If the Slipper Fits (25 page)

“Do be quiet, Livvy. I can scarcely hear myself think.”

“But … but, miss. ’Tis a
crow
!” She launched into a fresh torrent of caterwauling.

“Crow or sparrow, it makes no difference,” Annabelle said firmly. “Better we should concentrate on removing it from here.”

The bird sailed to the tall casement clock, settled atop it, and let out a single raucous cry.

Peeking out from the shelter of her apron, Livvy wailed, “’Tis an omen … an omen o’ death!”

“Nonsense. I’ll hear no more of your superstitions. I’ll wager it is more frightened of us than you are of it.” As she spoke, Annabelle picked up her shawl from where it had fallen on the floor. “Nicholas, kindly move aside and I will shoo it toward the window.”

The boy nodded, his eyes large as he backed away.

Annabelle cautiously approached the bird. Stealth mattered little since it watched her with beady black eyes. Odd, the creature
did
have a malevolent look about it …

Squelching the irrational fear, she took aim and flicked her shawl at the high perch. The bird squawked and flew away, though not toward the window. It soared to the ceiling, then alighted on the top rung of the ladder used for access to the highest shelves.

Livvy cowered and sobbed.

Nicholas trotted forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “I can climb up there and scare him, Miss Quinn.”

Thank goodness he seemed to view this as an adventure. “I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can induce the bird to move.”

Annabelle went to the ladder and pushed it along the shelves. As she’d intended, the bird took flight with black wings flapping. It swooped down and this time came to rest on the tall back of a chair.

The chair occupied a dais in an alcove of the room. At once, she recognized the peeling gilt of the arms, the threadbare scarlet upholstery and lumpy seat. It was the chair Lord Simon had occupied on Grievances Day when she had come to convince him to dismiss Mr. Bunting. What had Ludlow, the old retainer, called it? The Judgment Throne.

How appropriate, for the pesky crow was about to meet its judgment.

“I’ve an idea,” she murmured to Nicholas. “Stay right here while I try to get closer.”

She crept toward the crow, tiptoeing to keep from startling it. Across the library, Livvy was still snuffling loudly and Annabelle hoped the sound would cover any slight noise that she might make. She edged around behind the bird. Once she was within arm’s length, she slowly readied her shawl. Then she tossed it over the crow.

The large square of fringed gray silk landed dead center on the bird. Instantly, she dove forward to keep the crow from escaping.

A muffled squawking emanated from within the fabric. She scooped up the bundle and attempted to control the bird’s frantic fluttering.

Nicholas clapped his hands. “You caught him, you caught him! Hurrah!”

“Hurrah, indeed,” said Lord Simon from the doorway. “That was quite the impressive feat.”

Annabelle almost dropped the shawl and its contents.

Walking into the room, he addressed the maid. “Livvy, I could hear you halfway across the castle. Stop your sniveling at once and go back to your duties.”

The freckle-faced maid pulled the apron from her head, scrambled to her feet, and made a mad dash for the door.

Lord Simon continued toward Annabelle, and one corner of his mouth quirked in the charming half-smile that always turned her legs to melted butter. His black hair was windblown as if he’d just come in from outdoors, and he was dressed in a coffee-brown coat over an open-neck shirt, tan breeches with knee-high boots. Even in common garb, he exuded the confidence and authority of a nobleman in his prime.

As he reached her side, he cocked an eyebrow and glanced down. “Have you decided to keep the bird, then?”

In her momentary absorption, she’d forgotten the ensnared crow. “Of course not! I’m intending to let it outside.”

“Allow me.” He took the wriggling bundle from her, walked across the library to the open window, and leaned forward on the stone sill.

Annabelle hurried after him, as did Nicholas. They were just in time to see Lord Simon unwrap the shawl. The crow tumbled out, then spread its wings and soared into the blue sky.

“Look!” Nicholas shouted. “It’s free!”

“What a relief,” Annabelle said, meaning every word. “I don’t know what I’d have done if my method hadn’t worked.”

“It was unorthodox but effective,” Lord Simon remarked.

As he handed the shawl back to her, she made a sound of dismay. The bird’s claws and beak had pulled some threads and left a number of small holes in the gray silk. “Oh, drat. It’s ruined.”

He inspected the damage. “Can you not mend it?”

“Possibly, though it will never look the same. It was a farewell gift to me from the students at the academy.” Burying her dismay, Annabelle summoned a smile. “Never mind, it can be replaced. I’ve been wanting an excuse to visit the village shops.”

As she folded the shawl, a black feather floated to the floor. Lord Simon gave it to Nicholas. “A souvenir, Your Grace.”

Nicholas happily stuck it in the buttonhole of his coat. “Miss Quinn said the crow fell down the chimney. I never knew that could happen.”

“It shouldn’t have. Up on the roof, there’s netting across the opening. It must have come loose.”

Or had it? Annabelle couldn’t shake a suspicion that someone had deliberately put the crow in the library, knowing that she and Nicholas often came here in the afternoon. But why? To frighten them?

“What a pity the fire wasn’t lit,” Lord Simon went on as he shut the window. “You could have had roasted crow with your tea.”

The boy giggled, and Lord Simon grinned at him.

“Now, there’s a gruesome thought,” Annabelle chided, though it was a pleasure to see how much more comfortable they were with each other now. “I don’t believe I would enjoy that dish very much.”

“Well,” Lord Simon said, “I daresay it wouldn’t be as unpalatable as eating humble pie.”

His dark gray eyes studied her with a disconcerting directness. She found it impossible to look away. What did he mean by that statement? He had to be referring to the way she’d scolded him about his treatment of Nicholas, shamed him into visiting his nephew, then tricked him by leaving him alone with the boy.

Did Lord Simon resent her for humbling him? A man of his high stature surely had taken umbrage at being lectured by a servant. Although she didn’t regret her actions, Annabelle also felt discomfited to think that he might regard her as a shrew.

How foolish to yearn for his admiration. Such sentiments were better left to noblewomen like Lady Louisa and her friends.

A confused frown wrinkled Nicholas’s brow. “How do you make a humble pie?”

“It’s just a silly old saying,” Lord Simon said, giving him a pat on the head. “Now, I see there’s quite an array of cakes on that tea tray. You’d better be quick if you want first choice.”

Nicholas dashed over to the table to eye the dish of sweets.

“No more than one piece,” Annabelle called.

“You may have two,” Lord Simon contradicted her.

“With all due respect, my lord, he’ll make himself ill.”

“Nonsense, I used to sneak more than that when the nanny’s back was turned. Now come,” he said, lowering his voice to a murmur, “I need a word with you. Alone.”

He placed his hand at the small of her back and nudged her toward a private corner of the library. That peculiar melting sensation assailed Annabelle again so that she forgot her momentary pique. She caught a tantalizing whiff of his scent, a blend of leather and spice. The warm pressure of his touch seemed as intimate as a kiss …

No,
she must
not
imagine his lips on hers. Nothing could be more scandalous. Not only was Lord Simon her employer, he had been born with a sterling ancestry, while she could not even put a name to her parents. Rather than spin reckless dreams, she would do well to remember her proper place in the household.

She stepped away and set the folded shawl on the nearest table. Keeping a circumspect distance from him, she murmured, “Dare I hope you’ve news to relate about the gunman, my lord? Has he been apprehended?”

Lord Simon grimaced. “Unfortunately not. The fellow is as much a mystery as ever. I’ve interviewed all the servants and tenants, and none of them have seen anyone suspicious lurking on the hillside.”

“In the kitchen, they said you’d gone into town to ask questions, too.”

“I spent a good deal of time tracking down the various ne’er-do-wells who often drink ale at the Copper Shovel. But I’m convinced none of them have the brains or guts to commit a heist right underneath my nose.” Looking disgruntled, he leaned against a bookshelf and crossed his arms. “I’ve also kept a watchman stationed near the site each night, but to no avail. The villain seems to have gone into hiding.”

“Maybe he’s given up. Maybe he realized he went too far in firing that shot. And now that he knows there will never be a chance to dig for treasure, he’s left the area.”

“I hope not,” Lord Simon said grimly. “That would rob me of the chance to wring his neck for nearly killing you.”

He looked so fierce that Annabelle’s heart constricted. She mustn’t let herself think he cared for her. It was only that he wanted to see justice served.

“What will you do next?” she asked.

“I intend to begin excavating the site. I expect it shouldn’t take more than a fortnight.”

Excited, she took a step toward him. “Do you really think there’s treasure buried there?”

“Why else would the gunman have shot at you? Judging by the coin you discovered, along with what Nicholas picked up, there may be a cache of buried artifacts—or even a tomb.”

“A tomb! With a mummy like the ones in Egypt?”

“One can always hope.” He eyed her with keen interest. “After I resigned my commission last year, I’d intended to travel throughout the Mediterranean countries in search of antiquities. That had long been my passion, to study ancient civilizations. So you see, it would be quite the peculiar twist of fate for me to find such artifacts right here at home.”

Hearing the enthusiasm in his voice, Annabelle realized with a pang just how much he had sacrificed. “You gave up that journey because your brother and sister-in-law had died. And you had become guardian to Nicholas.”

“Yes.” His mouth slanted wryly. “Quite reluctantly, I’ll admit. It was not the plan I’d envisioned for my future.”

Annabelle imagined him on the brink of departure, about to fulfill a lifelong dream, only to be called back to care for the child of the man and woman who had betrayed him. Put in that light, his actions at least became more understandable.

She glanced across the library at Nicholas. Having eaten his cake, he had gone in search of something to read. He knelt on the floor in front of one of the shelves, his head tilted to read the spines of the books.

What a blessing that Lord Simon had overcome his aversion to the boy. For as long as she lived, Annabelle knew she would never forget the joy of seeing him embrace his nephew that day in the nursery. It had made her want to weep with happiness.

“Things do have an odd way of turning out for the best, though, don’t they?” she mused.

“Indeed so.”

The husky note in his voice lured her gaze back to Lord Simon. He stood watching her intently. His black lashes were lowered slightly, his eyes a deep and fathomless gray. Annabelle felt a deep-seated throb of desire. Though she knew little of men and their ways, she felt certain in that moment that he wanted to kiss her. And her imprudent heart reveled in the knowledge.

She reached for her shawl. “I should return to Nicholas now,” she murmured.

Lord Simon’s hand settled warmly over hers, stopping her from leaving. “Not yet. There’s another reason I called you over here. You know about the Samhain ball, don’t you?”

For days, the kitchen had been abuzz with chatter about the upcoming annual event. The castle would be cleaned from top to bottom, the ballroom floor polished for dancing. By long tradition, the aristocratic guests would each bring a contingent of their servants. That way, the staff could take turns attending their own Samhain festivities outside the castle.

“Of late, there has been talk of little else,” she said.

“I would like to invite you to the ball.”

A lurch of longing assailed her. How she would love to be a part of his world, to don an exquisite gown, to know the exhilaration of dancing with him. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord. However, it would be more appropriate for me to attend the servants’ party.”

He smiled as if he’d expected her refusal. His thumb rubbed over her palm, heating her skin and eroding her defenses. “Do come, Annabelle,” he said, her name a caress on his lips. “You know you’d enjoy it. Please, I want you there.”

When he looked at her like that, she could not draw a deep breath, for the swift beating of her heart constricted her lungs. How was it that he had the power to stir her desires against her will? She ached to accept his invitation, yet feared that what he truly wanted was a forbidden liaison. Nothing could be more dangerous to a woman in her position than to succumb to the master’s seduction …

Quick footsteps tapped in the corridor. An instant later, Mrs. Wickett walked into the library. The housekeeper stopped short, her gaze riveted to Annabelle and Lord Simon. The slight narrowing of her dark eyes indicated censure.

Annabelle swallowed a groan. Of all times for Mrs. Wickett to appear! The woman already believed Annabelle wanted to lure Lord Simon into an illicit relationship. How very damning the scene must look with them standing so close together, Lord Simon’s hand on hers.

Mrs. Wickett bobbed a curtsy. “Do pardon me, m’ lord. One of the servants reported hearing a commotion in here.”

Lord Simon straightened up, cool hauteur shuttering his face. “There was a crow flying loose,” he said. “Thankfully, Miss Quinn caught it, and I released it out the window.”

“A crow … inside the house!” The housekeeper looked aghast. “Why, ’tis a portent of death to someone here—”