The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington

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The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington Page 31

by Anna Bradley


  Samuel tensed, but he didn’t speak. He simply waited, letting her tell him in her own way.

  Emma’s eyes burned, and she had to close them at the warm pressure of his lips against her temple. “The gentleman who purchased it—me—was a violent, brutish man, especially when he was in his cups, which was often. One night when he was particularly bad, I grew frightened and struggled against him. He—” Emma broke off, the familiar panic and horror rising like bile in her throat.

  But Samuel was there, his voice gentle, his strong arms tight around her. “What did he do, sweetheart?”

  “He, ah…he had a knife, and he held the blade to my throat. I can’t remember how…I don’t know how I managed it, but before he could hurt me, I wrestled the knife away from him. I don’t remember what happened after that, but when I came back to myself, he was lying still on the floor, and my…my hands were covered with blood.”

  Emma closed her eyes and waited for Samuel to say…what? What could he possibly say, after hearing that? There was nothing.

  Samuel didn’t say a word. Instead, he did the only thing he could do that would mean anything to her in that moment. He took her hands in his and covered them with tender kisses, his lips moving sweetly over her scars until she was trembling, and tears sheened her eyes.

  He held her for long, quiet moments, waiting for her breath to steady, then he raised her face to his. “Emma, look at me. You’re the bravest lady I’ve ever known. Your past has made you who you are, and who you are is everything to me.”

  A sob caught in Emma’s throat, but the tears that fell from her eyes and dampened his chest weren’t tears of sorrow, they were tears of gratitude.

  For him. He was the dearest man she’d ever known.

  He held her until her tears dried, and a shaky sigh left her lips.

  “I wish we could stay here all day.” Dear God, surely she wasn’t going to start crying again? She tucked her face against his shoulder to hide her expression. “It’s nearly dawn. The servants will be up soon.”

  It wasn’t a subtle hint, but Samuel didn’t move. “You haven’t told me what happened at the ball last night. Did any of the guests react to the pendant?”

  “No. At least, not in any noticeable way.” Emma stared up at the ceiling as scenes from the ball the night before played through her mind. The villain who’d hurt Caroline, Amy, and Kitty had been there last night, she was certain of it. She couldn’t explain how she knew, but she’d sensed him there, watching from the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike.

  Emma had hoped he’d make a mistake, that he’d stumble into some word or look that would give him away, but there’d been nothing. Whoever he was, he was cleverer than she’d thought.

  “That’s the last time you’ll wear that pendant, Emma. Either he’s seen it already, or he isn’t here. There’s no purpose in your wearing it again. One time should be sufficiently dangerous even to satisfy you.”

  Emma couldn’t have said whether she was frustrated at his arrogance or thrilled at his fierce protectiveness, but he was right about the pendant. It had served its purpose, and now there was nothing to do but wait and see what happened. “I won’t wear it again, but I came to Lymington House to finish this, Samuel, and I don’t intend to give up until I have.”

  He gathered her closer, a low growl in his chest. “Tell me what you plan to do, then. I can’t bear it otherwise.”

  In spite of herself, Emma’s heart melted. “There’s not much I can do but wait. I would like to speak to your kitchen maid, Hannah, again. I’m not certain she told me everything she knows about Amy’s sweetheart.”

  “I’ll come with you. I don’t like you to wander about the house alone.”

  “You can’t come with me, Samuel, or I won’t get a single word out of her. You’re the haughty, intimidating marquess, if you recall.” Emma took his hand and dropped a kiss onto his palm to take any sting out of her words.

  “I’ll wait in the hallway outside the kitchen, then.”

  Dear God, the man was stubborn. “The house is safe enough with so many guests about. One can’t stir a step without tumbling over some countess or earl or other.”

  Emma was hoping for a smile. All she got was a sullen pinch of Samuel’s mouth, but somehow even that proved so endearing she couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his pouting lips.

  “You’ll come to luncheon.”

  It was a command, not a request, but Emma chose to overlook his imperiousness in favor of getting her way. “Yes, I promise it. Now hurry back to your own bedchamber, before Lady Crosby comes searching for me.”

  Samuel grumbled as he got out of bed and dragged his breeches over his hips. Emma couldn’t prevent a regretful sigh at seeing all that smooth skin and those taut muscles hidden under clothing once again, but she was somewhat mollified by the dozen warm kisses Samuel pressed to her lips before tearing himself away with a reluctant groan.

  “Luncheon, Emma,” he reminded her, pausing at her bedchamber door.

  “Yes. I promise it.”

  He gave her one last heated look, and then he was gone.

  * * * *

  In the end, despite their best laid plans, Emma didn’t see Samuel after her foray into the kitchens, or at luncheon an hour later. She kept her promise, but when she arrived in the dining room, he wasn’t there.

  Lord Lovell took her aside and told her Samuel had been waylaid by a gentleman from a neighboring property with pressing estate business, and that he’d see her at tea.

  So Emma sat at the luncheon table between Lady Crosby and Lady Lymington, listening to their cheerful chatter, saying very little and eating even less. She was more disappointed by Samuel’s absence than a lady who’d sworn to keep her wits should be.

  It was the culmination of what had turned out to be a disappointing morning.

  Samuel had clearly instructed Lord Lovell to keep a close eye on her in his place, because Lovell followed her about with such determination that afternoon that Emma was finally driven upstairs to Lady Crosby’s bedchamber to escape him.

  “Well now, Emma, how did you do with the kitchen maid this morning?” Lady Crosby asked, when Emma joined her. “Did Hannah have any secrets to share?”

  Emma dropped down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Disappointingly few, though she did confirm what Lady Lymington told me. Amy Townshend did have a sweetheart.”

  “A sweetheart? I daresay that might lead to something promising. What sort of sweetheart?”

  “Hannah didn’t know. It seems Amy kept him a closely guarded secret. Hannah claims never to have laid eyes on the man.”

  “Nonsense. What sort of young girl keeps her sweetheart a secret?”

  “A young girl with the sort of sweetheart who wishes to remain anonymous, I imagine.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, that in itself is telling, is it not?”

  “Very telling, yes. Amy took up with this man about six weeks before she vanished. She was coy about his name, but Hannah said Amy once let it slip that the man wasn’t from Lymington House. It seems Amy used to sneak down to a folly situated near a pond at the edge of the property to meet with him.”

  Lady Crosby frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “I never saw a pond, or a folly, and we’ve been all over the gardens since we arrived.”

  “It’s not the sort of place one would stumble upon, my lady. It’s behind the kitchens, down a narrow, tree-lined pathway.”

  “It sounds like a dreadful, muddy place.” Lady Crosby shuddered. “Not at all romantic.”

  “No, but private, and thus ideal for a man who doesn’t wish to be seen.” Emma twisted a loose thread on the coverlet, thinking. That Amy Townshend should have disappeared six weeks after she found herself a mysterious sweetheart couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

  “What of Kitty Yardley?” Lady Crosby asked.
“What became of her?”

  “I couldn’t find out much about Kitty at all. She was shy, and didn’t have many friends among the servants. Lady Lymington mentioned she came from a large family, and was dreadfully homesick for them. Hannah said she assumed Kitty had run away back home when she disappeared.”

  “Thank goodness for you and Lady Clifford, Emma. Poor Lord Lovell might have found himself at the end of a noose, but for you.” Lady Crosby slammed her hairbrush down on the dressing table, her cheeks red with anger. “What pure evil, to try and implicate an innocent man in such a wicked crime.”

  The loose thread Emma had been toying with snapped between her fingers. “That’s true enough, but someone’s neck does deserve to be fitted with a noose, and I’ve still no idea who’s neck it is.”

  “But you will, dearest. I have the utmost faith in you, and so does Lady Clifford.”

  Emma gave Lady Crosby a grateful smile, but doubt was niggling at her. Perhaps their faith in her was misplaced. “I suppose I’ll go and see this folly, then.”

  Lady Crosby whirled around to face Emma, startled. “Not by yourself, I hope!”

  Emma hesitated. She had no wish to tempt fate, and Samuel would be furious if he discovered she’d been wandering the grounds by herself, but their villain must be offered an opportunity to strike, or he’d never show himself. “I’ll fetch Daniel to come with me.”

  “Yes, all right, but do wear a cloak, won’t you? It’s a cold, drippy sort of afternoon. You’ll come and fetch me before tea?”

  “Yes, my lady.” Emma pressed a quick kiss to Lady Crosby’s cheek. “I won’t be long.”

  When Emma reached the first floor, she found Samuel’s study door still closed, with muffled masculine voices coming from inside. So she made her way down the servants’ staircase to the kitchen door and out to the stables, where she found Daniel fussing over Lady Crosby’s carriage horses.

  He turned when Emma entered. “Aye, lass?”

  “Good afternoon, Daniel. Will you walk down to the pond behind the kitchens with me? There’s a folly down there that was apparently the scene of some secret assignations, and I want to have a look at it.”

  “More secrets, eh? Lymington House is full of ’em.” Daniel’s face darkened. “Too many aristocrats in one place, if ye ask me.”

  Emma smothered a smile. “You may be right.”

  Daniel gave the horse’s nose one last rub, then turned toward the door with a grunt. “All right, then, let’s go.”

  The folly was further from the main house than Emma anticipated, a quarter mile or so down a short, steep hill, the pathway hidden from sight by the spreading branches of a stand of English oak. She and Daniel were nearing the end, picking their way over the exposed roots studding the pathway, when a deep voice came out of nowhere.

  “Well, good afternoon, Lady Emma!”

  Emma nearly jumped out of her skin. “Mr. Humphries! My goodness.” she patted the center of her chest to calm her wildly beating heart. “I, er…didn’t see you there.”

  “Beg pardon, my lady. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Humphries.” Emma cast a sidelong glance at Daniel, who gestured toward the folly, just visible to the left of the pathway. Emma nodded, and Daniel slipped into the trees, while Emma made her way down the pathway toward Mr. Humphries.

  He was perched on the edge of the pond, up to his ankles in mud with an angling rod in his hands. “I didn’t expect any young ladies to venture down to the pond. A bit dirty, what?”

  Emma looked down at her muddy boots and wrinkled her nose. “Indeed. I didn’t realize you were a sportsman, Mr. Humphries.”

  “Ach, no—not me, my lady. Just a bit of angling now and then, you see. I like the quiet, and it’s pretty down here, with the water and the trees.” Mr. Humphries chuckled. “I don’t catch many fish, I’m afraid.”

  Emma edged a little closer. The pond was bigger than she’d expected from Hannah’s description of it. A towering stand of oaks overhung a good portion of the eastern side of it, and the shadiest parts were still covered with a thin layer of ice from the past winter’s freeze. “It is rather pretty, isn’t it? Goodness, those trees are enormous. They must be quite old.”

  “What, Lord Dunn’s trees? Oh, yes. It takes hundreds of years, I believe, for them to reach that size.”

  Emma turned to him, puzzled. “Are those Lord Dunn’s trees?”

  “Yes, yes, indeed. That’s his lordship’s property, just there.” Mr. Humphries waved a hand toward the other side of the pond. “He’s got a tidy little hunting box over there. He’s very fond of hunting, is Lord Dunn.”

  Emma frowned, vaguely recalling that Lady Crosby had said something about Lord Dunn’s having purchased a hunting box near Lymington House.

  But this was very near, much more so than she’d imagined. So close, she couldn’t help but wonder why Lord Dunn should need it at all, when he could just as easily hunt from Lymington House. “What, ah…what sort of hunting does Lord Dunn prefer?”

  “Oh, birds mostly, I think. He’s an avid birdsman, perhaps a bit more so than he should be, if you take my meaning.” Mr. Humphries gave her a mischievous wink.

  Emma shook her head. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Humphries, but I don’t.”

  “Oh, well, it’s just that I saw him out here in February, and he was after the partridge, you know. Partridge season ends on February first,” he added, when Emma gave him a blank look.

  “February? Are you quite sure it was February?” Emma’s voice was much more urgent than the conversation warranted, and she clenched her hands inside her pockets to remind herself to give nothing away.

  Mr. Humphries gave her a baffled look. “It was February, right enough—the second week of February. I came for Lady Lovell’s birthday weekend, but no sooner had I arrived than the family was unexpectedly called away to London.”

  A chill rushed over Emma’s skin, raising the hairs on her neck. She nodded and offered Mr. Humphries a weak smile, but her head was spinning.

  Lord Dunn had told her he was in Cornwall with his sister until the end of March. In fact, he’d made quite a point of saying he’d returned just in time for the season.

  Lord Dunn had lied to her.

  Why should he have lied, unless he had something to hide?

  Emma hurried back toward firmer ground, anxious to make her way back to Daniel, so she might confer with him about this new development. “Well, I wish you good luck with your angling, Mr. Humphries.”

  “Oh, well, I was just finishing when you came. It’s not as much fun when you’re not catching anything,” Mr. Humphries said cheerfully. “May I walk you back?”

  “No, I thank you. I think I’ll go a little further along the bank so I can see the folly.”

  “All right, then, Lady Emma. Be careful not to slip. That water’s cold.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mr. Humphries.”

  Mr. Humphries gathered his equipment and, with one final tip of his hat, disappeared down the pathway, whistling as he went.

  As soon as the sound of his whistle faded, Emma turned and hurried in the direction of the folly.

  It was just where Hannah had said it was, tucked into a narrow bend in the pathway, overlooking the pond. It was a pretty little building of white marble, with graceful columns supporting a domed roof with picturesque vines climbing up one side of it.

  Emma glanced behind her, but she was at the bottom of the short hill, below Lymington House, and couldn’t see it from here, which meant no one who happened to be looking out the window of the kitchen toward the pond could see the folly, either.

  It was plainly visible from Lord Dunn’s hunting box, however.

  Emma hurried toward the folly, the muddy ground sucking at her feet and slowing her progress, but soon enough she reached the archway that led
inside. It was open to the outdoors, and she shivered as a gust of cold wind stole under the skirts of her cloak.

  She came to an abrupt stop once she was inside, a sense of foreboding crawling up her neck.

  It was empty.

  “Daniel?” Emma crept forward and peered around the curved wall, hoping he was waiting for her just out of sight on the other side.

  But he wasn’t there. Emma’s gaze darted this way and that, but aside from a few stone benches, the folly was empty. There wasn’t a chance she could have missed Daniel, but Emma circled around again anyway, her heart rushing into her throat as the silence around her grew sinister.

  “Daniel?” He never would have left her here alone. Not by choice. There was simply no way he would have ever—

  “Well, Lady Emma Crosby. Here we are, alone at last.”

  Emma whirled around, her heart crowding into her throat. A tall, shadowy figure had appeared behind her as if out of nowhere and was looming over her. He was wearing a dark riding coat and a top hat, the brim pulled low, obscuring most of his face, but Emma knew him the moment he spoke.

  She sucked in a breath, gathering her energy to scream. “Dan—”

  Before she could get another syllable out, he slapped a large, gloved hand over her mouth. “I’m afraid your coachman is otherwise engaged, Lady Emma.”

  Shock made Emma freeze for an instant, rooting her feet to the floor. By the time her wits returned enough for her to struggle, it was too late. He’d clamped his other arm around her waist, and was dragging her out of the folly, her heels scrabbling uselessly for purchase on the slippery marble underneath her.

  “Come along like a good girl, and don’t make a fuss.” His tone was mocking, his breath hot in her ear, his forearm pressing hard against her throat. “Surrender to your fate, Lady Emma. It’s so much easier for us both that way.”

 

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