers. His kiss was hard and brief and totally devastating. When he drew back abruptly, she made a sound of protest. He ignored that and set her away from him. She wanted him to kiss her again, desperately craved the contact of his body. Her fingers no longer hurt, but tingled the same as the rest of her.

  “That’s what can happen when you play with matters you don’t understand.” Grabbing her arm, he led her to the door. He looked out, then thrust her outside and shut himself in.

  So, that was what could happen? She smiled. All she wanted to do was figure out how to make it happen again.

  She drifted to the chamber set aside for the ladies’ comfort. Edwina and her mother already occupied the room, repairing the hem of Edwina’s gown. Her friend greeted Libbetty coolly, glancing toward her mother. Mrs. Hogwood glared at her. Libbetty felt a blush creep over her. Had one of them also heard or seen the scene between her and the marquess? Or, even worse, had they seen her leave Lord Neil’s room?

  “Let me help you with your gown,” she said.

  Edwina shrugged and replied, “If you wish. I crouched behind a large chair during the last round of the game, and somehow my heel became entangled in the hem of my gown. The tear is in the back, where I have trouble reaching. And Maman cannot bend sufficiently to reach the floor.”

  Libbetty knelt to set in the stitches. “Have you enjoyed the party so far?” she inquired.

  “What a lot of childish behavior. I cannot see the point,” Mrs. Hogwood complained. “I am most disappointed.”

  They returned to the ballroom. The reassembled guests chattered and partook of refreshments. Miss Bassett had cornered Lord Neil. Her tunic gown in violet over an ice-blue slip, and a feathered headdress flattered her. Libbetty held back a moan. Sybille Bassett made a better match, in maturity and social aplomb, for Lord Neil.

  Lord Neil wore his customary black, and his face wore his usual ironical twist of the lips. What did he think about Sybille Bassett’s flirtatious manner? Had he already forgotten those moments in his room?

  Mr. Colton joined them. Libbetty studied the dark-haired young man, trying to discern signs of hidden villainy in his agreeable, unassuming manner.

  Tom was keeping Irene entertained, with Francis close by, looking bored. The two Misses Goforth shared Mr. Murray’s attentions. Miss Georgina Goforth, wearing pale pink, stood by quietly while her more lively sister carried on a spirited conversation. Miss Clarissa had on a lemon yellow frock with a square neckline.

  Mrs. Dalrymple and Captain Forsyth wandered in, with eyes only for each other. The woman had hastily rearranged her hair. She wore ringlets held back with silver combs, which had been placed differently earlier in the evening. She wore a dashing, low-cut gown in silvery-gray, with a black embroidered Greek key design around the hem.

  Early in the evening, the older men had disappeared into an adjoining room for cards. Mrs. Hayes, unlike the other chaperones, had played hide-and-seek. At present she stood with Lady Goforth and Mrs. Hogwood at one end of the room. Libbetty had not seen Mrs. Dalrymple’s companion, Miss Clark, all evening.

  Lord Chester and Sir Rodney converged upon Libbetty and Edwina, followed by Lord Cauldreigh. “We wish to try a round of partners—everybody who plays must choose a partner.” Chester bowed to Edwina. “Will you do me the honor of partnering me?”

  Edwina accepted. Sir Rodney and the marquess both claimed Libbetty. She said to Cauldreigh, “I have too great a care for my reputation to hide with you, sir.” She smiled at Sir Rodney and said, “If we must play partners, I accept your kind offer.”

  “I am slain,” complained Cauldreigh. “The cruelest battlefields of all are the drawing rooms of England.”

  “No mere soldier is strong enough to endure the wounds inflicted by our bewitching English ladies,” agreed Sir Rodney. “Yield, Cauldreigh. You are unhorsed, dished, rolled up.” They laughed, and Libbetty went off to hide with Sir Rodney.

  The game for some more rounds with partners. Why had the chaperones not objected? As Libbetty had discovered in the cabinet with Cauldreigh, this variation of the game could be put to shocking use. Except for Mrs. Hayes, who had expressed doubts about the propriety, the chaperones regarded the game with indulgence.

  Mrs. Hogwood kept indicating to Edwina with grimaces and nods that she expected her daughter to capture Lord Cauldreigh as partner, but he proved adept at eluding the trap.

  Cauldreigh, not at all set down by Libbetty’s rebuke of him, continued to pursue her. She refused his company, but her rebuffs made no difference. If she found another partner, he waited out the game. If she did not, they both stayed out. To her surprise, Captain Forsyth begged her company for one round. A little wary, she accepted, bu
t he treated her with respectful detachment.

  Later, Libbetty observed Mrs. Hogwood haranguing Edwina for her backwardness in attaching Lord Cauldreigh. She walked up to them and asked Edwina’s help for a manufactured difficulty with her gown. They didn’t speak about Mrs. Hogwood, and Edwina seemed distant from Libbetty.

  She found no further opportunity to talk with Lord Neil, who ignored her the rest of the evening. Her wish to discover whether Mr. Colton was the assailant had lessened after she had mistaken Lord Neil’s room for his cousin’s.

  Miss Bassett hung upon Lord Neil’s sleeve as much as possible. She had even abandoned her shy, dull sister to find her way alone in the games, or with such help as Tom gave, with unwilling assistance from Francis.

  The kisses she had received that evening had clarified her mind. She might like Lord Cauldreigh as a friend, but he didn’t stir her senses as his uncle did. It was a shame, because his ardent pursuit of her suggested she might have a fair chance of marriage with him, but she could not share that hope where Lord Neil was concerned. And his kiss had rocked her to the core.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morning sunlight slanted down on Libbetty, riding in Mr. Bassett’s bright yellow barouche, driven by a liveried servant of the Bassetts, with Edwina, Irene, and Miss Clark. Edwina and Irene sat in the forward-facing seats, shaded by the folding half-hood. Libbetty and Miss Clark carried parasols to protect them from the already-warm rays of the sun.

  Ahead of the carriage, Mrs. Dalrymple and Sybille Bassett rode with the men of the party. The cavalcade planned to gather the rest of their party in Crossfield, and picnic at the ruined abbey of Mellingham, a few miles beyond Crossfield.

  Without twisting around in a most awkward fashion, Libbetty could not see the riders, but snatches of their laughter and bits of conversation floated back to her. Her lips tightened, and she resisted the temptation to turn to look ahead at them.

  She took a deep breath. Indeed, she was fortunate to ride in the barouche. On such a warm day, she would become sticky and hot on horseback. She enjoyed the luxurious carriage, open to the sunshine and air. The upholstery smelled of new leather, and the springs smoothed every rut and bump.