The house stood on large, lush grounds, surrounded by rolling plains and patches of tangled trees. The building rose three stories into the gray sky, hints of the roof’s former redness still remaining. Though the windows were grimy and the garden overgrown, Deborah could see glimpses of the manor’s former glory. Perhaps, many years ago, the Avertons had been prosperous. But that was clearly in the past.
They reached the front door. Deborah glanced the Duke. She lifted the brass knocker and rapped it against the door.
“It’s abandoned,” the Duke reminded her.
Deborah nodded. “I know. But it felt wrong not to at least knock.” She gave him a small smile, hearing the foolishness of her words.
When the knock was answered with nothing but silence, the Duke made his way through the long grass and tossed a rock through a window. The glass shattered noisily, making Deborah’s shoulders stiffen. She watched as His Grace reached in to unlock the window, then climb into the house.
After a moment, he pulled open the front door and gestured silently for Deborah to enter.
The moment she stepped inside, she understood the Duke’s need for silence. An eerie stillness hung over the building and it seemed wrong to break the quiet.
They walked slowly down the hallway, their footsteps echoing. Deborah could hear rain drizzling into puddles from the overflowing gutters.
The entire house was swathed in dust, all the Baron’s belongings still in place. Books lined the shelves, and a full tobacco box sat open on a table in the smoking room. A half-drunk glass of red wine sat on a side table, long-drowned insects floating on its surface.
Deborah shivered. “What do you suppose happened here?” she asked in a half voice.
The Duke’s eyes darted back and forth across the smoking room. “It’s as though he just stepped out for a moment and never returned.” He stepped onto the staircase and it creaked noisily beneath his weight. Deborah followed him up the stairs and into what she assumed had been the Baron’s bedchamber.
Rumpled blankets lay across the bed, pillows strewn untidily. A glance inside the wardrobe told Deborah that Lord Averton’s clothes were all still hanging in place.
She glanced at the Duke. He was examining a small piece of cloth on the dressing table.
“What is that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Deborah was about to insist on an answer, when her breath left her suddenly. “Look.” She pointed shakily to the doorframe. The white paint was stained with dark marks. “Do you think that’s blood?”
The Duke frowned. He stepped closer, examining the stains. Deborah half expected him to deny it, to protect her fragile sensibilities by claiming it was little more than misplaced earth, or paint. But he said,
“Perhaps.”
The single word made Deborah’s blood run cold. She could feel that panic begin to rise inside her again. The deeper she dug, the more certain she felt that Edith had been involved in something far bigger than herself.
“Do you think it is the Baron’s blood?” Her voice felt trapped in her throat. Suddenly, the room began to spin. She gripped hold of the bedpost, in a desperate attempt to steady herself. She felt the Duke’s arm slide around her waist.
“Miss Wilds? Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?” His voice sounded far away.
“I want to leave,” Deborah said. It felt as though the walls of the house were closing in on her. “I want to leave this second.” She heard her voice waver.
She leaned heavily on the Duke as they made their way downstairs and back out through the front door. Once out of the stifling atmosphere of the house, Deborah gulped down a long breath and lifted her face to the sky.
“Are you all right?” the Duke asked again, concern in his voice.
She nodded, embarrassed at her reaction. She had come here for answers. Had told herself she would be able to face whatever they uncovered. But clearly she had been wrong.
She felt tears prick her eyes. “What did Edith get herself involved in? What happened to the Baron?” She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to hold the tears back, but they escaped in a sudden flood down her cheeks. “Why didn’t she tell me what was happening? Why didn’t she at least give me a chance to help her?”
She swiped at her tears, as her panic and grief threatened to overwhelm her.
“Come on,” the Duke said gently, kissing her forehead. “Let’s leave this place. It’s not good for you to be here.”
Deborah opened her mouth to protest—no, I need to find out what happened—but in spite of herself, she desperately wanted the leave that dreadful, bloodstained manor. She climbed into the coach and sat with her head pressed to the window, the coolness of the glass steadying her a little.
The Duke shuffled across the bench seat and pulled her into him, pressing his lips into her hair. For a long time, he said nothing, just let her cling to him and cry. His hand ran up and down her back, soothing her, stilling her.
Finally, she looked up at him with watery eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to fall apart.”
He pressed his palm to her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the last of her tears. “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to hide any part of yourself,” he said gently. “If you need to fall apart, you do it.” He met her eyes. “And who could blame you after what we saw in there?”
His gentle words made fresh tears well behind Deborah’s eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow. This time, they were tears of gratitude, of love.
Have I fallen in love with the Duke?
The realization swung at her suddenly, leaving her breathless. Yes, she loved him. She loved him more than she had known it was possible to love someone. She pressed her palms to his cheeks, needing his closeness, needing the feel of him beneath her hands. She looked into his eyes. And she saw the same deep, unspoken love reflected back at her.
How could we have reached this place so quickly?
He was the only thing that made sense. The only thing she knew she could rely on. She needed him close. Needed to feel his body against hers, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She needed his hands, his lips, his arms, his loving, whispered words.
Before she knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers. His kiss was deep and possessive, far more passionate than any kiss they had shared before. Far more passionate than Deborah had imagined was possible.
Had this kiss been his doing or hers? She wasn’t sure. But what did it matter? Her lips parted beneath his, urging him deeper. And his hands were in her hair, pushing her rain-soaked bonnet away, his tongue sliding hot over her own.
And for the first time in weeks, Deborah’s head was blissfully clear. There was no fear, no uncertainty, no questions. There was only the Duke. Only herself. Only the two of them in all the world.
His hand slid down her shoulder, over her bare arms, making her skin flood with gooseflesh. He pulled her close as she shivered against him. And his hand was moving again, sliding over her waist, over the sharp protrusion of her hips, then working its way up her middle, over the soft folds of her gown.
Deborah felt her back arch as his fingers climbed higher, working slowly upwards toward her chest. She felt herself sigh against his lips, aching for his touch, aching for more of him.
“We ought to stop,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. But his feverish actions did not match his words.
Deborah didn’t respond. She did not want him to stop. Did not want to go back to that place where her mind was cluttered with fear and worry. She just wanted this dizzying pleasure to build and build until she could take it no more. She wanted the Duke’s hands on her, his lips on her, wanted him to take her places she had never been before.
She clung tightly to him, kissing him hard. His lust had made her daring. Pressed close to his body, she could feel his arousal straining against her.
Am I truly having such an effect on him?
His gentle groan made her
ache. Made her let out a muffled moan of her own.
She wanted him right here, right now. They couldn’t, of course. She knew that well. But how she ached for it. She couldn’t bear to venture back to reality.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop, jolting them forward.
“Miss Wilds,” the Duke said, removing his hands from her chest. “I’m sorry. I should never…”
“Your Grace?” The gruff voice of the coachman interrupted the Duke’s garbled apology. “There’s a man in the road. Leapt right out in front of the coach. Says he saw you at the Averton manor. Says there’s things you ought to know.”
Chapter 23
Leonard clicked open the carriage door. He glanced at Miss Wilds. “Stay here.”
She shook her head. “No. I need to hear what he has to say.”
Leonard thought of the panic that had swept over her when she had discovered the blood in the Baron’s bedchamber. The sight of it had unnerved him, too. He knew it would be best for Miss Wilds if she stayed in the coach. But he also knew she was far too invested in this search to do such a thing.
After a moment, he nodded acceptingly and offered his hand to help her climb from the carriage. He gave her hand a gentle, apologetic squeeze. He had not meant to lose control so entirely. Had no intention of going as far as he did. But around Miss Deborah Wilds, Leonard was coming to realize, control was a difficult thing to maintain.
Perhaps he ought to be grateful to this mud-caked man who had appeared like a ghost in the middle of the road.
He marched up to the man, Miss Wilds hovering behind him. He was dressed in patched trousers and long, dirty boots, a torn greatcoat hanging from his shoulders. A farmer, no doubt.
The man looked him up and down. “Who are you?”
Leonard hesitated. Perhaps it was best to hide his identity. “Leonard Fletcher,” he said finally, deciding against giving his title.
The man scratched his bristly chin and looked between him and Miss Wilds. “You ought to stay away from this place. Bad things happened here.”
Leonard noticed Miss Wilds shift uncomfortably. “This house belonged to the Baron of Averton?”
The man nodded. “Once upon a time.”
“Where is Lord Averton now? Do you have any idea?”
The man didn’t respond. He stood looking down the road at the house, his square jaw set grimly.
“Please, Sir,” Miss Wilds spoke up, “it’s very important we find Lord Averton.”
The man sniffed noisily. “I daresay you won’t find the poor Baron.”
Leonard’s mind flickered back to the blood staining the doorframe. “Why not?” he dared to ask.
“Because I don’t imagine he is around to be found no more.”
Though the words came as no surprise, Leonard felt a chill run through him.
“Do you know for certain that Lord Averton is dead?” Miss Wilds demanded, her voice thin.
The man shrugged. “Only thing I know for certain is that bad things happened in that house.”
“What things?” Leonard pushed. “Tell me what you know.” He sighed at the man’s silence. “You clearly wished to speak to us,” he said tersely. “Why will you not tell me what you know?”
The man shrugged. “You’re clearly a man of means.”
Sighing, Leonard dug into his pocket and produced a few coins. He held them out to the man, who pocketed them quickly.
“Men come to the house one night,” he said finally. “I seen them, while I was out with my cattle. Broke into the house. I heard all manner of noise coming from inside the house. Yelling. Banging. And then a pistol shot.”
“A pistol shot?” Miss Wilds repeated.
The man nodded morosely.
“And then what?” Leonard demanded.
The man shrugged. “And then no one ever saw the Baron again.” He scratched his chin. “A wise man can draw his own conclusions.”
“When?” Miss Wilds pushed. “When did all this happen?”
The man tilted his head, as though deep in thought. “Two, three years ago maybe. Hard to say.”
“Summertime?” she pressed. “Did it happen in the summer? In August?”
The man’s nose wrinkled in thought. “Aye, summertime. That seems right. I remember it were a warm night out there with the cattle.”
Miss Wilds let out her breath, wrapping her cloak tightly around her body as though to steady herself. She stood close to Leonard, her shoulder pressing against his. He fought the urge to hold her close. Such a thing did not seem appropriate in view of both this man and the coachman. Then again, both men had already seen Miss Wilds out here without a chaperone. Leonard slid his hand into hers.
“And there’s nothing more you can tell us?” he said. “Nothing at all?”
The man shrugged. “Told you all I know.”
“What about the Baron’s household?” asked Leonard. “His family?”
“Weren’t none of either, far as I could tell. His ma and pa, they were old. Been dead for years before any of this happened.”
“So he was alone in this old house?” asked Miss Wilds.
“I imagine so.”
Her brow furrowed.
What is she thinking?
“What was he like?” she asked.
The man shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. “Never met the fellow. A farmer like me ain’t got no reason to be mingling with his type, do I?”
“No,” Miss Wilds said distantly. “I don’t suppose you do.” Her eyes were glued to the mud-caked road in front of them. She was beginning to shiver violently. Out of fear or cold, Leonard was unsure.
He pressed a steadying hand to her shoulder. This day, and all that had unfolded, had clearly rattled her to the core. He knew it was best he get her home.
“Thank you,” he said to the farmer. “You’ve been—” He hesitated. Helpful? As desperate as he and Miss Wilds both were to learn the truth, Leonard could hardly claim this information had been helpful. The stress it was causing his beloved was evident on her face.
He let the sentence hang unfinished. “Thank you,” he said again. Then he ushered Miss Wilds toward the carriage and helped her inside.
She stared out the window as the coach rolled back up the hill. Began to twist the buttons on her cloak.
Leonard reached over and gently touched her knee. A daring gesture, he knew, though it seemed trivial compared to how far they had gone just minutes earlier.
Miss Wilds clamped her hand over the top of his and intertwined their fingers. Finally, she turned to face him. “Do you believe that man? Do you believe something dreadful happened to Lord Averton?”
Leonard didn’t speak at once. The farmer could have been lying, of course.
But for what purpose?
He had clearly been desperate to speak with them. And what of the bloodstains in the Baron’s bedchamber? Though he was doing his best to find a more palatable solution, the reality of the situation was cold and harsh.
“Your Grace?” Miss Wilds pushed. “Is that what you believe?”
Leonard gripped her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms. “Leonard,” he said. “My name is Leonard. You are to be my wife. There is no need for formalities.”
Especially after the way we lost control in the carriage.
A small smile lit her face. “Yes,” she said, the faintest hint of color appearing on her cheeks. He could tell her mind had flashed back to the carriage, too. “Leonard,” she said, kissing the edge of his lips. She laced her fingers through his. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Do you think something dreadful happened to Lord Averton?”
Leonard sucked in his breath. “It’s a distinct possibility,” he said shortly.
Deborah nodded. She turned back to look out the window. Leonard squeezed her fingers tightly. Steadying her or himself, he was not entirely sure.
“Stop the coach,” she said as they approached the edge of town. “I can walk the rest of the way. We can’t take the risk of a
nyone seeing us together any closer to the village.”
Leonard nodded reluctantly, rapping on the carriage wall to alert the coachman. Before opening the door for Deborah, he took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips.
“I know today has been draining,” he said gently. “We’ve both learned things that have been difficult to process. But perhaps we ought to try and put them from our minds for a time.”
Deborah let out her breath. “How can I do such a thing? I’ll be seeing those bloodstains in my sleep for weeks.”
Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 14
