Silent Deception (6 page)

Then, the day before, Gideon Drake hadn’t come. Nor today had he stopped by. His absence irked her but her pitiful attempts at questioning the gardener to discover whether Lord Drake had left Cornwall altogether led to shrugs. The Cornishman minded his own business, apparently.

Pah!

Minnie blew out the candle and turned on her side, drawing her knees up, her arms draped loosely around them. She had to establish her life here, and her name as the owner of Trekellis Manor.

That was important, not some lord on a fancy quest into his family history.

She firmly closed her eyes, determined to banish all thoughts of Lord Drake.

“
Hettie…”

“What?” Minnie blinked. Full darkness surrounded her. She must have fallen asleep. Had anyone entered her room?

Impossible. She looked around, straining her eyes, barely able to make out the shapes of the wardrobe, the dressing table, the mirror. The door lay in deep shadow.

“
Hettie…”

“Huh?” Her skin crawled, and she wrapped her covers tighter around her. This time, she couldn’t have misheard.

A man’s whisper, the tone desperate. Close to her, yet on neither side of the bed.

Hettie? Only one woman called Hettie had lived within these walls. Henrietta, Bartholomew Walker’s wife. The woman who disappeared.

Minnie swallowed. Goosebumps covered her skin and she rubbed her arms. Holding her breath, she reached for the flint to light the candle.

A thud from below made her hand stop in mid air. First, a voice. Now, a break-in? She swallowed, aware again of still being alone in the house.

Eyes adjusted to the dusky light, she slid out of bed, pushed her feet into the slippers, and wrapped a woolen blanket around her shoulders. As she searched the room for a hard object, her gaze fell on the candlestick on her bedside table. She removed the candle and grabbed the weighty ornament at the hilt. It would have to do.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she tried to reassure herself. Somehow, a hollow in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away.

Beth had promised to move in the next day, seeing the house was safe.

Safe indeed. Ha!

Goosebumps rose on her skin. Minnie had to face the intruder alone.

“Right,” she whispered. With a trembling hand, she opened her door. Shadows played in the corners of the corridor. Fortunately, the doors to the other bedrooms were closed, a sign that nobody had come up here. She felt less watched.

Watched? Who would watch her?

The fine hairs on her arms rose. Slowly, Minnie approached the staircase. Glancing over the bannister, the hall lay in semi-darkness. Slivers of moonlight shone through the windows either side of the main doors which appeared firmly shut. She tiptoed downstairs and checked the locks but found them in place. No-one had entered here.

On tiptoes, she crossed the hall toward the corridor leading to the kitchen. All calm and quiet. Nudging the kitchen door open, she found it empty. She closed the door gently and froze at a sound from behind her. She swallowed hard before turning sharply, brandishing the candlestick. The corridor was empty. Where had the sound come from? It was almost like someone shuffled papers.

Ahead, a sliver of light escaped beneath one of the doors further along. She edged closer.

Her heart pounding, she stopped outside the study. The thin line of light moved beneath the sturdy oak door, but she couldn’t confront whoever was in there without revealing her approach. The key in the old lock waited for her to turn it but from her first visit, she remembered it grated. The intruder could hide quickly, even attack her.

The locked door meant the thief must have entered through the window. Her pulse raced in her ears, the sound echoing inside her head. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wiped a damp hand on her nightdress. Dabbing her head with the blanket, uncertainty flooded her. What was she doing, with a silly candlestick? Fight the thief? She stood no chance against a man.

Still, Trekellis was her home; she had a duty to defend it. Not for the first time, Minnie wished she owned a dog. Tomorrow, she’d ask Beth to find her a puppy. No, a bigger dog. A beast that could defend…

Minnie shook her head. Here she was, without a dog or a friend, facing an intruder. She straightened, pulled her shoulders back, dropped the blanket and clung to the candlestick. Now. Giving herself a push, she nodded. Blood surged through her body.

Now.

Her fingers gently probed the cold key. As quietly as possible, she turned it bit by bit. So far, no sound escaped it. Sensing the lock shifting, she held her breath. Almost there.

The lock snapped loudly as it slid into place. Damn! With a swift move, she shoved the door open. “What on earth…” she hissed.

A chuckle reached her ears. “Good evening, Minerva.”

***

“Or should I say, good morning?” Gideon grinned.

“You!” Minnie’s body swayed in the doorway, and she leaned against a post, dropping the candlestick. Then her head rolled back.

“Damn!” His mirth evaporated in an instant. Rushing forward, he caught her before she would hit the floor. He scooped her into his arms and carried her prone body to a settee in a corner of Walker’s study. Gently, he lowered her, cradling her head as he knelt by the side. “Minnie?”

Damn again! He hadn’t meant to scare her, didn’t even know how she could’ve heard him. Apart from the precariously balanced accounts book he’d nudged off the desk earlier. But the sound hadn’t been loud enough to wake a sleeping woman. Or had it?

“Minnie?” He caressed her face, eerily pale. In the absence of smelling salts, only water would help.

Berating himself for scaring her to near death, he ran through the dark hall to the kitchen. His eyes scanned the room frantically until he spotted a jug. Peeking at the liquid inside, he sniffed. No smell. Taking a sip confirmed it was water. Gideon grabbed a glass from a shelf and strode back, careless of sloshing water.

Minnie’s quiet form, her silky chestnut hair loose around her shoulders, lay as he’d left her. He crouched on the floor and filled the cup. Easing his hand beneath her head, he lifted it slightly and held the glass to her lips.

“Minnie?” No reaction. “All right. I’m sorry for having to do this but…” He poured water into his hands and patted her face, swiping the cold liquid across her forehead and cheeks. Repeating the process, he was pleased to see color flooding back. She began to stir.

“Minnie?” He took her hands in his cool grasp, pressing them gently.

Her lashes fluttered. “Where am I?” Then her gaze hardened. “You?”

She scrambled upright and, rising, he released her.

“What are you doing here?”

Gideon studied her. Still as white as her frilly nightgown, she seemed to compose herself. Her hand went to her shoulder, then she looked at the door. Behind the threshold, a blanket lay crumpled on the floor. He retrieved it and she almost ripped it from his grasp and wrapped it around her shoulder and across her chest.

Pity, the glimpse he’d caught of her shapely form before she fainted had been enticing. If his memory served him right, her nipples had strained through the material when he carried her...

Deep breath! He leaned against the desk. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Minnie sipped the water, her thunderous gaze boring into him. “You still haven’t explained your presence.”

Gideon sighed. Telling her the truth would prove her uncle’s innocence–and possibly destroy his family’s reputation. He must tread carefully.

“Make yourself comfortable, Minnie. It’s a long story.”

Not letting him out of her sight, she settled into a corner of the settee and pulled her feet up, covering them with the blanket. “We have all night.”

Oh, how he wished she’d say that in another place. Upstairs, in that comfortable bed of hers…

He shrugged off the treacherous thoughts. “I’m looking for evidence that Henrietta Walker was married to my grandfather, Rufus Drake, 6th Earl of Rothdale.”

“Your grandfather? But she was married to Bartholomew Walker when she died.”

He wished he could brush away the confusion from her face. “Did she die at Walker’s hands? My investigations raise doubts.”

“Doubts?” She shook her head. “No. Henrietta fell down the cliffs; Bartholomew,” she paused, staring at the painting behind the desk, “pushed her.”

“
Hettie…”

Gideon turned sharply. Bartholomew Walker’s strict, cold gaze pierced him. It was impossible. He must have imagined–

“You heard it, too?” Minnie was on her feet, standing beside him, clutching his arm. “You did, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes. A man whispering,
Hettie
.” A shiver ran down his spine. “I take it you’ve heard it before?”

“I have. Yesterday, when I was alone in the bedroom. Then again tonight. It woke me.” She stared at the portrait. “Do you think it is him?”

Gideon shook his head. A modern man, he didn’t believe in ghosts. “It has to be a trick.” He scanned the room but inside his mind, doubts began to creep in. They’d both heard it. Male. Strong. Calling his wife’s name. “It must be.”

“I agree.” Her voice quivered. She swallowed. “So, let us say she didn’t fall down the cliffs. What happened instead?” Her questioning eyes implored him.

He took her hands and led her back to the settee. Pulling her down, he sat beside her and draped the blanket around her shoulders.

“My father never spoke of my grandfather. Being raised away from him, they were never close. I always felt Father resented Rufus, my grandfather, though he’d never tell me why.”

“Was Henrietta your grandmother?”

“No. When Father was four years young, my grandmother, Annabelle, died of a fever. Hers was a marriage of convenience, something Father entered into as well, insisting on family duty. He tried to force me, too, but…that’s another story.” Gideon refilled the glass and took a draught. Minnie watched him, tense, yet relaxed, as if accepting his company. A good sign after ignoring him for four long days. “Two years after my grandmother’s death, Rufus disappeared to Paris, never to set foot on English soil again. Father only told me once, then forbade me to ever mention it again. Up to the day he died, Father tried to obliterate Rufus from the family history.”

Sympathy shone in her eyes. “How lonely your father must have been; his mother dead, his father abroad. ’Tis no wonder he grew up hating him.”

“Yes, ours wasn’t a happy home. My mother, well, she has firm views on Rufus, my illustrious ancestor, eloping with a then widowed woman.”

“They eloped?”

“I believe so. I only realized when I found their marriage license–Rufus had arranged for a special dispensation to avoid scandal–that he must have been hiding Henrietta after she’d fled from Walker, most likely at our country house in Kent.”

A gust of wind rattled the window he’d entered through, and Gideon went to secure it. A glance outside quashed any idea of a ride back soon. “Looks like a storm is brewing.” He closed the curtains, glad he had stabled his horse before breaking in.

As he sat down again, the blanket slipped off Minnie’s feet. He swallowed and reached out to adjust it again, his fingers slowly caressing the delicate skin. She shivered beneath his touch. “Min–”

“No.” Her sharp tone matched the fire in her gaze. She pulled her feet under her body, elaborately covering every bit of exposed leg. “Not again.”

“You weren’t disinclined last time, nor the time before.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “You know what I want. And I know you want it, too.”

She shifted slightly. “That may be the way of the girls in London, but not me. I’m…I’m…”

“You’re different?”

“Umm, you could say so, yes.”

“I see.” His gaze raked over her body, half wrapped in the blanket. “Absolutely.”

Minnie’s eyes drifted across the room, and she pulled the blanket tighter. “You were suggesting your grandfather and Henrietta lived together while Bartholomew was still alive?”

“No, I don’t think they dared, even though it’s likely Rufus helped her disappear. I don’t think either of them expected the public reaction, the threat of a murder trial, or even Bartholomew to kill himself.”

“He must have been distraught, thinking his wife dead.”

“Or run away.”

“You think he knew she was alive?” Her breath hitched.

Gideon wasn’t surprised she found the story unbelievable. His first thoughts had been full of doubt. Only once he’d discovered the marriage license had he realized the truth. “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Ah. And the other?”

“I want to find proof of an earlier link between Rufus and Henrietta. Secret letters, notes, gifts, perhaps.”

“You wouldn’t find those in this room. It was his. If she had letters from Rufus, she’d hide them from her husband.”

Of course. Minnie’s words made sense. “Back to the beginning?”

“Perhaps not quite all the way. He–” Minnie jumped as thunder rolled above the house.