The Love Affair of an English Lord (27 page)

Chapter 26

Chloe and Finley had just left the library when a deep rumbling came from within the walls of the house. It was an unnatural noise, the warning groan of hell being unleashed. Chloe's heart seemed to cease beating as she sprinted up the seemingly endless staircase to the long gallery, Finley overtaking her, Ares staying at her side.

They were not alone.

Behind her the servants of Stratfield Hall had just returned from church, their carts clattering through the open gate. In a matter of minutes they would resume their positions in the house. The housekeeper would put on her apron and ask Sir Edgar if he cared to take his luncheon in the dining hall or in his office.

Unless Sir Edgar's days of dining as a usurper at Dominic's table were done. Chloe did not pause to take a breath at the top of the staircase. Sunlight poured in through the glazed windows of the gallery. But the silence felt ominous, worse even than the rumbling that had preceded it. The entrance to Dominic's secret hiding place was wide open, dark and uninviting.

She rushed toward it.

She was not alone.

Behind her Dominic's well-trained servants, sensing something was amiss in the house, came surging up the staircase in a wave of indignant apprehension. Had the murderer struck again? Why else had the gatehouse door been left open, with Finley nowhere to be found?

Would they discover Sir Edgar stabbed to death in the same bed as their former master? The butler and footmen took command of the irregular army. The housemaids brought up the rear, wielding dusters and mops. And then an authoritative voice broke through the anxious whispering.

The small figure of Lady Dewhurst in a feathered bonnet and beaded pelisse shouldered a path straight to Chloe. Her daughter, Pamela, followed, panting for breath, accompanied by her bewildered-looking sweetheart, Charles.

“Aunt Gwendolyn!” Chloe said, steeling herself at the grim expression on the woman's face. This was not at all the way she wanted her aunt to find out the truth. “What are you doing here?”

Gwendolyn peered over Chloe's shoulder. “I should ask you and my husband the same thing. Where is the rascal?”

“Which rascal would that be?”

“Do not play innocent with me, young lady. I am not stupid. I asked Pamela what everyone was hiding from me, and that is why I am here.”

Chloe glanced helplessly at Pamela, who had launched into another one of her indecipherable pantomimes behind her mother's back.

“You're here because . . . because . . . because I lent Pamela my scandalous corset?”

Aunt Gwendolyn swung around to study her daughter's figure. “What corset?”

Pamela shook her head. “I've no idea what anyone is talking about.”

Chloe edged closer to the entrance of the hiding hole. Adrian, Finley, and her uncle would not have remained inside the vault all this time if Dominic were hurt.

Unless they were covering his body, tending his injuries. Unless they'd had to subdue Edgar, and . . . Chloe's head swam with unspeakable images. Dominic
would
prevail. He had the advantage this time over his uncle. He'd had weeks to prepare, to plan. He had promised to come back to her, and he was a man of his word if nothing else. He was determined, her devil, the other half of her wicked soul.

She went still at the heavy tread of a footstep from inside the hidden passage. She knew in her heart it was him. She spun around, her entire focus on the figure that emerged into the light.

For a frightening second she did not recognize him.

Her mouth opened on a soundless laugh. His tall, lean figure was coated in a heavy layer of white grainy dust. A ghostly shroud from top to bottom. His thick black hair, his eyebrows, his cheeks, the shoulders and sleeves of his lace-trimmed highwayman's shirt, the black knee breeches and jack boots.

But it was him, safe, whole, walking toward her while she stood transfixed by the sight, by what it meant.

“Dear God, have mercy!” a kitchen maid shrieked from the bottom of the stairs. “ 'Tis himself—the Stratfield Ghost!”

Aunt Gwendolyn put her arms around Pamela, the feathers on her bonnet quivering. Chloe covertly dropped the poker on the floor.

Silence engulfed the gallery. No one moved. No one dared to speak again. A smile broke across Chloe's face. Covered in that chalky film, he did indeed look like a ghost risen from the grave.

Then Dominic's mocking gaze found Chloe's face, the pure fire of passion and resolution smoldering in his gray eyes. She was not conscious of moving, of walking toward him. He had come back. He had kept his word, and suddenly all was well in the world again. Her mind began to function once more. Joy bubbled up inside her, fierce and cleansing. There were suddenly new problems to face, consequences to consider.

If she went to him, then everyone would know, would realize that they had been having a romantic relationship. Everyone would guess that she loved him, that the fast young lady from London had become embroiled in another scandal. That this time she had gotten involved in the worst, the most wicked trouble of her life.

And everyone would be right.

 

Dominic did not give Chloe the option of pretending they had not been lovers, of waiting until they were alone to hold her. He walked straight to where she stood and pulled her into his arms. He needed to feel her warmth, her approval, to reassure her that everything he had promised her would come to pass. She was staring up at his face in amazement, in relief, her beautiful blue eyes bright with tears.

“It's over,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her. “Marry me, Chloe Boscastle. Be my wife.”

Lady Dewhurst and her daughter gasped in unison at this shocking development. The entire staff of Stratfield Hall, who apparently were still unsure whether Dominic was man or ghost, watched in speechless fascination.

Dominic did not pay any of them the least bit of notice. He was too intent on kissing the woman who had given him strength, the woman who had been the only reason he had survived for so long and kept his sanity.

“Chloe,” he said, his large hands sculpting the delicate bones of her face. His touch was tender yet fiercely protective. He had been filled with admiration and concern when Finley explained how Chloe had found him in the library and released him, quick thinking and caring.

Dominic loved the wild stubborn side of Chloe, and he loved the part of her that was vulnerable and a little overwhelmed by life, that had gotten her into trouble. He was only sorry that he had not met her years ago, when he would have made a better impression on her family. Yes, winning over the tightly knit Boscastle clan was definitely his next monumental task. Perhaps it would be his hardest feat ever.

“Dominic,” she whispered against his mouth, “don't you dare ever put me through anything like this again.”

He laughed, his voice low and husky. “I don't think there's any chance of that.”

Her blue eyes sparkled with embarrassed amusement. “You do realize we have an audience?”

He glanced up briefly, only then realizing what he must look like to the stunned crowd of onlookers in the gallery. “Carson, don't stand there gaping like a carp. Fetch me some bathwater and a fresh change of clothes.”

The astonished footman blinked. “But . . . but . . . you . . .”

“They think you're still a ghost,” Chloe whispered, trying to stifle a giggle.

Dominic smiled down at her, pulling her harder against his lean body. “I don't suppose I could fool them long enough to get us both out of here without having to explain myself?”

Chloe glanced at her aunt from the corner of her eye. “It doesn't appear to be a good possibility.” She hesitated. “Where is my uncle? And Adrian?”

Dominic tenderly framed her face in his hands. His gaze absorbed every detail of her features. He had lived for this moment, to return openly to this headstrong woman he loved. The passionate relief in her eyes was all the reward he needed, the proof that everything had been worthwhile.

Now it was his turn to protect her, to court her in a more befitting manner and prove to her he could be very human indeed.

“Chloe,” he said gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I should like to go on kissing you forever and send these people away, but it looks as if by coming back to life I shall have to take up all those gentlemanly pretensions again.”

She sighed as they moved apart. “If you must.”

He straightened his shoulders. Now that his ordeal was over, it would be a physical ache even to let her out of his sight. He had watched his enemy die, and perhaps he should have felt more remorse. Certainly he hoped he would never have to look such evil in the face again, but confronting Edgar had been the only way he could live with himself and honor his brother's memory. He could go on now. He wanted to put what had happened out of his mind, to concentrate on the good in his life, on Chloe.

He looked away from her pale face with regret. Her aunt was regarding him with a rather menacing expression. Adrian and Sir Humphrey had just emerged from the hiding hole, brushing dust off their clothing and discussing, of all things, the political situation in China. Finley followed, carrying the cloaked skeleton in his arms, a sight that evoked another collective gasp of horror from the people gathered in the gallery.

Dominic suppressed the urge to throw back his head and laugh. How would he explain what had happened to the village? He had not thought this far ahead. He could just imagine the rumors that would start to fly about the Stratfield Ghost, his bony companion, and the notorious young lady from London who had loved him.

“Stop it,” Chloe whispered, biting her lip.

“Stop what?” he asked.

“Stop that . . . that grinning.”

“I wasn't grinning.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

Aunt Gwendolyn, apparently recovered from her bewilderment, had taken it upon herself to confront Dominic. “Well, my lord, you show yourself at last, appearing a good deal more down to earth than when I last saw you.”

He looked genuinely contrite. “I assure you, Lady Dewhurst, that there is an explanation.”

“There will have to be.”

Chloe put her hand on her aunt's arm. “Aunt Gwendolyn, please understand, we never meant to deceive you.”

“Deceive me? What are you talking about?”

Chloe lowered her voice. The butler had pulled himself together enough to order the staff to resume their duties, but a few servants still lingered on the staircase, casting mortified looks at the skeleton in Finley's arms.

“What I mean,” Chloe said in an undertone, “was how we allowed you to believe that Dom—er, Lord Stratfield—was a ghost that night in the garden.”

“A ghost?” Aunt Gwendolyn said, scoffing. “I never believed it for a minute.”

“What gave me away?” Dominic demanded, his voice warm as he addressed the older woman.

Aunt Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I believed it at first, but then the next day I noticed there were big footprints around my mint garden. No one in my house is allowed to pick my herbs under penalty of death. Suddenly I remembered how you had always enjoyed chewing mint leaves, my lord.”

Dominic grinned again.

“I decided not to give you away,” Aunt Gwendolyn added, “although if I had known you were involved with my niece, I would not have been so understanding.”

Dominic graced her with his most charming smile. “Then I am forgiven for my little masquerade?”

Aunt Gwendolyn did not return his smile. “I have not forgiven you anything yet, my lord. In fact, it remains to be seen exactly what and how much I am expected to forgive, and even if I decide to forgive you, it does not absolve you of your responsibility to Chloe's family, and the matter of whether they choose to forgive you.” She paused to take a breath. “Assuming of course there is anything to forgive, which by the look of the kiss you just gave my niece, I assume there is.”

“Oh, goodness,” Chloe said, realizing that the road ahead would be challenging.

Dominic's grin faded. “I am not exactly sure what you just said, madam, but I
assume
it does not bode well for me.”

Lady Dewhurst directed a stern look at her niece. “This is not something we should discuss in public. You will come home with us right now, Chloe, so that your uncle and I can decide what to do with you.”

Dominic straightened, his eyes darkening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Gwendolyn said, “that her future is for her family to decide.”

“Then I request the right to be included in the decision,” Dominic said.

“Might I voice an opinion?” Chloe asked in irritation.

“Not in public,” her aunt retorted. “I do not think the world is ready for your opinions yet.”

Dominic almost smiled at that, but refrained, not wishing Chloe's aunt to think him disrespectful. “Forgive me, madam,” he said, “but my ability to follow the rules of polite society has grown rusty during my . . . retreat. Of course there is a proper protocol to follow in these matters.”