chapter Four
An iron band of an arm closed around her waist at the same moment her feet left the ground. She hung suspended above the raging sea for what felt like hours, but could only be seconds. That arm twisted her around and plonked her down. Not on the ground, but on a pair of hard muscled thighs gripping a saddle.
Teeth chattering, heart racing, she gazed up into the earl’s hard face. With a click of his tongue he backed the horse away from the edge. Was he mad? They could all have gone over the cliff.
Clear of the edge, he halted the horse’s backward progress and wheeled around so they were no longer facing the sea. Further along the cliff, a shepherd, crook in hand, was running towards them. The earl waved, an everything-is-fine acknowledgement, which it wasn’t, and the shepherd stopped running and waved back.
‘Put me down,’ she demanded.
A grunt was all the answer he gave.
She felt his thighs move beneath her as he clicked his tongue. The horse headed down hill. Back the way she had come. The urge to protest caused her hands to clench.
‘Are you mad?’ she yelled over the wind. ‘I almost went over the edge.’
His cold gaze flicked over her face. He took a deep shuddering breath as if to control some strong emotion. Fear? More likely anger. His next words confirmed it. ‘It would have served you right, my girl. What the devil did you think you were doing?’
She shoved the annoying lengths of hair out of her face. Dash it, she would not lie. ‘Walking to St Ives. Now I have lost my bag.’
‘You are lucky that was all you lost,’ he murmured like a threat in her ear.
He meant she could have lost her life. She swallowed and glanced back towards the headland, where the shepherd, a hand shading his eyes, was still watching them. It would have been the answer to all the earl’s problems if she had gone over that cliff. She could have sworn something nudged her in the back. Had he changed his mind at the last moment?
A cold hand clawed at her stomach. She glanced at his grim expression. He’d been angry about that will. She could well imagine him taking matters into his own hands. But murder? A shiver slid down her back.
The further from the cliff they got, the less the sea and the wind roared in her ears. She lifted her chin and met his chilly gaze. ‘You have no right to keep me here.’
‘I have every right. I am your guardian.’
‘Only in your mind,’ she muttered.
He stiffened. ‘You need a keeper if you think it is safe to walk along that cliff top.’
Now he was pretending he minded if she fell. Why? So she wouldn’t guess his intentions? It certainly wasn’t because he cared about what happened to her. The cold in her stomach spread to her chest. She readied herself to jump down and run for her life.
He hissed in a breath, as if in some sort of pain. ‘In heaven’s name, stop wriggling.’
‘Then put me down.’
‘I’ll put you down when I am good and ready.’
The big horse pranced and kicked up his back legs. She instinctively grabbed for his lordship’s solid shoulders. He tensed and she heard him curse softly under his breath. He pulled the horse to a stop and, putting an arm around her waist, lowered her to the ground. He dismounted beside her.
‘No need to interrupt your ride,’ she said brightly. ‘I can find my own way.’
He grasped her upper arm in an iron grip. Not hard enough to hurt, but there was no mistaking she could not break free. ‘How did you get out of the house without anyone seeing you?’
She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I left orders that you were not to leave.’
‘Orders you have no right to give?’
‘Don’t test my patience, Miss Wilding. I will have no hesitation in dealing with you as you deserve.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Killing me off, you mean?’ Oh, no. She couldn’t believe she had just blurted that out.
He released her as if she was hot to the touch. His eyes flashed with an emotion she could not read—pain, perhaps? More likely disgust given the hard set to his jaw. ‘I assure you, when I want your death, it will not occur in front of witnesses.’
So he had seen the shepherd and thought better of it. She tried not to shiver at the chill in his voice. ‘I will keep that in mind, my lord. Thank you for the forewarning.’
He stared at her, his lips twitching, his eyes gleaming as if he found something she had said amusing. ‘You are welcome, Miss Wilding. Come along, I will escort you back to the house.’
So now they were to pretend nothing had happened? That he hadn’t seriously thought about pushing her off a cliff? Perhaps she should pretend she was joking about thinking he wanted her dead. She quelled a shiver. She hated this feeling of fear. Anger at her weakness rose up in her throat, making it hard to breathe or think, when she should be finding a way to beat him at his own game. She gave him a look of disdain. ‘Did no one tell you it isn’t polite to creep up on a person?’
‘I was riding a very large stallion over rocky terrain. That hardly counts as creeping.’
‘I didn’t hear you over the noise of the sea. Surely you could tell?’
He gave her a look designed to strike terror into the heart of the most intrepid individual. ‘I had other things on my mind.’
Such as pushing her over the edge. She began striding down hill. Unlike most men of her acquaintance, he easily kept pace, the horse following docilely, while the dog bounded around them. Surprisingly, his steps matched hers perfectly. On the rare occasion when she’d walked alongside a gentleman—well, back from the village with the young man who delivered the mail—she’d had to shorten her stride considerably because the young man was a good head shorter than she. The earl, on the other hand, towered above her. A rather unnerving sensation.
All her sensations with regard to this man were unnerving. The fluttery ones when he kissed her, the shivery ones when she felt fear and the one she was feeling now, a strange kind of appreciation for his handsome face and athletic build when she should be absolutely terrified. It seemed that whereas her mind was as sharp as a needle, her body was behaving like a fool.
It was this silence between them making her react this way. It needed filling to distract her from these wayward thoughts and feelings.
‘The Abbey is an extraordinary house, isn’t it?’ She gestured towards the sprawling mish-mash of wings and turrets.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Highly impractical. Ridiculously expensive to run. It should be torn down.’
Aghast, she stopped, staring up at his implacable face. ‘But think of all the history that would be lost.’
‘A history of murderous brigands.’
‘Rather fitting, don’t you think?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
He gave her a look askance, as if he found her a puzzle he would like to solve. Well, she had solved his puzzle. She knew exactly what was on his mind. Her murder. A bone-deep shudder trembled in her bones.
They reached the ruins near her tower. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the door through which she had left. ‘You came through there.’
It wasn’t a question. She shrugged and kept walking.
He caught her arm and halted her. ‘Give me your word you will not try to leave again without my permission.’
‘You have no authority over my actions. None at all.’
He let go a sigh. ‘Very well, that door and all the others will from now on be locked and barred.’ One corner of his mouth curled up, and if his voice had not been so harsh, she might have thought it an attempt at a smile. ‘You might as well use it to go back inside.’
She pulled her arm free. Anything not to have to spend any more time in his company. Her runaway heart was going to knock right through the wall of her chest. She headed for the door.
‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, softly.
She turned back.
‘Be in the library at eleven o’clock.’
‘Why?’
‘There is a funeral to arrange.’
Why would she need to be involved in family arrangements? Unless he still thought she was some sort of relation. The very idea made anger ball up in her chest, because while she had longed for it desperately, it wasn’t the case. And that was just as foolish as the way her emotions seemed to see-saw around him.
She shot him a glare as he stood there, waiting for her obedience, one hand on a hip, the other gripping the horse’s reins, watching her with those unnerving grey eyes as if she was a recalcitrant child.
With no other alternative in sight, she lifted the latch and went in.
* * *
As custom dictated, the ladies were not expected to attend the funeral. Mary also refused to attend the reception arranged for afterwards. She wasn’t family and there had been quite enough speculation about her relationship to the deceased earl. She had no wish to run the gauntlet of local gossip. Besides, she had nothing suitable to wear now her valise was gone. Reluctantly the earl had agreed.
Heady with triumph at winning the argument, Mary had settled herself in the library with Maria Edgeworth’s Belinda. Romantic nonsense, Sally would have called it, but it had a depth to it, too, that Mary found fascinating.
‘What are you reading?’
Startled at the closeness of the voice, Mary looked up with a gasp. The earl, dark and predatory, loomed over her looking like a dark angel. Much as he had looked at his grandfather’s bedside. Perhaps not quite as grim.
‘Shouldn’t you be at the reception?’ she asked sweetly.
‘It is over.’
A hot flush travelled up her face as she realised that evening was drawing in rapidly. The afternoon had flown by in unaccustomed idleness. She was already straining to see the words on the page, but she’d been too engrossed to get up and light a candle. She closed the book. ‘I didn’t realise how late it was.’
He glanced down at the cover. ‘A novel. I should have guessed.’
The back of her neck prickled because he was standing so close. Because once more his cologne invaded her nostrils and recalled to mind her disgraceful response to his lips on hers. Her body warmed in the most uncomfortable way at the memory. How could she think about his kiss after he had practically dropped her off the cliff earlier in the day? Her mind must be disordered.
‘Was there some reason for your interruption?’ She gave him the frosty glance that had new girls quaking in their slippers.
It troubled him not one whit, it seemed. Indeed he didn’t seem to notice the chill in her voice at all, since a flicker of amusement passed across his face. Hah! She should be glad he found her entertaining.
He held out a note. ‘The post brought you a letter.’
Oh, now she felt bad for being rude.
He moved away to give her privacy and began browsing the shelves on the far side of the room.
She frowned at the handwriting. She had not expected Sally to write after such a short time. Sending mail such a distance was expensive. Now she would owe the earl for the cost of the postage and she had little enough money in her purse. She broke the seal and spread open the paper.
For a moment, she could not quite believe the words she was reading. She read the cold little missive again, more slowly.
Miss Wilding,
Ladbrook School is now closed as ordered by the Earl of Beresford and the property is sold. I wish you all success in your new life. Yours, Sally Ladbrook.
Closed? How could the school be closed? Why would he do such a thing? How could he? Anger trembled through her with the force of an earthquake. The paper shivered like an aspen in her fingers. A band tightened around her chest as the enormity of what had happened became clear. She was homeless.
Abandoned by her only friend in the world. It hurt. Badly.
The earl, who was leaning against the shelves leafing idly through a book, looked up from the pages to meet her gaze. ‘Bad news?’
The wretch. ‘Bad?’ She rose to her feet. ‘You take away my livelihood and then ask if it is bad?’ She gave a bitter laugh.
He straightened, frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know very well what I am talking about.’ Her voice shook with the effect of roiling anger. Everything inside her chest rocked and heaved. Her ribs ached from the force of it. For a moment it seemed she might never breathe again. But she did. And words followed. ‘You need not think this will stop me from leaving.’ She crumpled the note in her fist and threw it at him. Incredibly, he plucked it out of the air.
She marched for the door, not knowing where she was going, but knowing she could not remain in the same room with him without trying to do him a mischief.
‘Wait!’ he commanded.
She didn’t stop, but once again he beat her to the door, holding it closed with his hand above her head, while she pulled on the handle. She swung around, glaring up at him. ‘Open this door.’
He glanced down at the note. ‘This school has no relevance now.’
‘No relevance?’ She wanted to hit him for his stupidity. Instead she dodged around him and went to the window, putting as much distance between them as possible. ‘The school was my home.’
She turned to stare out of the window, wanting to bang her fist against the glass, break through it to freedom, like a trapped sparrow in a garden room.
Her stomach fell away. Even if she did, she had nowhere to go. No home. Not even a forwarding address for Sally. Was that his doing, too? Or did Sally blame her for the loss of her school? The selfish, horrid man.
Moisture burned in the back of her throat and pushed its way up behind her eyes. She bowed her head against the pressure and swallowed hard. Tried to regain her composure
The earl drew closer, his gaze puzzled. ‘Miss Wilding, surely it is not as bad as all that? You will have enough money to buy a hundred schools when you marry.’
‘Marry who?’ She whirled around and stared at him. Was that guilt she saw in his face? Guilt because he’d taken away all her options as well as her only friend.
Or guilt because he had decided that marrying her was preferable to her death? Or guilt because he planned...?
A sob pushed its way up her throat. Tears welled up, hovering on her lashes, blurring her vision. She dashed them away, clinging to her anger. ‘Ladbrook’s is the only home I remember. Everything I owned was there. My books. My mementos from my pupils. Why? Why did you have to interfere?’ She struck out at his chest with her fist.
The next moment she found her face pressed to his wide shoulder, her hand gripping his lapel and supressed sobs shaking her body.
‘Mary,’ he said, his voice achingly soft. A large hand landed warm on her back, tentatively at first and then patting gently. ‘I will have your property recovered, if that is what disturbs you.’
The urge to give in to her overwhelming longing for someone who cared battled with her good sense and won. She leaned against that broad chest, felt his heat and his power, and the steady rhythm of his heart as he held her close.
For a moment, she lost all sense of self. Forgot it was his fault things had come to this pass and revelled in the sense of being protected.
‘So, this is how it is.’ The angry voice came from the doorway. ‘What a cur you really are.’
‘Gerald,’ the earl said, loosening his hold and looking over her shoulder. ‘Could you be any more de trop?’ The sarcasm was back and the raspy drawl.
Apparently oblivious to the threat those soft words contained, Gerald stomped across the room.
Mary pulled away, turning her face to the window while she groped for a handkerchief. The earl planted himself between her and the intruder who was clearly bound and determined to have his say. ‘Miss Wilding is distressed. Please leave.’
‘Distressed?’ Gerald said. ‘Aye, I can believe it. And what did you do to bring her to tears?’
‘It is none of your business,’ the earl replied coldly. ‘Go away.’
Mary blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. A few deep breaths would set her to rights, but she needed to be alone, away from the disturbing presence of the earl, to work out what Sally’s letter really meant for her future. ‘Please, excuse me, gentlemen.’
The earl put out a hand as if he would stop her, then let it fall. She made for the door and Gerald stepped aside to let her pass as if he barely saw her. His gaze was fixed on the earl. ‘You don’t belong here, Bane Beresford. We all know what you are. A bloody coalminer stealing a title from the rightful heir.’
Mary felt her mouth drop open in shock. She glanced back at the earl. His body radiated tension. His fists at his sides clenched and released. His dark gaze shifted from Gerald to her and back and then he leaned against the window frame folding his arms over his chest with a cynical curl to his lips. ‘And what do you intend to do about it, bantling?’
Colour crept into the younger man’s face, still set in an expression of defiance. Did he plan to fight with the earl? He would be badly outmatched.
‘Gentlemen, please. This is hardly the way for members of a family to behave to each other,’ she said.
Both men threw her angry looks.
Clearly she wasn’t helping. But then, what did she know of families? Or friends for that matter? Once more, thoughts of Sally’s callous note made her stomach fall away. The hard hot lump she had managed to swallow while wrapped in the earl’s arms returned with a vengeance. Tears. A river of them, if the burning behind her eyes was any indication. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, ducking her head as she ran for her chamber and privacy.
No one, least of all the earl, was going to see her dissolve into a blob of self-pity.
* * *
It took a good four hours before she gained her composure. First there had been tears, then anger at the earl, followed by a new emptiness. It had always been there, the small cold kernel of knowledge that she was unwanted, but as the years had passed, she’d formed an attachment for Sally Ladbrook. First as her pupil and employee, and more recently as a friend. Until today, she hadn’t realised how much she relied on Sally’s advice and counsel, on that one constant in her life. Now, thanks to the earl, she was completely alone.
It was terrifying.
But why? Why had Sally abandoned her? Was she really so unnecessary to anyone? Or had the earl offered an irresistible lure? If so, then she would never forgive him.
With a final sniff, she rose from the bed and went to the glass on the dressing table. Yes, her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. Her cheeks were chapped and sore, and her nose looked like a cherry popped into the middle of her face.
But the storm was over. She was drained of all emotion. Empty.
And that was how she would proceed from here. From now on, she would take no one at face value. Trust no one and rely only on herself.
She straightened her shoulders and went to the basin to bath her face. Her stomach grumbled. She vaguely remembered Betsy knocking on the door, reminding her of dinner and finally going away. She could not have gone to dinner then, hating the thought of anyone seeing her in this state.
There were the rolls she had purloined earlier. She retrieved them from the dresser drawer where she had tucked them after her escapade on the cliff. Hard as rocks, but edible if washed down with water. She munched slowly on the stale bread and considered her options. Find Sally and let her explain what had happened? Or consign her to the devil and set her feet on a new path?
If only she had some money of her own, then she would not need anyone’s help. She did have money under this will, but only if she married.
Marriage. A home. A family of her own. How shining and bright the dream had been in her young lonely heart. Mr Allerdyce had shattered those dreams of a knight in shining armour coming to her rescue and falling at her feet. In reality, the best she could ever hope for was a widower with a gaggle of children looking for a cheap housekeeper.
Now, the only candidate seemed to be the earl. Her heart gave an odd little thump, as if it welcomed the idea. But he didn’t welcome it. She could not imagine being married to man as cold as ice, who was forced up to the mark. She’d likely find herself dead in a week. Or rather someone else would find her dead. Oh, no. Now that really was the kind of melodrama she discouraged in her pupils.
She mentally shook her head. It was time to move on. The earl might think he’d won by taking away her only sanctuary, but she had more gumption than to give in at the first obstacle. And the fact that he hadn’t yet realised it was to her advantage.
Something crashed above her head. She jumped to her feet, looking up. She hadn’t known there was a room above hers. Whatever had fallen continued to bang several more times as if it was bouncing and rolling across the floor.
And then it stopped.
How strange.
A servant at work had dropped something, perhaps? She tried to imagine what it might be. Large and heavy and seemingly round.
A low moan echoed through her chamber, then a shriek so piercing she put her hands over her ears. What on earth was going on up there? What on earth would make anyone cry out in such a dreadful way? Were they hurt? There was no other explanation. And if they were in that much pain, they needed help. Urgently.
She wrapped her woollen shawl around her shoulders, then picked up a candlestick to the sound of what now sounded like rattling chains and opened her door.
Then nothing. Silence prevailed. It was over, whatever it was. She went back inside and started to close her door. A bang. Another yell. Something heavy dropped on a toe?
Such a racket, she could not ignore it. She left her room and started up the circular staircase beyond her door. The air out here was strangely cold. As far as she remembered, it was usually the same temperature outside her door as in the rest of the house, now it chilled her cheeks. Had someone opened a window? Her candle was certainly guttering in what must be a draught.
The stairs wound upwards around a central column of fluted grey granite. The way ahead was only visible as far as the next tight curve and the steps were worn into smooth grooves by centuries of feet. They became narrower the higher she went. Clutching her candle in one hand, she put the other on the wall for balance. The stone was ice to the touch.
Now someone was sobbing. Much as she had sobbed earlier. Someone mocking her? Oh, that would be mortifying. She had assumed she was completely alone.
The crying stopped. Footsteps tapped across stone.
A warm breath grazed the back of her neck. Someone following? She whirled around. One foot slipped. She teetered on the step, clutching at the wall, desperately hanging on to her candle. Her heart was thundering like the hooves of a runaway horse. ‘Hello?’
There was no one behind her, but she had not imagined that warm rush of air. Indeed, there was no cold draught at all now.
Sweat formed on her brow and upper lip.
Fear.
What did she have to fear?
Then she remembered Gerald’s ghoulish tale of a lady in white. She didn’t believe in ghosts. She didn’t. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation.
She chuckled, laughing at her fears to give herself courage. The sound bounced off the walls and it was several seconds before it died away. The reason the sounds she had heard were so strange: echoes. That must be it. A distortion of normal sounds in the room above.
She rounded the next curve and found a landing much like the one outside her chamber door. Two of the walls had arrow loops high above her head. The source of the cold breeze? If so, there was nothing now. The other two walls had doors set within stone arches, much like the one she had taken to the outside earlier in the day. The first latch she tried didn’t budge. The second yielded grudgingly outwards to her pull, requiring all her strength to push it back against the wall. About to step inside, a shadow fell across the floor. A figure surged towards her.
Her heart stopped. She screamed and leaped back.
‘Good God, Miss Wilding, what on earth is the matter?’
The earl, looking positively demonic in the flickering light of her candle, was staring at her as if she was mad. She pressed a hand to her breastbone, to quiet her rapid breathing. ‘I heard a noise.’ She swallowed. ‘Why are you here?’
His brows climbed his forehead. ‘You may hold the money in thrall, but surely I am entitled to go where I wish in my own home.’
The bitterness in his voice stung. It sounded like righteous indignation, as if he blamed her for this business with the will. He was trying to distract her from the noises she’d heard.
She peered into the room behind him, lifting her candle high. The chamber was completely empty. No sign of anything that could have rolled across the wooden planks. Not even any dust on the floor to show where it had been. ‘Is this some sort of cruel game, then? Something to frighten me?’ And, if so, to what purpose?
He tilted his head, regarding her intently. ‘If you were scared, why did you come up here?’
‘I heard a cry for help.’
‘Quite the little Samaritan.’
‘Hardly little.’
His eyes flashed amusement.
Was he mocking her?
‘As you see, there is no one here but me,’ he said in reasonable tones. ‘Exactly what did you hear?’
If he didn’t do it, he must have heard it. Why was he pretending he had not. ‘Something rolling. Rattling chains, followed by a shriek. Right above my chamber. And now there is no one here but you.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You sound almost disappointed. Have the servants been telling you ghost stories?’
‘Gerald said something about the White Lady at breakfast, but that has nothing to do with it. I know what I heard. You must have heard it, too.’
‘I heard a noise,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘Someone calling out.’
‘It was more than that. Something bounced across the floor.’ She gave him a suspicious look.
He gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps it was my footsteps you heard.’
‘And the chains rattling?’
He pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘I used these to open the door. The stone walls must have magnified the sound.’
‘It is not doing it now.’
‘You would only hear it from below,’ he said in the patient tones of an adult to a foolish child. She knew exactly what it was, because she had used it on many similar occasions. But she was not a child. She knew what she had heard.
Perhaps she had let Gerald’s stories colour her imagination, but she had heard something. ‘Who was it who called out, then?’
‘Again, it might be a trick of the way this place is constructed. Sound travelling through stone from somewhere else.’
He spoke almost as if he was trying to convince himself.
‘But if you heard someone call out and came to see, how did you get up here so quickly? Why didn’t I see you on the stairs ahead of me?’
‘I didn’t come up the stairs. I came across the battlements from the other tower. I was going down when...’ He hesitated. ‘I decided to take a look in here.’
The outside door opening and closing would account for the cold wind rushing past her. Perhaps it was only footsteps and keys echoing off stone walls she had heard. But it did not explain the shrieks and the moans or what had made him close himself inside an obviously empty room.
She bit her tongue. To say more would be to sound hysterical. He was deliberately making her feel like a fool.
‘Then in the absence of anyone needing help, I suppose I should go back down,’ she said finally.
He held out his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you.’ Masterfully, he took her candle and helped her down the stairs as if she was made of china. It made her feel strangely feminine—not something she should be feeling around him. He was just being polite. But even that seemed out of character. Perhaps he was trying to allay her suspicions.
Not for a moment did she think his explanations held water.
At her chamber door he paused, looking down at her. The air thickened and heated around them. Oh, no! Was he going to kiss her again? Her heart thudded wildly in anticipation.
His breathing hitched. His eyes widened as if he was startled by what was happening. He took a half-step back from her. ‘Until tomorrow, Miss Wilding.’
Her stomach dipped in disappointment. How mortifying.
She sketched the briefest curtsy. ‘Indeed.’
His face suddenly hardened into its normal stern lines. ‘Do not wander about this house, Miss Wilding. You don’t know what dangers may lurk.’
That sounded very much like a threat. Something inside her trembled at the idea. She stiffened her spine and ignored her racing heart. She reminded herself that she did not respond well to threats.