The Love Affair of an English Lord (14 page)

He wavered. He had trusted her this far. If she was going to betray him, it would not matter how much more knowledge she gained. He might be holding Chloe temporarily in his power, but in the end, with a few ill-chosen words, she could bring his destruction.

“It leads to the abandoned mill outside the village via a series of underground tunnels that a smugglers' ring carved into the rise along the estate. The millstream was used to transport contraband items to the sea in the past. For my needs it provides adequate, if cold, bathing at midnight.”

“And no one has seen you?”

He gave her a wry look. “Not until the other night when I was forced to take refuge in your room. I knew it was a risk to walk the woods, but I was desperate for freedom.”

“How long can you possibly hope to remain in this house?” she wondered aloud.

“Indefinitely, if you keep my secret.”

“But Sir Edgar is family, a well-educated military man. Why don't you enlist his help? Or is he one of those rigid types who insists on doing everything by the book? He must have connections, or at least—”

He could see the horror in her eyes as she met his scornful gaze and understood why what she suggested was impossible. She took an involuntary step backward. “Him?” she asked in disbelief. “Your own uncle? You cannot suspect he was involved in the attack on you.”

“I do not suspect. I know.”

“But why? Are you sure?”

He didn't want to spoil the few moments he had alone with her. “I'm trusting you, Chloe. Now you have to trust me. I heard his voice that night as he stabbed me. His face was masked, but I've known him all my life.”

“And with Samuel dead,” she said softly, “your inheritance goes to him.”

His eyes darkened with sadness. “Yes.”

“And Brandon— Oh, my God, Dominic. Did he have anything to do with my brother's death?”

“Come, Chloe. This is not the time to talk. Yes, I believe he had Samuel and Brandon murdered because they had witnessed him selling secrets to the French. Let me show you my private chamber.”

“Your uncle,” she said in an almost inaudible voice. “I can't believe it.”

He brushed a lacy cobweb from her hair, then took her hand, closing his large fingers protectively around hers. She was so quiet that she worried him. He would have spared her the truth had it been possible. He remembered his own shock and bewilderment too well, the feeling of betrayal that had left him reeling.

“Dear Lord,” she murmured after a long silence.

“What is it?”

“I was sent to Chistlebury as a lesson for my misconduct. I hardly think this is what my brothers had in mind for self-improvement.”

He gave a deep laugh. “So you think this would not qualify as a social call?”

“A young lady must never pay a man a visit, especially at night,” Chloe said. “If my sister, Emma, could see—” She broke off with a gasp as a large dark furry object brushed against her legs. “Tell me . . . that is
not
a rat—”

Dominic laughed deeply again. He was impressed that she had not screamed, that she had not asked him more questions about her brother. “That is my dog, whose manners, as his master's, leave much to be desired.”

“A dog? Down here with you?”

“Not my choice, Chloe. Ares did not care for the company above, which is understandable, considering the fact that Sir Edgar deems him a dangerous beast and has threatened to shoot him dead.”

Chloe stared down in apprehension at the heavily muscled dog. “Is he a dangerous beast?”

He grinned at her. “If he needs to be. For now, I suppose we could call him a chaperone.”

“Chaperone? Chef is more like it. He looks as if he's eyeing me for his next meal.”

“Well, I cannot say I blame him. You are the most appealing thing either of us have seen in a very long time.”

“That is . . . rubbish, Stratfield.”

“What are you doing in this house?” he asked, his voice all of a sudden deadly serious. “I thought I had frightened you off forever. I thought you were clever enough to heed my warning.”

“You warned me not to walk in the woods.”

“And now you know better. Edgar is a coldhearted killer, Chloe.”

She shook her head. “I have to confess it's more than I can understand. How did you manage to survive? How could you have arranged your own funeral without anyone helping you?”

“I have one true friend. By the grace of God, he had arrived unannounced the day before I died. I hope I can introduce you to him soon.”

A bell began to tinkle above them. Dominic looked up in alarm. “What in God's name does that mean?”

“It's Aunt Gwendolyn,” Chloe said after a long pause. “She's trying to exorcise a certain troublesome spirit.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “What have I ever done to her?”

“She's convinced you are going to seduce my cousin Pamela in her sleep.”

“Cousin who?”

“Stop grinning like that, you demon. After what you did to me in my sleep last night, I should put you back in your grave myself.”

He chuckled, leading her back up the steps to the original passage in the wall. “If you were asleep, you could not have known what I did. Assuming that I did anything. Perhaps you were dreaming about me, Chloe.”

“Having a nightmare, you mean.”

He cleared his throat. How far would she have let him go? He decided it was a good thing that the shadows hid the hungry look on his face. His desire for her was a frightening thing. “Were we intimate?”

“You were, you—incubus.”

“And you, poor sleeping maiden, you lay helpless as I took advantage of you?”

“Something like that, Stratfield. Don't you dare ask me to give you any of the details.”

He sobered, glancing up at the renewed tinkling of the bell. “Does Edgar have any idea what your aunt is doing?”

“I should hope not.”

“Then by all means, stop her. I have never known him to hurt a woman, but let us not take the chance of finding out how far he is willing to go.”

 

Chloe decided that
she
was the one who was mad. She could just hear the Spanish Inquisition, also known as the Boscastle family, interrogating her about the whys and hows of this unconventional romance. Heath would probably tie her to a chair in the pantry, as he'd done more than once in their childhood. Grayson would dangle something disgusting over her head like a dead crow to scare her into submission.

Emma, the Dainty Dictator, would do the questioning, pacing around the chair in the hope that Chloe would break down and reveal vital information. Which by miracle of her stubborn nature she never did. “Tell us
exactly
how Viscount Stratfield, a dead man, courted you.”

And Chloe would be compelled to answer, “By the usual methods. Blackmail. Threats. Arousing my pity. Kissing me into mindless bliss.”

At that point all hell would break loose. Drake, Devon, and Brandon would come charging into the pantry to release the hostage. A terrific fight with the butler's polished knives and forks would ensue until the housekeeper or governess arrived to take control of the uncouth bunch.

Chloe shook her head, smiling at the bittersweet memory. How simple life had been in those days, all her family together. Where—

“Where have you been, Chloe?” Pamela whispered as she noticed Chloe's appearance in the doorway. “You've missed the entire ceremony.”

“I, um, was standing guard in the gallery. Did your mother manage to get rid of the ghost?”

Pamela sighed and slipped her candle back into the wall sconce inside the room. “After all her caterwauling and prayers for his soul to find peace, I think she probably made him glad he's dead.”

Aunt Gwendolyn pivoted at the sound of their voices, clutching her Bible and the bell to her chest. “I think I've done it!” she whispered in triumph.

Chloe stared curiously into the empty room, but she managed to avoid looking at the shadowy bed where Dominic had been stabbed. His own uncle. She felt ill at the thought, questions rising like dough in her mind. “How can you tell? It looks exactly the same.”

“Well,” her aunt said, “you cannot
feel
his presence any longer, can you?”

“I never felt his presence in the first place,” Pamela said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “I was rather hoping we would at least see the ghost before we laid him.”

Her mother scowled at her. “Why would you wish to see that irksome spirit?”

“So we could ask who murdered—” Pamela broke off with a horrendous scream as a bulky four-legged shape barreled between her and Chloe to burst into the room.

Aunt Gwendolyn gasped and held her Bible up before her as a shield. Which had little effect on her intruder.

It was a dog. Specifically, Stratfield's beloved hound Ares, who, clearly afraid he would find no welcome from the Bible-wielding woman and her shrieking daughter, had circled back to take refuge at Chloe's side. She stared down in mild panic.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, covertly giving the sleek tan head a tentative pat. She knew the answer, of course. The dog had wandered out while Dominic had been distracted sneaking her back into the hall. What should she do?

Aunt Gwendolyn lowered her Bible in relief. The thunder of footsteps on the staircase resounded through the gallery. “Stop that hysterical shrieking, Pamela. It is his lordship's dog.”

Chloe released her breath. For all her annoying traits, Aunt Gwendolyn was a true animal lover at heart. She might turn her nose up at a beggar in the streets, but an abandoned kitten would melt her.

Pamela quieted down long enough to collapse on the bed, only to jump up with a squeal as if she had remembered she was lying on the actual scene of Stratfield's death. “Where did it come from?” she asked, eyeing the hound with trepidation.

Sir Edgar's voice cut into the conversation. He had a long dueling pistol in hand, and Sir Humphrey and three male servants were in tow. “What was that unholy noise? What has happened?” He sent a sharp glance around the room before he caught sight of the dog at Chloe's side.

She watched his face harden in anger. “Where did that animal come from? Has it attacked anyone? What are you all doing in this room?”

Chloe noticed that although he appeared to be in control, his hand shook slightly. She remembered Dominic claiming that Edgar wanted to destroy the dog. She felt guilty that Ares had gotten out, that she had inadvertently been the cause of an act that might expose if not endanger Dominic.

“We were walking in the gallery and heard a noise coming from this room,” she said calmly. “When we arrived to investigate, we discovered the dog. He has not hurt anyone, Sir Edgar.”

Aunt Gwendolyn lifted her brow at this twist on the truth, but gave Chloe a look that might have passed for approval. It was not the most clever excuse in the world, but at least it saved the three women from looking like complete idiots. More important, it did not give away Dominic at all.

Sir Edgar appeared to regain his control and lowered the pistol to his side. “I'd wondered where that wretched beast had hidden itself. One would hope that the servants had checked in here. I should have put it down the day I arrived.”

“You most certainly should
not
have done such a thing,” Aunt Gwendolyn said in indignation. “The poor creature is mourning his owner. This is a sign of loyalty and intelligence.”

Sir Edgar glanced in amusement at Chloe and Pamela, his manners back in place. “As you say, Lady Dewhurst.”

“Furthermore,” Aunt Gwendolyn said in a pensive voice, “the dog seems to have taken a liking to Chloe. It would appear he is trying to communicate with us.”

“Communicate?” Chloe said in disbelief.

Aunt Gwendolyn shook her head impatiently at her lack of understanding. “About his master's death. I believe Stratfield is sending us a message from beyond the grave.”

“That he likes Chloe?” Pamela asked slyly.

Sir Edgar glanced out into the candlelit gallery, muttering, “I should have the servants take care of this once and for all.”

Aunt Gwendolyn gave a gasp of shock. “You would not put a harmless animal to death? Your nephew adored this hound, Sir Edgar. It would warm my heart to see him running after Lord Stratfield on his frequent rides.”

Chloe glanced at the muscular dog from the corner of her eye. She was not an avid animal lover herself, but she would not wish to see one hurt. And there was little in the mastiff's menacing bulk to warm her own heart. But what the beast's owner did to her heart was another matter entirely.

Moreover, for all her aunt babbled on about loyalty and intelligence, Chloe could not be sure that the dog would not eventually lead Sir Edgar to Dominic's hiding place. And if Sir Edgar were capable of butchering his own nephew, there was no telling what he would do when confronted by the resurrected Dominic in the flesh.

“I have always wished for a dog like this of my very own,” she blurted out, sounding so much like a feather-brained female that she cringed inwardly.

Aunt Gwendolyn stared at her in a combination of disbelief and delight. “Have you, dear?”

Pamela narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, yes,” Chloe gushed, going so far as to clasp her hands to her heart. “Papa had promised me one right before he died.”

Which was probably the biggest lie she had ever told in her life. Chloe had been demanding a diamond tiara, not a dog. As if disgusted with this turn of events, Ares sank down on his haunches beside her.

“I should be happy to find a suitable lapdog for you, Lady Chloe,” Sir Edgar said, his mouth curling into a faint smile. He took a step toward Ares, then stopped as the dog bared his teeth. “You see, this animal is unpredictable.”

“He is not unpredictable at all,” Aunt Gwendolyn insisted. “The animal is already serving his duty as a protector.” As if to prove her point, she swept past Sir Edgar and knelt to scratch the dog's ears.