For a second, it seemed he would tell her, but then his gaze shuttered and he turned away, heading in the direction of the stairs. “I believe I’ll go and rest for a while before supper.” Swiveling on his heels, he reached for her hand while executing a flamboyant bow. His lips grazed her knuckles for the briefest of seconds – long enough for her heart to flutter – before he straightened and took a step back. “If you’ll please excuse me?”
With her thoughts and emotions in complete disarray, Emily managed a hasty nod. “Of course. I’ll look forward to seeing you later.”
He dipped his head in response, allowed a slight smile, and then he was gone, up the stairs to his chamber. Emily stared at the spot where he’d stood seconds before, more confused than she’d ever felt in her life, not just by the man, but by the startling realization she might be developing feelings for him.
Chapter 10
A clock in the hall chimed the hour – two in the morning – as Charles Augustus Reeves, Earl of Montsmouth, made his way through the darkness. Supper had been delicious, as usual, though he wished he’d been seated closer to Lady Emily. Something about her kept his mind fixed upon her person. It was unrelenting. As hard as he’d tried to push her from his thoughts and focus on his task, the lady made him long for more than he could allow himself at present. She was a distraction, an unwelcome one considering his purpose at Thorncliff, but he’d been honest about her talent. It was both admirable and, for a man with an insatiable appetite for art, incredibly tempting.
Turning a corner, he paused to listen, ensuring nobody else was around before continuing on his way. He’d deliberately dimmed the light of the lantern he carried as much as possible so as not to draw attention from any lingering servants. To his relief, it did appear as though everyone had retired, which meant the house was his, ready to be explored.
So he made his way toward the interior courtyard. When he’d last been here, the steps from there leading into the hallways below had been frequently used by Mr. Heartly and Mary Bourneville, now Mrs. Heartly. They’d made it impossible for Charles to venture below stairs in private or without the risk of discovery. He would do so now and, hopefully, find the reward he sought. Because he was fairly certain it wasn’t hidden on the ground floor. He’d searched every room there during the summer, including the conservatory.
But as he neared the door to the stairwell, he sensed another presence in the courtyard and quickly turned, scanning the space while keeping close to the shadowy corner. A movement off to one side caught his attention, and he was finally sure he’d been spotted.
“Who goes there?” he asked the murky shades.
At the sound of a sharp inhale, he immediately turned up the light, holding his lantern high in order to push back the colors of night. She stepped into the yellow glow with a hesitant tread that lent an ethereal quality to her poise. “Lady Emily?”
For a second, he thought she might be a dream brought to life by his recent ponderings of her. Certainly, she was a vision with her silky robe cinched at her waist, the fabric flowing around her figure like mist across the moors. He shook his head and addressed her more firmly. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” she said.
Another step, and she was close enough to touch. Dressed as she was, it was going to be difficult for him not to. He tried instead to offer a convincing answer. “I couldn’t sleep so I chose to go for a stroll.”
“Me too.” Her lips, he saw, hinted at a smile.
“You’re being deceptive.”
“No more than you.”
Her frankness caught him off guard. He held the light closer to her face, studying her expression while assessing her possible motive. Eventually, he was forced to ask, “Have you been following me?”
“No. I was in the parlor working on one of my sketches.”
“Why not do so in your chamber? Why the need to come downstairs in…” such a state of undress “…the middle of the night?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I decided to have a glass of sherry to help me rest.”
“I see.” He could think of nothing else to say at present.
“After turning off the light with the intention of retiring,” she continued, “I exited the room and saw you wandering about in the dark.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I didn’t know if it was you at first, and because I was curious to see what was going on. People don’t usually wander about houses in the dark for no good reason. Naturally, I’m now quite convinced you must be up to something, Lord Montsmouth. The only question is what.”
Grinding his teeth, Charles stared back at the woman before him. The determined glint in her eyes told him she would not be easily dismissed with a lie. Still, he wasn’t sure if he could trust her with the truth. After all, she seemed like an honorable creature who’d likely brand him a thief if she truly knew what he planned. Christ! He should have been more careful, should not have engaged her in conversation earlier. Because then he might not have cared about being a cad, of putting himself before her. Now, however, after she’d trusted him with her heart and her soul, allowed him to judge both, he felt compelled to give her nothing but sincerity in return.
“Very well,” he found himself saying, “come with me, and I shall tell you.”
She followed him into the nearest room. It was one of the themed salons – the Greek one, with columns and marble sculptures of deities scattered throughout. The furniture stood like forgotten memories covered in white cotton sheets. With no fire present, it was cooler than the more frequented parts of the house. Closing the door, Charles turned to face Lady Emily and reflexively drew a sharp breath as he drank in her figure. She was stunning – slender with curves that begged for a man to explore her. A temptress, with her brown hair undone in a river of curls tumbling over her shoulders.
Flexing his fingers, Charles fought the urge to step toward her and run his hands through the silky tresses. Instead, he made a valiant attempt to focus on the matter at hand. “What I’m about to tell you will require your complete discretion.” When all she did was nod, he forced his most serious tone and asked, “Can I trust you?”
“Of course, my lord. You have my word.” Her soft spoken words were followed by a distinct shudder.
“You are cold.” He should have taken her to the parlor. It was probably warmer there, even if the fire had already been extinguished. Regretting his insensitivity, he shrugged out of his jacket and went to give it to her. She took a step back. “My lady, I only mean to offer some means of comfort. If you will permit?”
She gave him a wary look for which he could not fault her. After all, he’d lured her into a room in the middle of the night and shut the door firmly behind them. For all she knew, he meant to be anything but a gentleman now.
He moved toward her with hesitant steps.
Bravely, she remained where she was, though her sharp inhale of breath was not lost on him as he settled the jacket over her shoulders. Her hair caught on the collar, and he could no longer help it. With rigid fingers, he allowed himself the pleasure of pulling it free, of letting it slide across his skin in a gentle caress that set his soul on fire. God help him, he wanted this woman, her passion for art and her unearthly beauty calling for him to adore her.
Trembling with the effort it took him to bank his most carnal desires, he took a step back and exhaled, though not before noting how still she’d gone or how shallow her breaths had become. Perhaps she was not unaffected by his nearness? No. Of course she wasn’t. He’d seen apprehension lighting her eyes not only here but when he’d approached her earlier in the gallery as well. She didn’t feel comfortable in his presence, that much was certain. And since he was not in the habit of playing the scoundrel, he retreated, adding distance.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” She nodded, and her entire posture eased as if with relief. “Thank you.”
Determined not to ta
ke offense or submit to the pang of pain that shot through his chest in response to her obvious reluctance to having him near her, he chose to address his reason for walking the halls late at night. “Are you familiar with the rumors regarding a treasure that’s supposedly hidden away here on the estate?”
She stared at him with wide eyes. Her lips parted ever so slightly. A second passed before she seemed to collect herself and offer confirmation in the form of a nod. “Yes. Of course I am.”
“Lady Duncaster insists there’s nothing to it, that she would have found it herself if it truly existed.”
“But you believe otherwise?” Her expression was one of intense curiosity now.
He tilted his head. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“Perhaps I’m not.”
This caught his attention. “Why?”
Her tongue darted out, licking her lips as she stared straight back at his eyes. Charles felt his chest tighten. He struggled for air, his feet firmly planted upon the marble floor, willing himself to remain where he was. To his utter consternation, she moved toward him instead, forcing his heartbeat into a rapid gallop while heat flooded his limbs. Curling his fingers into fists, he strained against the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she could barely recall her own name. God! What the hell was he thinking?
“My sister Fiona is convinced the treasure is here as well,” Lady Emily said. She spoke with a frankness that pulled him out of the tortured state he was in and forced him to think of the reason he’d come here in the first place. “She has been searching for a jewelry box that used to belong to our grandmother’s sister, the Duchess of Marveille. She was French – guillotined during the Revolution.”
“I’m sorry. I never realized.”
“My grandmother never recovered from the news of it. She wrote in her journal that her sister sent her a box before her death. While we were here for the summer, my brother Richard found a letter referencing it. The description was accurate, and from what I understand, Grandpapa came here to collect it. But upon his arrival at Thorncliff, something must have gone wrong, because both men left with haste as if fleeing a threat and succumbed to the sea on their way back toward France.”
“So the box was never recovered?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Filing away this bit of information, he carefully asked, “The letter you mentioned. Where did your brother find it?”
“I’ve been sworn to silence about it.”
His eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Really?” This could only mean one thing – the Heartlys had found something, and they meant to hide it. “And Lady Duncaster?”
“She is the one who insisted on keeping all the information we uncovered secret.”
“You mean there’s more?” When she gave him a blank stare, he failed to keep his irritation at bay, and he told her sharply, “You said all the information, Lady Emily.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot betray Lady Duncaster’s trust.”
“Not even if I were to tell you of my own connection to the treasure?” He saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, fleeting though it was. “Perhaps if we work together, we’ll actually manage to find it.”
“My siblings made a thorough search of the estate when they were last here and—”
“There’s more than your grandmother’s jewelry box, my lady. There is art and literature – knowledge that may remain hidden forever unless we manage to find it.”
She stared at him with incomprehension until she suddenly blinked and quietly asked, “How can you possibly know this?”
“Because my grandfather told me about it on his death bed. He…” Charles drew a shuddering breath and thought back on that conversation. “I know he was old and not quite in his right mind toward the end, but he was adamant about having collaborated with the previous Earl of Duncaster and two others whose names he never mentioned. He kept saying he’d helped to free his French brothers and sisters and to protect their most prized possessions from falling into the wrong hands. The way he spoke… It was a confession.”
“How so?”
“Because he kept asking for forgiveness, insisting his betrayal had cost more than he’d ever intended.” Her shocked expression forced Charles to move on quickly, to change the subject so she would not judge him by association. “Finally, before he drew his last breath, he told me all of these valuables he and others had retrieved were enshrined within Thorncliff itself. He spoke cryptically but with conviction. I cannot think he tried to fool me.”
“No. I don’t believe he did.” Hugging herself, she moved between the furniture until she reached a sofa. Lowering herself to it, she stared out over an invisible horizon before turning her gaze back toward him. “Does the North, South, East, or West Wind mean anything to you?”
Charles felt his heart thud against his chest in a dull monotonous motion. “Yes. Grandpapa kept saying the wind blows from the north. It made no sense to me at the time. I always assumed it was a sign of death creeping in.”
Silence sank between them, and for a long moment, she stared back at him from her position on the sofa. “What I believe, based on what you’ve told me, is that your grandfather was one of the Cardinals.”
Confused, he shook his head. “No. He was a peer with little connection to the church and certainly not a Catholic.”
A sympathetic smile touched Lady Emily’s lips. “What I speak of has nothing to do with religion, but with a group of three men and one woman – liberators who fought for the French aristocracy during a terrible time in its history. Aside from your grandfather, they consisted of Lord Duncaster, the Duchess of Marveille, and my grandfather, the previous Earl of Oakland.”
“How do you know so much about all of this?”
“I didn’t until recently. But when Spencer’s wife found my greataunt’s earring in an underground passageway leading to the sea, and Richard uncovered a Roman villa beneath Thorncliff along with the letter I mentioned before, and my sister Chloe and her husband helped bring down the Electors, they saw that everything was connected. With Lady Duncaster’s permission, they shared what they knew with the rest of us.”
“But the jewelry box and the treasure remain hidden.”
“Yes. Fiona is still determined to find them, though the rest of us have pretty much given up hope of ever doing so.”
He stared at her with incredulity. “I can’t believe there’s a Roman villa beneath Thorncliff.”
“Nor could I until I saw it with my own eyes. It seems to have been used as the Cardinals’ headquarters.”
“Jesus.” The amount of information she’d given him was staggering. He was having some difficulty processing it all and everything it implied. “These Electors you mention, do you know who they are?”
“Of course. They were brought to justice by my brother-in-law, the Duke of Stonegate. As I recall, his guardian, the Marquess of Hainsworth, turned out to be the leader of the Electors – a criminal mastermind by all accounts.”
Her words almost caused Charles to stagger. Reaching out, he steadied himself against the edge of a nearby table. “I think I need a drink.”
“You do look rather pale.”
“That’s because…” Oh dear God, how was he to tell her? “Hainsworth visited my grandfather on a regular basis. The two were close friends and…when he attended my grandfather’s funeral and offered his condolences, I recall him saying my grandfather had been a trusted ally – a man on whom he’d been able to depend. He told me he’d always helped him fight his adversaries, but I never imagined…I believed he referred to opposing investors or some such thing. Now, after everything you’ve told me, I think it’s clear to assume—”
“Your grandfather was the spy who betrayed them all.”
Her words, a mere whisper, hit him like a blow. To think he was related to a man who’d acted so selfishly – so dishonorably – was beyond the pale. He could not stand the idea of sharing his blood, of actually having mourne
d his loss.
“I’m sorry.” The words would not suffice. Nothing would. And she, the lady who’d captured his every awareness, would no longer look at him without knowing what he’d come from. It disgusted him to his core that she should be made aware of such a blemish upon his name.
“What for?” She stood and moved toward him, her face illuminating with a faint yellow glow when she stepped further into the light. “You had nothing to do with it, and you were not there to decide your grandfather’s actions.”
“But I—”
“No.” Her voice was soft but firm. “Any guilt on your part is unfounded. Release yourself from it, Lord Montsmouth.”
“How can you be so forgiving?”
“Because there is nothing for me to forgive.” She came to a halt immediately before him, and her eyes met his once more before she glanced toward the door. “Shall we look for that drink you mentioned?”
She was close, so close he could see her pulse pushing against the side of her neck – and he could not stop himself any longer. He reached out, his hand brushing hers, and while he half expected her to pull away, half hoped she would do so in fact, she remained where she was while their fingers continued to touch.
A surge of warmth filled his chest at the scarce bit of intimate contact, and his mind was infused with an endless selection of possibilities. He chose to pick the first, his hand closing over hers and pulling her to him. The gasp that spilled from her lips was enough to drive his cravings to the brink of insanity, but the feel of her suppleness pressed against him, the curve of her back as he reached round to hold her, made him want far more than he’d ever deserve.
“You enchant me,” he murmured, dipping his head toward hers and capturing her mouth in a reverent kiss that did nothing to cool his ardor. Hell, not even the chilly room could make him feel anything other than scorched. And the tiny murmur of pleasure that rose from her throat when he deepened the kiss and tightened his hold was delicious in its simplicity, its honesty. God! How the hell had it taken him so long to notice her beauty? And the way she tasted – like the sweetest nectar for him to savor.
Christmas At Thorncliff Manor (Secrets At Thorncliff Manor Book 4) Page 8