“If I solve this mystery, perhaps it will help salvage your aunt’s caterpillars, and she won’t feel that she has to marry Mister Landrigan.”
Aislinn gently batted at the pillow.
“Your sister told me—” A heartrending wail from the hallway stalled Nick’s statement. He clutched the book in his lap until Lia had silenced. “She told me that when the Raven visits her room, he leaves behind trails of purplish moss on her flowers.”
Aislinn’s dark brows hitched to sharp lines. “Purple?” Her posture stiffened, as if just grasping what he’d said. “The Raven has been in her room? When?”
“She has not informed you of his visits?”
“She mentioned a new friend. But I thought him like her other imaginary playmates. She never gave a description.” An expression of complete wonderment crossed her face, as if she’d had an epiphany. “So, the moss … or rather the fungus … is connected to our Dark Raven. That’s why I saw it in the tree before he appeared.” Biting her lip, she flipped erratically through the journals.
She was alight—beaming as if the dawn rose within her and streamed from her eyes and the pores of her skin. Her cheeks flushed, her freckles danced, and her lips brightened to the crimson shade of a poppy. It was as if, in that moment, she lost the icy trappings of a statue and melted into life again. No wonder Tobias liked to help with her scientific meanderings.
She skimmed her fingertip along selected pages, casting one book aside for another. Finally, she found what she sought and looked up at Nick, her gaze piercing. “What does your recovery have to do with any of this?”
Nick rolled up his trouser leg, showcasing his mending flesh. “The fungus healed me. It was on my wounds when I awoke this morn, on my dog’s as well. He ran down the stairs earlier as if he were a pup again. And here I am walking with not even a limp.” He pushed his hem back in place.
Aislinn turned the book around so it faced Nick. Her finger tapped one of her colored sketches where bright purple patches gathered like pygmy cauliflowers on a rose’s stem. “Is this what the fungus looked like?”
Nick nodded.
“Why did I not make the association?” Aislinn smiled, but not at him. This smile was reserved for another man, the author of the scientific journals tumbling across her bed. She poured through them again, not even looking at Nick. “You were right. The pupas worked … but different than we expected. Somehow you’re—” She stopped herself, sliding her gaze up to meet Nick’s.
He had once heard that savants could plummet so deep into their introspections they would forget anyone else occupied their space. He’d never experienced it until now. “Do you know who this shadowy man is, Miss Aislinn?” he asked her point blank, meaning to catch her on the cusp of her mental daze.
“No.” Her eyes belied her answer, lashes fluttering down to hide the hope within them. “But I do think that the fungus is not a detriment. Instead, it is counteracting whatever ailment has befallen those plants. That’s why it appeared on the dying tree, and on Lia’s flowers in her room. They were withering from being plucked from the ground … and the fungus is trying to heal them. Just like—”
“Just like it healed me; like it’s healing the vines. Which in essence, links our ‘ghost’ to not only the fungus, but also the butterflies.”
“Yes.”
Nick had a passing curiosity as to why the Raven hadn’t visited Aislinn in the night over the past week and fixed the gash in her head—especially if this spirit was who he once more suspected it might be. But then he remembered Binata had been sleeping with the girls. Hadn’t Lia said something about her tea party companion being shy of the nanny?
Nick stood. “Thank you, Miss Aislinn. I’ll leave it to you to explain this to Clooney. And see that he treats your wound with some fungus.” He started toward the open door, poking his head out. Relieved to find Lia and Binata gone for the moment, he stepped into the corridor.
“What will you tell Auntie?” Aislinn asked, coming to stand at the threshold.
“That she should leave the growth on her plants.”
“And the Dark Raven?” Aislinn’s query had a sharpened edge to it. The look on her face confirmed Nick’s suspicions. She also believed her father was the ghost.
“I’ll not say anything of him. Not until we have some tangible proof. No need to upset her unduly.” Nick nodded goodbye and headed for the steps leading to the second flight, resolved to search while the servants were occupied with their morning duties on the ground floor.
It was time he found out what was hidden in that turret, and if it could lead him back to his dead wife and son.
Standing within the henhouse as chickens clucked and feathers floated like snowflakes, Felicity coiled the dead snake into a bag.
The limp orange body curled upon itself, black lines spinning around its two-foot length. She stuffed hay atop the scaly corpse then tied the bag’s mouth shut. Placing the back of her glove over her nose, she staunched the raw meaty stench to ease her stomach.
Some twigs popped behind her and snapped her focus to the doorway.
“Japers! What happened here?” Landrigan’s tall, toned frame blocked the sunlight as he leaned against the threshold. His teeth clacked against a stick of peppermint, moving it from one side of his mouth to another. A slight breeze stirred the hay and feathers beneath his feet.
“Back to harvest the fruits of your labor?” Felicity accused from behind her glove, trying to contain her rage.
“Aw, rabbit on. Aunt Bini sent word that Aislinn fell from a tree. I would’ve been here sooner, but I’ve been preoccupied in town. I’m here to seek about ye and the wee lambs.”
“Ah. There’s nothing more comforting to lambs than a rabid wolf in a bloodied sheepskin.” She cinched the twine in place on the bag then met his cocky gaze, wishing she’d brought her whip.
Landrigan slid his candy from his mouth and offered a half-grin. “For once would ye stop the effin’ and blindin’. Admit yer happy to see me.”
Using her sleeve, she swiped some dirt from her forehead and left a dusty streak on the black fabric. “All right. I’m thrilled to see you.” With a shove of her boot, she scooted the heavy bag his direction, watching as blood seeped through the weave. “I intended to send your snake back to you via post. You’ve saved me the trouble.”
Smirking, Landrigan sucked on his peppermint again and dipped a hand into the dried corn sacked next to the door. He strode inside with all the grace and alacrity of a hungry fox, stepping over the dead snake while he kept Felicity in his amber-gold sights. He crouched among the clucking chickens. His dapper gray suit looked out of place as he sprinkled the feed on the ground—like a prince posing as a pauper. “That a real snake then? They be as scarce as hen’s teeth here on the bonnie green. Need to keep yer eyes sharp, it would seem.”
“Should I? They’re unheard of … lessen someone brings them over illegally by ship.” Felicity held back a snarl. “It was about to strike Lia’s bare feet.”
“A corn snake nayn’t have harmed the tiddler.”
“And how would you know what kind it was?”
The candy twirled along the curl of his plump lips as he looked up at her. “I saw ye tuck it in the bag, didn’t I? Ye needn’t have killed it.”
Felicity tightened her jaw. “It was in the shadows. I acted on the assumption it posed a danger. As of late, all the snakes I’ve dealt with have been venomous.” She cast him a pointed glare as he stood to his impressive height.
His eyes narrowed. “Damn, Felicity.” He slapped his palms together to dust them before taking off his hat and raking through his black, cropped curls. “Yer always accusin’ me of bein’ on the maggot.” He replaced his topper, smoothing the brim with all the suave of a true gentleman.
Felicity glanced at the hoe next to her feet … the one she’d used to sever the snake’s head. She swooped down to snatch its handle. The blade—glistening with smears of blood—paused in midair as she held it steady a
nd straightened her back.
A cautious spark lit Landrigan’s features but he didn’t budge.
“Twice now you’ve tried to hurt my girls. The threats end today!” Felicity took a swing at him. Landrigan caught the hoe’s neck, halting it just short of slicing his cheek.
He spit out his peppermint which now had droplets of red sprinkled across its tip to match the bloody spray on the pink silk cravat beneath his chin. He wrestled the tool from her—twisted her wrists until the ligaments came close to snapping. Taking the hoe, Landrigan cast it to the ground, sending several chickens squawking.
“Are ye loopers, woman? If I’m responsible for this, Tis only one time. And the tiddler was in no danger.”
“You made Aislinn fall from a tree!” Scalding tears burned behind Felicity’s eyelids and blurred her vision.
“Away with ye. I’d nothin’ to do with that. I told ye, I’ve been out of pocket.”
“Lying swine!” Felicity kicked up some hay in his direction.
His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as he rushed her. A dangerous grimace showcased teeth as white as the peppermint he’d cast away.
Backing up, she nearly tripped over several flustered chickens before her shoulder blades met the wall, giving her balance.
He had her pinned against the wood beneath his hot, hard body before she could take a breath. Her heart pecked at her sternum in a fit of panic as pointed and sharp as a beak.
“Every time I see ye…” His minty breath scorched her forehead. “Yer knickers are in a twist ‘bout somethin’. High time someone loosens the knot a bit, aye?”
His hand started a descent over her bodice from her chest to her stomach. Felicity managed to wedge an arm between their bodies and catch his wrist. “You’re not man enough to do it.”
He didn’t force her grip free. Instead, he let his palm rest on her belly, a hot pressure against her scar, a warning of how easily he could dominate the situation.
“Yer only one step from givin’ in. I can feel it.”
“I will never give in.”
“I’ll provide for ye. Ye’ll not want for anythin’.”
“I’ll want for dignity and peace of mind.”
“Nay, now. We had some bright times. All those talks beneath the moonlight. The kiss…”
“That slobbery tongue-grope you forced on me an hour before you bedded Rachel in the hayloft?”
He flipped his hand to weaved his fingers with hers and smirked—an ugly, mean, tangle of lips. “Ah, that’s cracker! All this time, yer punishin’ me for goin’ at it with yer scrubber of a maid months ago.” He leaned close, trailing his free hand down her temple. “I was tired of waitin’ for ye to let me into yer icy heart. Ye want I should make up for that now?”
Felicity swallowed against the bile in her throat. “You can never make up for the things you’ve done.”
“Well. Ye must not be too narky over them. Ye ain’t even telled me Aunt.”
“I’ve aired my suspicions. But without proof, she won’t cast judgment. She wants to believe the best in her only nephew.”
“Ah. Mayhap ye do, too.”
Felicity fought back as he dragged her hand along his thigh.
He forced her palm to his crotch. He was fully aroused. She’d always suspected he gleaned some sort of perverse gratification from their altercations. To have it validated only made him more repulsive … more dangerous. Lust had a tendency to inspire depraved men to a state of malicious hysteria. She’d seen it for herself, firsthand.
“Ye know, that tryst with yer maid, I wanted it to be ye all along. She’s six o’ one, half a dozen o’ the other. But ye…” He pressed her fingers around his hard length.
She squelched a gag, grateful for her gloves lest she retch from the contact.
“Yer like no other dowager I’ve e’er met. Damned well preserved.”
She flipped her wrist and clamped her fingers around his bollocks, pinching the vulnerable spot just hard enough that he wouldn’t dare move. A startled whimper broke from his throat and his whole body stiffened.
“Here’s how this will play out, Mister Landrigan. You’re going to leave my estate and take your bloody snake with you.” They both flicked a glance to the seeping bag on the ground.
“On second thought,” Felicity said. “Take both of them.” Her fingers gouged into him again for emphasis. “Lest you want this one to end up headless and limp in a bag, as well.” With that, she tugged hard before pushing him off.
Stumbling backward, he clenched his crotch and doubled over in a coughing fit. But when it evolved to a throaty chuckle, a fresh wave of terror crashed over Felicity. He uncurled his spine—face deepened to the color of elderberry wine—looking well and ready to murder her. A stab of nostalgic terror sliced through Felicity’s scar, for in that moment he looked more like his father than ever before.
Her windpipe compressed until her breath came out in whistles. The stable hands were only a scream away. They were good boys, both of them. And loyal. But neither had the matured physical prowess to match Landrigan should he decide to force his wrath on her.
“That fiery spirit’s o’yers is bleedin’ deadly.” He sneered. “I’m gonna take great pleasure in snuffin’ it out.” He licked his thumb then pinched it to his forefinger, mimicking putting out a candle’s wick. “Yer hidin’ somethin’ in yer past. Why else would ye imprison yerself up here? I’m close to figurin’ out what that be. And when I do, ye’ll beg me to marry ye.” He took a step toward her. “What say ye practice bendin’ yer knee now?”
Felicity couldn’t move, nailed by the undercurrents of the cryptic threats. She’d hoped all along he hadn’t inherited his father’s temper. But if she kept pushing him, she might very well bring it out, just as she had in the earl.
She whispered a prayer that Nick would come and be her hero again—right at this moment—and level Landrigan to the ground.
As if by her willing it, an angry masculine voice carried over the threshold.
“Donal. What are you doing here?”
Chapter Fourteen
Felicity had never been so glad to see Clooney.
She met Landrigan’s gaze and watched the angry blush fade from his face before he turned to greet the groundskeeper. He always put forward his best foot around Clooney, as he knew the old man would report back to Binata without hesitation. If there was one thing the Irishman cherished, it was his aunt’s good graces.
“Aye there, Clooney. Nothin’ more than some tomfoolery. Ain’t that right, yer ladyship?” He glanced back at Felicity, a yellow flame aglow behind his eyes. Whether born of lust or rage, she didn’t know. She was beginning to think the two walked hand in hand with him.
“Suppose I’d best quit pullin’ me plum and find me aunt. Tell Aislinn I was here to seek about her.” He tipped his hat to Felicity then shoved the snake-filled bag out of his path with his heel before passing Clooney and disappearing into the sunlight.
Felicity shut her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her jittery heartbeat.
“You all right?” Clooney came forward to catch her elbow.
Still overly-sensitized from Landrigan’s intrusive touch, she pulled free. “I’m fine.” She rubbed her abdomen. Noticing the bloodied peppermint stick on the ground, she strode over to grind it to crystals beneath her boot. It gave her a small thrill of pleasure to imagine it was Landrigan’s skull. “How is Lia?”
Clooney swiped a palm over his beard. “She told me about the snake.” He glanced at the bag. “You suspect Landrigan had a hand in it?”
“I’ve no doubt. But Aislinn was his alibi for being here. Is Lia still angry at me?”
“Lia is a child, Dove.” Clooney bent to lift the bag’s mouth and dragged it with him to the entrance. He paused. “Her emotions are always on her sleeve. She’ll forgive you soon enough.”
“Like she has for the carousel ponies? Every day she draws a new picture of the ride. Even when she doesn’t speak alo
ud of her grudge, it’s still there. It seems that with each new trick Landrigan pulls, he drives a bigger wedge between me and the girls.”
Clooney’s forehead burst into wrinkles. “Then you should go to the RICs, Felicity. Enough of this.”
“He’s been too careful. I’ve no proof of his guilt. And to bid them to investigate would only invite trouble. They’ll see me living in this castle with children I have no real claim to. And I have little ground to stand on without a husband to complete the family portrait. Tis what Landrigan is counting on.” She let out a shaky breath.
“Wish you’d reconsider bidding the law, Dove. Desperate men do desperate things.” Clooney stared at the trees outside, the back of his head turned toward her. “I never want to see you gutted like a rabbit again. Couldn’t bear to see it…” His voice broke and he left, dragging the bag behind him.
Alone once more in the henhouse, an insidious unease crept over Felicity. Moving like an automaton, she tottered around the busy chickens and picked up the hoe, carrying it to a white enamel bucket filled with water. She dunked it in, sloshing until the blade came out clean and the water retained a pinkish tint. Propping the tool in a splay of light, she left it to dry.
As she looked about the shaded enclosure, she wondered if Landrigan had planted anymore fanged surprises. The shed provided too many nooks and crannies where a snake could hide. The seven coops raised on timber perches and the straw thick upon the ground would be the perfect camouflage for any slithering predator.
She shuddered, then squared her shoulders, unwilling to let her disquietude get the better of her. She would simply have to be alert. She should have been more suspicious when the eggs started going missing. She should’ve been more vigilant. She should never be caught off guard by anything Landrigan did.
Up till lately, his warnings had been artfully planned to frighten without inflicting violence on her or the girls. He’d even been gentlemanly in his treatment of her for the most part. But now…
The Glass Butterfly Page 14