Haunting Secrets (9 page)

Horace, the butler, sang a mournful song while everyone stood in silence. Victoria tried to concentrate on the song, but her mind replayed her encounter with the so-called ghost the previous night. Now she had a chance to compare him to Roderick and Jonathan, she concluded the ghost was indeed the older brother. Justin may have had a scarred face, but he displayed more masculinity in his manner of speech and movements than either brother had. Victoria had been captivated by Justin’s presence. Her body had quaked at his nearness, and more from exhilaration than fear.

Familiar prickles of awareness danced over her skin. Someone was watching her. Again.

She glanced around the small group at the gravesite, but everyone was focused on the simple, long wooden coffin. On the top sat a single white rose. She glanced over her shoulder toward the East Wing. In the upper window, the curtains moved.

Turning back to the grave, she kept herself from smiling. Justin watched her. Warmth spread through her and created a low burn in her belly. The memory of his dark eye, his full lips, and his robust frame caused her to tingle with awareness.

What was it about him that made her limbs quiver so? It couldn’t be the mystery surrounding him. Why hadn’t any other man raised a similar reaction in her? While some of the men in town courted her, they didn’t appreciate women who spoke their minds. But she wasn’t going to act like a simpleton just to win their affection. If they couldn’t love her for the intelligent woman she was, they were not worth her time.

After the service, Jonathan escorted her back to the house while Francine, the perfect chaperone, followed behind. Once inside, he took Victoria’s cloak and handed it to the butler. Jonathan stroked her arm and smiled. “Would you care for a game of cards?”

She took hold of his hand, mainly to stop it from caressing her arm. “Thank you, Jonathan, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time in my room this afternoon. I fear I didn’t sleep well last night, and so I was hoping I could do that now.”

“As you wish, my sweet. Please don’t hesitate to ask Mrs. White to get you anything you need.”

Victoria shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of bothering her now. I’m certain this is a bad day for many of your servants.”

“You’re very thoughtful.” He cupped her chin. “We are very fortunate to have you with us.”

She pulled away from him and started up the stairs with Jonathan following, his hand riding low on her back. Right away she noticed his caress didn’t stir awareness inside of her like Justin’s brief touch had.

She shook away such thoughts. How could she possibly have these feelings for a man who’d continued to frighten her? But Justin was the last person to speak with her father. Somehow she needed to convince Justin to confide in her. Would he even know about her father’s death? One way or another, she had to speak to Justin again.

Outside her room, Jonathan took her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. She smiled, and pulled away as politely as she could.

“I hope you get rested, Victoria.”

“Me, too, or I’ll be out of sorts for the duration of the day.”

She closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief to be out of Jonathan’s confusing—and most disturbing—company. Sleep was not on her mind, although she did need to get some rest, but what she wanted was to return to the East Wing and talk with Justin. Maybe if she told him she wanted to help him, he’d soften toward her and confess the truth.

That would never happen, especially when he didn’t want her here in the first place. But she wouldn’t leave. Not yet.

She lay on her bed and starred at the ceiling. Hours slipped by. How many, she didn’t know. The sky grew dark, casting shadows on the walls. She turned her eyes to the window. Rain sprinkled against the glass in a constant rhythm. She didn’t know how long she stared at the rain, but her eyes would not close. Trying to rest was useless.

Sliding off the bed, she decided to find something to do to keep her entertained. Perhaps she’d see if Francine had heard any more interesting tales from the servants. Between what her maid had heard, and what Victoria knew, maybe she’d be able to figure out the puzzle.

She opened the door and looked up and down the deserted hall. She tiptoed to Francine’s room and knocked, but there was no answer. She opened the door and peeked inside. Empty.

Victoria crept farther into the room. It was so immaculate, the space appeared as if nobody occupied it. She walked to the long, lightly-frosted window and peered outside. A movement from the courtyard caught her attention. The cloaked figure of what appeared to be a woman hurried toward the wooded area beyond the lawn. Suddenly, she stopped and looked back toward the house.

Victoria’s heart jumped. Was that her maid? What was she doing outside, alone in this weather, especially when the poor girl was afraid of her own shadow?

Knocking on the window, Victoria shouted at Francine. But the maid turned back toward the thicket of trees and rushed out of sight.

Grumbling, Victoria hurried to her room and grabbed her own cloak. She dashed down the stairs and outside. Shielding her face from the drizzling rain with one hand, she ran toward the wooded area.

“Francine?” She hurried faster through the trees. “Blast it, Francine. Answer me.”

Victoria paused, inhaling deep breaths as she looked through the trees. The rain finally stopped and thick sea mist settled around her, making it impossible to see which direction her maid had gone.

As she studied her surroundings, a noise in the distance grew louder.
The white wolf?
She strained to listen closer. No, according to everyone, he only came out at night. Yet the sound had definitely come from a dog.

Fear chilled her bones and left her breathless. Not just one dog, but several. Fierce barking grew closer. With a sharp cry, she turned and ran back into the mist toward what she hoped was the direction of the house.

Branches caught on her cloak and yanked off her hood as she hurtled through the group of trees. Low branches caught at her hood and pulled it off. Sharp twigs tangled in her hair. She yelped and jumped away.

The barking dogs grew closer. Her feet slipped in the mud and she fell to her knees. In a hurry, she scrambled to stand. The growls from the animals rose right behind her. She tried to rise from the mud puddle and found her cloak caught in the bush. With a sob, tears stung her eyes and she yanked at her garment.

Three snarling dogs appeared in front of her. Foam drooled from the jaws of the hairy hounds with long legs and their eyes seemed covered with a milky blue film. Her heart sank.

Rabid.

Slowly, they circled her. She dared not scream for fear they’d attack.

On the ground, she searched for a broken limb or rock as a weapon. Nothing.

One dog crept closer. “Get away,” she screamed. Another snapped at her, catching the end of her cloak. “No!” She jerked the garment, only succeeding in playing a tug-of-war game. She shrugged out of the covering and threw it to the animal. The other two jumped at it, and all three tore it into strips.

She held her shaking hands close to her chest. On unsteady legs, she stepped back. She had to run, to scream, or do something. She couldn’t just let them tear at her body as they were doing to her cloak.

The dogs were kept entertained by shredding the garment, so she took another step back, then another, until her feet quickened and she put some distance between them. The dogs snapped their heads in her direction before leaping toward her.

Disoriented, having no idea which way to run, she screamed and ran. Where was the house? All that loomed before her were the jumble of black tree trunks and a white, swirling mist. Branches whipped at her face and caught her hair, but she didn’t dare stop. The animals were close on her heels.

Her toes hit a moss-covered log. She fell into the mud. Sobbing, she covered her face. The piercing of teeth on her flesh would be the next pain she’d feel.

Another sound ripped through the air. Some other animal had joined the threesome. One dog yelped then all of them joined in. Then the yelps of one dog seemed to become a man’s voice. A man’s tone boomed into a growl-like hiss.

She peeked through quivering fingers. Yellow, glowing eyes caught her attention. She blinked, not believing what she saw. A tall man with wide shoulders and wearing a hooded black cloak stood between her and the dogs. She recognized him immediately. Lowering her hands, she watched. The glowing color of his eyes quickly disappeared. Had she imagined it? After all, he wanted her to believe he was the East Wing ghost.

He turned his attention toward the beasts and growled in a wolf’s tone. Cocking their heads from side to side, the dogs whined.

Victoria gasped. Could this man actually talk to them? Impossible.

Yet the dogs acted as if they understood or at least feared him. He growled again and the three beasts yelped, and ran into the forest with their tails between their legs.

Justin turned and knelt beside her. Her whole body shook.

“Miss Fawson, are you all right?”

She nodded, her chest tight. Tears welled in her eyes, and instinctively she reached for him. He scooped her up in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and breathed his musky scent of spice while tears flowed down her cheeks.

The rain started again and beat against them as he carried her back toward the house. He didn’t enter through the front doors or the servant’s quarters. Instead, he used a door Victoria didn’t know existed. Inside, darkness surrounded them and he set her down on the floor to light a candle. A long tunnel loomed straight ahead. He swept her up into his arms again and carried her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

He climbed the stairs that circled upward into a tunnel that looked well used. No cobwebs filled the corners, and remarkably, no mice scurried across the floor.

They arrived at a room lit with many candles and with a fire roaring in a deep hearth. Immediately, she recognized his sanctuary.

He carried her to the fireplace and set her on the rug before it. He doffed his cloak and knelt beside her, took her hands in his and rubbed warmth back into them. His eyes remained downcast, so she took the opportunity to study him more closely. A scarf still covered the left side of his face, yet he looked handsome. So mysterious. Obviously a caring man.

She swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. “Thank you for saving me.”

His dark gray eyes met her stare. “What were you doing wandering in the rain by yourself?”

“Chasing after my maid.”

“What was she doing outside in this weather?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I ran after her.”

Silence stretched and her encounter with the dogs replayed in her mind. She shivered.

“Umm…” She cleared her throat. “Tell me, how is it that you can talk to those dogs in their language?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“I heard you.”

“It must have been your imagination then. Nobody can talk to animals in their own language.”

She frowned.
Stubborn man.

His brow creased and he lifted his hand to her face, running the pads of his fingers over the scratches. “Do they hurt?”

Apparently, he wasn’t going to tell her what she wanted to know. “A little.”

“I have some ointment that might help.”

He rose and strode across the room. After digging through a black medical bag, he pulled out a jar and returned to her side. He gave her a caring smile and removed the lid.

“It won’t hurt.” He touched his finger to the ointment and dabbed it on the cuts across her face.

She jerked at first, until warmth blended with the sting. She was certain his body heat healed her more than the salve. “Who are you? Are you Justin?”

Sighing heavily, he shook his head and lowered his hand. “Will knowing my name really make a difference?”

“It will to me.”

“I’m surprised you’re not screaming and fleeing as fast as your legs will carry you. Those who have seen me think I’m a beast.”

“No.” Softly, she touched his arm. “Anyone who would save a woman from rabid dogs is no beast.”

He didn’t speak. His gaze swept over her hair, her face, and rested on her lips. Her heart hammered. Once again, she became breathless, and fear of a different kind invaded her senses, warming her more than his fingers had.

“I’m Justin Maitland. I died a year ago.”

She shook her head. “Impossible. Are you trying to tell me I’m not only talking to a ghost, but touching him, also?” She ran her hand over his arm. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers.

“Believe it or not, I died. I’m not human.”

Victoria caressed the side of his cheek not covered by the scarf. He inhaled sharply, but remained still. Her hand drifted toward black, wavy hair and brushed a lock away from his brow. “You feel human to me.”

Eyes of deep blue bore into hers, and awareness stirred within her bosom. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the damp gown sticking to her body.

“You’re cold.” His voice was husky. “We must return you to your room before my imbecile brother discover you are missing.”

He moved again, but she clasped his hand. “No, Justin. I don’t want to leave. Not yet.”

Justin’s gaze dropped to her mouth, making her stomach flutter. Her heartbeat quickened and she licked her dry lips.

“You must, Victoria.”

Hearing her name in his deep voice created tingles inside her. “Please. Just a few moments more. Jonathan thinks I’m sleeping. I’m certain he won’t come to get me for a little while. Can’t I just stay and talk to you?”

He turned his hand and entwined his fingers with hers. Her heart skipped a beat.

“What’s it about me that intrigues you?”

She smiled. “I’m a quizzical woman by nature. Because my father was a novelist, I thrive on the drama in people’s lives. Their mysteries hold me spellbound.”

“I know your father. I’ve read all of his books.” He chuckled and shook his head. “He would have a quite a story to write with my life, I’m afraid.”

She frowned. “Are you aware my father is dead?”