His Wicked Sins (10 page)

rise from the grave.

Henry had never given much thought to ghosts.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jerk. Blinking against the

humiliating sting of tears, he willed himself to meet his duty as an officer. His gaze

dropped to Mrs. Trotter's crushed skull, her ruined face, her blood-soaked dress.

To Henry's mind, one thing was certain. No ghost had done this deed.

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Chapter 6

Burndale, Yorkshire, September 4, 1828

T
hat evening the storm let up and the sky cleared. Beth walked along the road that led to

Burndale Academy, following the curves and twists, having no solid destination in mind

save the next step and the next. Hers was no sedate stroll, but a focused task that freed a

measure of energy and emotion with each stride.

She had survived the first day of her employment without episode. No one had branded

her an imposter, and she was grateful for that.

Moments past, when she had paused in the doorway of the small parlor and mentioned

that she planned an evening stroll, the other teachers had looked at her askance and

declined to accompany her. It was a circumstance that caused her no distress. She had no

true wish for companionship, but good manners had led her to inquire if any would like to

join her.

Miss Browne and Miss Doyle and Mademoiselle Martine and the others had seemed

quite content to sit and sew and chatter amongst themselves, all lovely and worthy

pastimes, but Beth could not bear to be still, to be confined in the small parlor with the

four walls so close about her. A cage. A coffin.

She needed to walk, and since her duties of the day were complete, she had obtained

Miss Percy's permission and set out.

Her day had been long, both trying and fulfilling. Now, as the wind slapped her cheeks

and her blood pumped with exertion, she revisited frozen moments in time, sifting through

recollections of her classroom performance, learning from them, using that knowledge to

plan improvements to tomorrow's lessons.

Approached from the correct perspective, any puzzle could be solved, including a

determination of how best to engage her pupils.

She did not stray far, only just around the sharp bend in the road, until the looming

shadow of Burndale Academy disappeared behind the line of massive trees, their branches

colored by the red-brown hues of autumn.

Beth found that the landscape, the trees, even the smells, were all strange and foreign in

comparison to London. The only sounds were those of her own footfalls and the whisper

of the wind. Accustomed as she was to the city, to buildings on either side and carts and

people and the sounds of activity that almost never ceased, she had contradictory reactions

to the countryside.

While the vast spaces were wonderfully appealing, the unfamiliar lack of noise was

unsettling. Too quiet.

That quiet made the suddenness of a sharp sound all the more startling. Beth froze

midstride and glanced about. What was that? The snap of a twig? A small animal

skittering along a branch?

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Wary, she turned right, then left in quick succession. The hair at her nape prickled and

rose. Prey to the eerie sensation that she was not alone, she searched for a glint of light, a

reflection from unseen eyes that watched her from the depths of the copse.

Was it her imagination, or was something …
someone
… there?

She studied the foliage, feeling both wary and foolish as she did so. Imagination was a

powerful thing, capable of conjuring all manner of ghosts and demons.

She huffed out a shaky breath. Of course she was alone. Did she imagine that some

creature watched her with malicious intent?

The quiet only made her anxious, or perhaps the vastness of the heavens, unbroken by

church spires and roofs, unsullied by the smells of city life. She enjoyed the open space,

but she did not enjoy the sensation of feeling so solitary here beneath the saucer of

darkening sky.

Beth twined the edge of her shawl through her fingers, then let the soft cloth slide free.

Darkness would be full upon her soon. It was time to return to Burndale Academy.

Only … she could not completely dissuade herself from the certainty that there
was

something…

A last glance revealed nothing amiss. Nothing. Only her imagination.

Nonetheless, caution made her close her fist in the cloth of her skirt and raise the hem

above her ankles lest she find herself in a position to bolt down the road at a tearing pace.

Now there was an image. It made her laugh at herself. Gathering her emotions, she

forced the tension from her shoulders. She could not allow the familiar terror to wriggle

free, to swarm through her veins until her heart raced and her mind knew only fear. On

that path lay only heartache.

No,
panic was not welcome here, but reasonable caution was.

Retracing the steps that had brought her to this point, she walked quickly back along the

road toward the school. The perfect beauty of the pink and orange sunset overtop the trees

made her feel as though the evening sky had sprung to life, as though it breathed and

sighed. The sight brought her quiet joy, but the reasonable caution she had deemed

appropriate did not let her slow her pace, or tarry to enjoy the view.

As she rounded a bend, a movement caught her eye, a man in the distance walking

parallel to her through the field. Turning, he cut across toward her.

Momentary alarm gave way to recognition when she saw it was Mr. Fairfax

approaching. And then she had the thought that if Alice had her druthers, recognition of

Mr. Fairfax ought to incite Beth to further alarm. Wry amusement touched her.

She watched his approach and wondered what he was doing, walking on this road. His

curricle was nowhere to be seen and he was clothed for a warm day, not a rapidly cooling

evening.

Her gait faltered and her heart twitched strangely in her breast. She turned and looked at

the road behind her, then the lay of the field that blended with the copse at its far end. For

an instant, she felt disoriented, and more than a little wary.

Had it been
his
gaze she sensed earlier, watching her from the woods?

She could not fathom it, for to be ahead of her here on the road he would have needed

to sprint the distance from behind her, and he looked relaxed and comfortable, not at all

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out of breath or exerted. Still, she could not negate the possibility. She pulled her shawl

tight about her shoulders, raised her head, and waited.

As he drew near, she studied him, taking in each magnificent bit of him, put all together

in masculine perfection. That was the puzzle. What made him so attractive? The cut of his

coat to his broad shoulders? The slight curl of his hair, dark against the white collar of his

shirt? The way he tipped his head, just a bit to the right as he approached?

She could not help herself. Her gaze followed the line of his coat to lean hips, and

lower, lingering on his muscled legs. He moved with the natural grace and elegance than

she had noted the first time they met.

His stride was purposeful, his attention focused wholly on her person, and she had the

odd inclination that he searched this road for
her.

On a sharp exhalation, she looked away. Her heart beat too fast and her body felt flush

and alive.

Had he known she would walk? Had he waited for her?

Impossible. She had herself not fully realized her intention or direction until she paused

at the fork in the road.

So he did not
—could not possibly—
travel this way looking for her.

No sooner had the thought formed than he dispelled it.

"Good evening, Miss Canham. I had hoped to meet you," he said, inclining his head in

greeting and offering a small smile. It was a strange and alluring beauty he had, harsh

features, hard lips, handsome when taken in bit by bit, more than wonderful when looked

at as a whole. She had never thought of a man as beautiful or wonderful, but Mr. Fairfax

was.

"Good evening, Mr. Fairfax," she said, feeling breathless and silly and out of sorts.

He was near enough now that she could see his dark eyes, sparkling with an inner light,

bright with a heat that was both disturbing and alluring. That look left her feeling as

though his gaze touched her in truth, as though sensation brought life to her flesh.

Again her heart tripped over, and she was awash in an odd, hot ache that stole her

breath.

The breeze caught her hair and pulled strands from her carefully placed pins, then sent

the tendrils dancing, restless and free. She was grateful for the distraction. Raising her

hands, she gathered the few wayward curls and held them still. As the wind abated for an

instant, she quickly tucked the stray strands into her carefully pinned plains.

Mr. Fairfax kept his gaze upon her, his expression thoughtful as he stepped closer. He

looked both the gentleman and the ruffian at once.

When he was an arm's length away, he gave a spare smile that made her skin feel as

though she had rubbed her feet on a carpet and caught a spark. She tingled with

anticipation, with anxiety, with both dread and hope of … what?