She knocked on his study door, and this time, after only the slightest pause, his voice bade her come in.
He was watering his plants as she entered and showed no surprise at seeing her.
“Miss Grey, what might I do for you?”
“I wish to speak to you about my engagement,” she blurted.
He stilled for an instant before lowering his watering can and setting it on top of a cabinet. “I am no expert in such matters.”
“Neither,” she said dangerously, “am I.”
He regarded her with faint amusement in his otherwise veiled eyes. “Go on.”
She glared at him. “You know perfectly well this betrothal is a sham. Mr. Benedict pretended it only to save my reputation.”
“Which was never at any risk,” Javan said with a hint of contempt that stung. “If neither of you wanted it, you should have kept quiet.”
“As you did?” she snapped.
He picked up the watering can. “Yes,” he said, opening the next cabinet. “As I did. If you don’t wish to marry him, be patient. He will leave soon enough and then you can just let if drop naturally.”
She stared at his averted face. “That is your best advice?”
“If you don’t like it, you don’t need to take it.” He walked around the cabinet until he stood too close to her. She refused to back away but met his gaze with seething indignation. With his nearness came the inevitable melting of her bones, and a twinge of hope. “What do you want from me, Caroline?” he asked softly. “Another proposal?”
Hope died in a fresh flurry of bitter anger. “Another? I have not received one yet!” With that, she flung away from him and out of the room.
*
Javan watched her go with raging disappointment and guilt. She was in an impossible situation, for a young woman in her position could not go about making and breaking engagements. And her engagement to Richard would be all around Blackhaven by now, perhaps even on its way to London and Richard’s friends and family.
Caroline had come to Javan for help, and he had not given it, mostly because he wasn’t sure it was what she wanted. He couldn’t truly believe she was the devious schemer who had first gone after Braithwaite and then him, before she had settled on his wealthier cousin, a baronet’s heir. The girl he knew would never behave so. And yet…she had not denied the engagement at the outset, although she must have known the compromising situation she’d been discovered in would never have gone beyond the Tamars and the Grants.
But could he blame her for wanting a better life than the drudgery of governessing? And Richard would make her a far better husband. Why then had she come to him about it now? He had always meant to offer himself as the alternative, if only she would come to him honestly. But then she had bolted before he could say the words. And doubts—not so much of her fitness but of his—kept him from following her.
I’m making a mess of this…
When the eerie howling began, he thought for a moment that it came from his own unhappiness and actually bit down on his lips to stop it. A bare instant later, he recognized it for the sound he’d been waiting for. Galvanized, he seized a candle and bolted out of the study and up the back stairs. As before, it was impossible to tell where the strange, echoing wail came from. Javan had no idea where the intruder was, but he knew where he would eventually have to go.
Approaching the library, he saw Marjorie’s head poking out of her bedchamber door. “Javan?” she whispered, clutching his arm. “It’s happening again!”
“I know,” he said grimly. “But this will be the last time. Don’t worry.” He had no doubt of his ability to deal with whoever this turned out to be. In fact, he wanted to deal with them. He wanted to fight, to expend energy on something tangible—a battle against someone other than himself.
The library door was closed as normal, though not completely, for it opened as soon as he pushed it. Darkness shrouded everything within. All his senses alert, in case the intruder lurked there, Javan entered, raising his candle high and quickly searching every corner of the room. Empty…and yet he was sure he sensed something…
And then he saw it. Where the left-hand side of the fireplace should have been, the tiles had been replaced by blackness. A small man-sized hole. He took a hasty step toward it and a man’s head poke out.
Williams. His old sergeant beckoned him with a grin. Javan advanced hastily, bent and entered the hole. For the barest instant, his candle flame flickered over Caroline’s face, and then she blew it out.
“Is the whole household here?” he murmured.
“Just us,” Williams assured him as another, more muffled howl reached them. “He didn’t even see me lurking behind the sofa in the dark, just stepped out of here and went straight for the door. No light.”
“He must know this house like the back of his hand,” Javan remarked.
“Should do,” Williams said sardonically. “He’s here often enough. But look, he leaves his lantern here.” Williams reached behind him and lifted something, a blanket, to reveal the lantern beneath. For an instant, the light glowed on a narrow stone passage within the walls, and steep steps leading downward. Then Williams dropped the blanket back over it.
“Useful,” Javan commented.
“I must have passed him downstairs when I left you,” Caroline whispered. “For I’m sure the first howl came from there when I was half way upstairs.” In the cramped space, her breath caressed his ear with devastating effect.
“So you came in here to be safe?” he managed with cool sarcasm.
“To see how he got in,” she corrected. “I thought it was the plan. Where is—”
He cut her short with a finger over her lips, for his ears, trained for so many years to pick up the faintest sounds, told him their man approached.
Her lips parted in shock at his touch. And God help him, it was sweet, even in this slightly ridiculous situation. Shrouded in darkness, awaiting the approach of the enemy, there was something unspeakably sensual about her soft, warm lips against his fingertip, her ragged breath stirring the tiny hairs on his skin. Even when she was engaged to his cousin. He did not move as the library door whispered open and breath panted in the room, advancing on their hiding place.
With reluctance, Javan let his finger slide away. He tugged the blanket off the lantern, grasped it and stepped out into the room, straightening at once.
A young man stood frozen in the light, his eyes wide and frightened. It was no great surprise.
“Tom Nairn,” Javan said conversationally. “I thought it was you.”
As though released from a bow, Nairn whirled around and bolted for the library door—but Richard now stood there, placing a candelabra on the table beside him. Brought up short, Nairn spun helplessly, looking for an escape that didn’t exist.
At last, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t even try to fight when Williams advanced and collared him.
“Any reason we shouldn’t hand you over to the magistrate?” Javan asked sternly.
Nairn shook his head miserably. “I told him it was over. Said you came too close last time, which you did, and you weren’t going to leave anyway—”
“You want us to go so you can buy the house cheaply?”
“It’s for my ma. She used to work here, was lady’s maid to Mrs. Gardyn, and always dreamed of living here again, only as mistress. And when my da came into some money…”
“If you had frightened my daughter, just once,” Javan said coldly, “I’d kill you.”
The boy blanched. “I told him that. I said you weren’t like the other tenants and we were playing with fire, but he wouldn’t give up. Said he’d come himself.”
“Who? Your father?”
Nairn paused, then nodded.
But Javan had already picked up his hesitation. “Not your father?” he pounced, going closer, holding the youth’s frightened gaze. “Come on, man, spit it out. It’s your only hope.”
“I’d talked my da round. He didn’t like
it, but he took my word eventually. Then he met this cove skulking around the farm and nearby land, and suddenly it was back on again. This cove don’t like you, paid my da to scare you one more time.”
“What cove?” Williams demanded.
“I don’t know his name,” Nairn insisted. “Not sure my da does either!”
“A slender, pale gentleman with a walking stick?” Javan hazarded.
Nairn blinked. “Oh no. He was no gentleman. Great hulking fellow you wouldn’t want to cross.”
Javan frowned. That, he hadn’t expected. Although the boy might be lying.
“How do you open the passage from this side?” Caroline asked. “We found the lever inside the passage, but we couldn’t find a way in from the room.”
Nairn hesitated.
“Magistrate,” Williams said decisively, tugging Nairn by the collar.
“No, wait!” Nairn resisted, desperately. “I’ll show you and I’ll swear on the Bible never to come here again if you just let me go. It’ll kill my ma if I get sent to prison and—”
“Stop whining and show us,” Javan interrupted.
Nairn drew in his breath, and Williams released his collar, allowing him to walk to the bell pull. Lifting the cord, he pulled it sharply to the right and the fireplace hole began to close with the same clanking grind Javan had heard so often before. Then Nairn pulled the cord to the left, and the secret door slid silently open again.
“Well,” Caroline said, impressed. “None of us thought of that.”
“I’ll be blocking this off,” Javan snapped. “At both ends. And you may tell your father I’ll have you both up before the magistrate—who is a friend of mine, incidentally—before you can say ‘help’ if I catch either of you within a hundred yards of my house or my family again. Or, if I’m angry, if my daughter is frightened in the slightest degree, I’ll just kill you where you cower. Do I make myself clear?”
He pushed the terrified boy back into Williams’ hold to be marched out of the house by the front door.
Richard raised one eyebrow at him. “You’re letting him go?”
Javan shrugged impatiently. “I don’t want the fuss. Besides, it’s over. He knew that before he came.” He glanced around, frowning suddenly. “Where is Caroline?”
Chapter Fifteen
Caroline, once she saw that Javan would not harm the boy, had simply picked up the abandoned lantern and stepped back inside the secret passage.
The tension in Javan had been wound so tightly she’d been sure at first that it would have to erupt into violence. But he was a soldier, with a lifetime of training, self-control and, probably, a deep understanding of the folly of young, badly behaved men. Reassured, she went exploring on her own.
Curiosity as to where the passage led, if it joined with others inside the walls of the house, propelled her onward, down the narrow steps. She expected the stone to be damp and dank, but in fact the passage surrounded the chimney, the warmth from which seemed to have kept it dry over the years.
At the foot of the steep steps she found herself in another cave-like room, similar to the one at the top. There was only one passage leading out of it. Above her, hurried footsteps clattered down the steps.
“Caroline?” Javan’s voice, unexpectedly anxious.
“I’m here,” she called, though part of her wished to punish him with silence.
She held the lantern high and saw that he’d come in such a hurry he’d brought no light of his own. The lantern cast a soft glow over his harsh features, and in spite of everything, her heart lurched just at the sight of him. “There seems to be just one way out,” she managed, moving forward again. He said nothing, not even to chastise her for foolhardiness in coming down here alone, or to persuade her to return. He simply followed her.
Her every nerve seemed to tingle in awareness of his silent closeness behind her. At last she reached a dead end, the wall being a panel made of old, slightly warped wood. Javan brushed past her and found a lever similar to the one above.
“Stand back,” he warned, pulling it. The panel swung open and he walked forward.
Following, she found herself in the chill of a natural cave. She could hear water close by, but she couldn’t see it for the heavy fronds and thick tree roots that almost blocked the cave entrance.
“It must be in those rocks by the river,” Javan said. He touched the boulder by his side. “I suspect they roll this across the entrance to hide the panel from casual view. A way out for priests, perhaps, or rebels in the civil war. Or Jacobites, maybe.”
She shivered, imagining the tragedies and stirring escapes of long dead men and women associated with Haven Hall. “I would have expected this sort of thing at the castle more than here.”
“The castle would have been a lot more secure than a mere country house. Come back. It’s too cold out here.” As if he’d forgotten their quarrel, he took her hand and drew her back behind the panel, which he closed again.
They stood too close, and he still held her hand. Her body, her whole being ached. He must have seen it in her face, for he dropped her hand at once.
“Christ,” he muttered. “You are better with Richard.”
“It appears I have no say,” she retorted. “But, in fact, I do, and I want neither of you!”
“Good choice,” he approved, and led the way around the winding passage toward the steps.
The lantern began to flicker.
“Stay close,” he muttered. “I think it’s about to go out.”
It died, just as they reached the steps.
“Give me your hand,” he said roughly. She obeyed, and he began to climb. She tried not to stumble as she followed. The pitch darkness was disorienting and yet strangely…liberating. She let her fingers cling to his.
Abruptly, he stopped and stepped back down, pinning her to warm stone wall. “You don’t want me, Caroline,” he ground out. “You don’t. You deserve a good, clean man, unsullied by life and dishonor.”
“Dishonor?” she repeated, startled. “You have every honor—”
“No.”
She could make out only deeper blackness where he stood, but she could feel his hardness, his heavy breathing. This, she thought, whatever this turned out to be, was the root of his damage.
“Tell me,” she whispered, raising their joined hands to his cheek.
“I betrayed the Fort of San Pedro,” he blurted. “The French walked into it, chasing the British out, because of me.”
The agony behind his short, abrupt tone made her want to weep. “How because of you?”
“I told them,” he whispered. “I blurted it all out and I don’t even remember.”
I told them. The same agonized words he’d uttered in his dream last night. “Where?” she asked bewildered. “Where did you tell them this?”
“In my prison bed.”
“You were asleep?”
“I told.” He tried to push away, but she clung to him.
“I don’t care, Javan,” she said clearly. “I don’t care whether that is true or not.”
He stilled. “You should care.” And with that, he stepped back, climbing onward and all but dragged her after him into the light of the library.
*
As she stepped into the carriage the following evening, she made to sit as usual with her back to the horses, until Richard urged her to the better seat facing the direction of travel and sat beside her. Javan slouched on the bench opposite, his scar livid in the gloomy shadows. She was sure it was his gaze that made her skin burn, and yet she refused to glance at him to see. If he truly wanted her, why was he tolerating, even urging her engagement to his cousin? To punish her? For what? Even last night’s strange revelation seemed to have been made to drive her away rather than to ease his own soul.
Richard appeared unaware of the tension and conversed amiably for most of the journey without much response from either of his companions.
Caroline was almost relieved when Javan excused himself in the
theatre foyer, leaving her and Richard to make their way to the box. As she took her seat, Caroline was only too aware of the scrutiny from many other boxes around the theatre. She was the governess who’d hooked a wealthy baronet’s heir—after failing to secure her earl, she was sure it was said. Being used to the unfairness of life, she wouldn’t have cared, except for the fact that she hadn’t actually “hooked” anyone.
Fortunately, the arrival of Lord and Lady Tamar reduced the stares, although they must have been intrigued beyond endurance when the tenant of Haven Hall himself entered the box with none other than Mrs. Gallini.
Sought after by the highest hostesses in polite society, the singer was in something of a unique position. The tarnish of the stage did not quite cling to her—in Blackhaven at least—as it would have to a mere actress or dancer, and yet she was an odd choice to chaperone Caroline, if that had ever been Javan’s intention.
Worse, just as the curtain went up, Caroline sensed a different kind of observation, and she glanced down at the pit to discover Thomas Swayle bowing to her. Her stomach jolted nervously, for she had no idea how Javan would react to his presence.
Although Caroline normally loved the theatre and rarely had the opportunity to indulge her passion, she could not enjoy this evening. Her nerves jangled too much and she simply wanted to go home.
Home. It seemed she regarded Haven Hall as home, despite Javan’s recent behavior.
At the first interval began the true purpose of the theatre—visiting each other’s boxes and comparing gossip. Tamar and Richard went off together, although Javan lounged in the back of the box, silent and brooding. While Serena exchanged conversation around the pillar with their nearest neighbor, Mrs. Gallini drew her seat closer to Caroline.
“Forgive me, Miss Grey, but I saw that man Swayle trying to attract your attention earlier. You must know he is the source of rumors against your employer.”
“I can imagine,” Caroline said with a sigh. “I can only hope no one believes such nonsense.”
The singer shrugged. “Those who know him will not. However, he is also saying that you became engaged to Mr., Richard Benedict in order to avoid the lascivious attentions of Colonel Javan Benedict, of whom you are afraid.”
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 37