by Adele Clee
Did that not sound like a reasonable explanation?
She eyed him suspiciously. “Blent will have returned to the kennels. He takes two hounds out at night to scout the perimeter.” After a long pause, she added, “Time and circumstance have changed us, Mr Cole. We are no longer in the bloom of youth, no longer consumed by uncontrollable passions. We must get used to being in each other’s company if we’re to help Jessica.”
Finlay managed a weak smile. “Of course.”
His issues were more complicated than that, but Sophia was right. He had come to Blackborne as an agent of the Order. Helping those in need was his priority.
He opened the drawing room door and stepped aside. “Please, lead the way.”
Sophia took the lit chamber stick from the long oak table in the great hall and led him up the dim staircase. Neither spoke as they crept along the first-floor landing. Finlay followed her into a bedchamber. It was a vast room with a vaulted ceiling, red furnishings, and a dark oak bed on a raised platform. The view from the oriel window overlooked the forecourt, the moat, and the woods that seemed to stare ominously back. And yet he found the small chapel situated to the right of the forecourt more disturbing.
“Will you be comfortable here?”
He glanced around the lofty chamber but didn’t ask why he had the grandest room in the house. Nor was he ready to learn where she slept.
“The room is more than ample for my needs.”
“I don’t suppose you keep town hours, not when work demands your attention at all times of the day and night. If it suits you, shall we meet in the dining room at nine? I shall distract myself with the mundane task of eating breakfast when I tell you about the strange events that have occurred these last few weeks.”
Finlay nodded, keen to have her leave the room.
“Excellent.” Sophia shifted nervously for a moment. “I pray you won’t be disturbed tonight, but I shall explain more tomorrow. Good night, Mr Cole.”
Finlay inclined his head. “Good night, my lady.”
My lady?
He almost laughed at the irony.
Fate had decided she would never be his.
She placed the chamber stick on the dressing table and left.
Finlay hummed so as not to count the light pad of footsteps crossing the landing, else he would know precisely the direction she had taken.
Something drew him back to the window.
He peered at the church and the vast army of trees in the distance, as if appraising his opponents. Being at Blackborne would amount to more than a hostile encounter with a potential abductor.
His hardest battle would be with himself.
Chapter 3
The dining room clock chimed the quarter hour.
Panic rose in Sophia’s chest as she stared at the empty seat across the table. Last night, Finlay Cole had played the professional enquiry agent so well he could grace the stage. He had listened impassively to her tale, seemed unperturbed by the terrible event still haunting Jessica.
But it had been an act.
She had seen the real man—the one who hid his emotions behind his impressive beard—the second he entered the room. She had seen the tortured look in his obsidian eyes when she’d stemmed the tide of tears. Seven years’ worth of torment had left the air brimming with tension. In the lavish ballrooms of the ton they could be civil, cordial. Here, in a place full of nightmares and ghosts, it was impossible to maintain the facade.
Sophia stopped slathering butter on her toast and kept her gaze fixed on the door. Finlay Cole was her last hope. Without his assistance she feared she, too, would become a candidate for Bedlam.
She waited.
The mantel clock struck the half hour.
Finlay was anything but tardy.
What if he’d found their reunion distressing? What if he had woken in the night, saddled his horse and bolted back to London?
Surely he would not abandon her.
Despite trembling legs, she pushed out of the chair, left her breakfast and mounted the stairs in haste. She paused outside his chamber, pressed her ear to the door, but heard nothing. A light knock brought no response.
Please answer, Finlay.
She inhaled deeply to ease the tightness in her chest. “Mr Cole?” she whispered, praying she was wrong and he was simply late back from a morning stroll. “Mr Cole? Finlay?”
Sophia glanced at the ceiling, listening for the pad of footsteps, for the crying or sweet singing that said Jessica had woken. Not being able to anticipate her sister’s mood each morning brought its own apprehension.
Silence.
Desperate to discover if Finlay had kept his word, she opened the door and slipped inside his bedchamber.
The room was hot and dark. The heavy red curtains kept out the morning sun. A quick glance at the clothes draped over the chair said Finlay Cole had not deserted her. Indeed, the gentleman in question lay sprawled in bed, naked.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She stepped closer, transfixed by the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest as he slept. The dusting of dark hair trailing down to the white sheet gripping his lean hips held her spellbound. He looked so peaceful, so content, as if she hadn’t shattered his heart by marrying another man, as if he didn’t live with a wealth of regret.
Oh, Finlay!
The need to touch him, to devour him and ease the internal ache took hold. The need to inhale his masculine scent—a smell so unique it soothed her soul—saw her edge closer to the bed.
Would his skin be as warm as she remembered?
Would his energy light her like a beacon inside?
Her gaze moved to his full lips. Finlay Cole knew how to kiss a woman. Every sensual slide of his tongue was indelibly marked in her memory. The rich, intoxicating taste of his mouth, the smooth—
Finlay’s eyes shot open. He sat bolt upright and grabbed her wrist. “What in blazes?”
Sophia’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Shock and desire weaved together to leave her panting.
The heat from his hand seared her skin. The distress and anger in his eyes made her want to dart for cover. He had always been as dangerous as the devil, always had an otherworldly presence.
“It’s half p-past nine,” she stuttered, pulling free from his grasp. “I came to see—” Guilt made it impossible to construct a coherent sentence. “I thought you’d left Blackborne. It was so … so dark I had to step closer. Forgive the intrusion.”
His body was magnificent. All sinew and muscle and the faint scars that spoke of old pains she wanted to heal.
“Leave!” came his harsh reply. “Leave now.”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia dragged her greedy gaze away from his impressive physique and shuffled slowly back to the door. “Forgive me. I just … I just—”
“Go!”
His angry curse echoed from the bedchamber as she took to her heels and fled. She didn’t stop running until she reached the dining room, didn’t properly catch her breath until he strode into the room some fifteen minutes later.
He was dressed in black but for his white shirt. After brushing the errant ebony lock from his brow, he scanned the empty seats around the table and frowned.
“Is Jessica not able to eat downstairs?” he said, as if their verbal tussle had not occurred.
“She struggles to sleep at night and often rises late.”
“But she is not confined to her chamber?” He glanced at the china platters on the sideboard and his stomach growled.
“No, she is free to come and go as she pleases, though is encouraged not to leave the house without a chaperone.” Sophia came to her feet and moved to the sideboard. She lifted the first cover. “We have poached eggs and ham. Would you care for both?”
Judging by the size of him, he must be famished.
“I can serve myself.”
“Please sit. After intruding on you this morning, I feel the need to make amends.” She could spend her lif
e doting on him and it would never be enough. “Two eggs?” It was time she stopped acting like a frightened doe, time she drew on the confidence and strength it took to saunter through the ballrooms, to smile and play the elegant lady regardless of her mounting problems. “Sit down, Finlay.”
He obeyed.
The last time they dined together was the day he returned from Belgium. Her father insisted he stay for dinner despite feeling unwell. Lord Adair’s constant talk of his stables made up for the lack of conversation, though she could still recall the crippling tension, still recall the piercing pain in Finlay’s eyes.
He had survived the horrors of Leuven.
But she had died inside that day.
“Here we are.” She forced a smile. “Two eggs and a generous helping of ham. There’s toast in the rack.”
He remained stiff and silent when she played footman and served his breakfast. Indeed, his shoulders only relaxed when she settled into the seat opposite.
“Be aware, Jessica often gets confused,” she said to break the awkward silence. “She’s forgetful. Her mind constantly slips back and forth between the past and present.”
Finlay cut into his poached egg. “You said she is sometimes possessed by wickedness. Can you elaborate?”
When focusing on his work, he seemed less tense.
“Jessica says frightening things to scare me, taunts me with tales of witches dancing beneath the full moon.” She glanced out of the window at the woods. One could almost smell the dampness and decay. “Blent said the woods were home to a coven of witches hundreds of years ago. At certain times of the month, you can still hear their whispered curses.”
Finlay arched a brow. “No doubt Jessica’s mind is susceptible to stories. Perhaps she struggles to distinguish between the truth and a servant’s mindless blabbering. But I shall know more once I’ve seen her.”
One could not deny the woods were eerie. Many times, Sophia had woken in the early hours convinced she heard the strange chanting. But maybe Finlay was right. When overwrought, the mind played tricks.
“She brought a sheep skull home and keeps it in her room. She wanders the cold corridors at night,” Sophia continued. “We found her near the deadwood, wearing nothing but her nightdress and boots.”
“The deadwood?”
“A small clearing surrounded by a cluster of dead trees. Superstition prevents Blent from chopping them down for firewood. Nothing grows there. The land is barren.”
“Superstition stems from a fear of the unknown.” His mouth thinned into a mocking line. “I believe everything can be explained given time. I’m confident it has nothing to do with witchcraft or curses.”
“No.” She was keen to cling to his interpretation. “You’re right, of course.”
“Have you considered selling the house and moving Jessica elsewhere?” He reached for the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “It seems these strange tales are adding to your anxiety.”
She had considered it more times than she could count. But appearances were often deceptive. “No one wants to live here, yet it’s a place where Jessica can hide from prying eyes. And I am but the custodian of the house in Portland Street and only have use of it until I remarry or die.”
His gaze turned penetrating. “Do you intend to remarry?”
“Of course not.” She would marry no one but him. “I’m merely stating the terms of William’s will. The house belongs to the current Lord Adair.”
The young lord was an arrogant toad of twenty-five who acted like a spoilt brat. His innate curiosity, coupled with his suspicion that Sophia had stolen from his late father’s estate, had him snooping into her affairs at every given opportunity. Indeed, since William’s death two years ago, Fitzroy Adair had caused no end of misery.
“One rarely sees the current lord about town.”
“Fitzroy hangs with a set who prefer Brighton and Bath. They spend but a few months a year in London.”
“And he has no claim on this house?” Finlay asked.
“None whatsoever.”
William had given her the money to purchase Blackborne as a wedding gift. Although it sounded heartless, their marriage had been a business arrangement that suited her when she believed Finlay was dead. Protecting Jessica had been the only motivation to wed.
“Does the new Lord Adair know Jessica lives here?”
“Like everyone else, he believes Jessica is in India.” And she hoped it stayed that way.
Finlay ate his meal and drank his coffee, but she could almost hear the cogs turning as he processed what he had learnt so far.
“Even so, I think we should add Fitzroy Adair to the list of suspects,” he eventually said. “You haven’t explained what happened to make you believe Jessica is in danger.”
This was the part she had been dreading. As a logical man with an analytical mind, Finlay Cole would dismiss her fears as folly.
Sophia rose and crossed the room to the ottoman near the window. The groaning hinges conveyed her own trepidation as she lifted the lid and removed the mystical wooden bowl.
“Mrs Friswell said it’s an incantation bowl.” She placed the crude vessel on the table. “Such things have been used for centuries as a means of protection.”
Finlay studied the strange words and symbols carved into the wood. “May I handle the item?”
“Of course.”
He picked up the bowl and ran his finger over the indentations. “It’s not a language I’m familiar with.”
“No. I’ve examined every book in the library and cannot find a match.” She had spent days on the task, believing the answer to her problem lay in the meaning of the foreign words. “Jessica went missing one night a few weeks ago. We looked for hours and couldn’t find her. Blent was ready to saddle a horse and head into the village, but then she reappeared.”
Finlay raised his hand to stall her. “Saddle a horse? But the stable block is empty.”
“We stable the horses a mile from here. Indeed, I must ask you to move your horse there today.” Her greatest fear was that Jessica would ride off into the night, never to be seen again. “It’s just a precaution. It’s easier to track a missing woman when she’s on foot.”
“And what of your carriage?”
“I take the mail coach from London to The Wild Drake. I keep a horse stabled at the inn.”
He fell silent for a time but eventually said, “Forgive me.”
Sophia frowned. “For what?” He had done nothing wrong.
“For doubting your motives. I presumed you … I didn’t know your problem was so complex.”
She would fall into a pit of despair if she stopped to consider all she had endured these last seven years. “Finlay, I know how hard it was for you to come here. I would spare you the distress were I not desperate for your help.”
She found it just as hard to be in his company, found it hard not to touch him, run her hands through his hair and press her mouth to his.
He shifted his attention back to the bowl. “How did you come by this, and what relevance does it have to the case?”
“Jessica brought it home. A gift from a man she met in the woods. He said it would keep her safe until he can help her escape this place. That he—” The sudden pounding of footsteps on the stairs sent Sophia’s pulse soaring. “Jessica’s coming. I’m not sure how she will be today. But I beg you, please be patient. Be kind.”
Jessica was always restless and excitable the day before Dr Goodwin’s visit. Indeed, she bounded into the dining room like a child—all wide smiles and wild energy.
“Mr Cole!” Jessica’s golden hair hung loose and needed brushing. Seemingly pleased to see him, she clutched her hands to her breast. “Anne said you were here for a visit. Oh, I can scarce believe my eyes.”
Finlay stood and bowed. “Miss Draper. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Miss Draper?” she teased. “You always call me Jessica.”
“I did not wish to appear impertinent.”
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“You’re not the least bit impertinent, sir. It’s why Sophia is madly in love with you.”
Merciful Lord!
“How she cried and cried when she thought you had died in that dreadful place.” Jessica clapped her hands and laughed with exaggerated gaiety. “And now you’re back, and all will be well again. Mr Cole has returned. Hurrah!”
“Have you eaten?” he said, pulling out the chair next to him.
“No, sir.”
“Then won’t you join us?”
Jessica glanced at Sophia. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“I would like you to sit with us,” Sophia replied.
Jessica beamed at Finlay Cole until her gaze shot to the incantation bowl. Excitement vanished, replaced by a look of terror. “What devilry is this?”
“I took the bowl from the ottoman to show Mr Cole.” Sophia braced herself. Finlay was about to discover why Jessica valued the odd vessel. “I explained it keeps the witches at bay.”
“Quick. We must put it back. Hurry!”
Jessica didn’t wait for a response. She snatched the bowl from the table and darted to the window. Finlay followed her, whispering reassuring words as he helped her nestle the bowl on the blanket and close the ottoman lid. He dealt with Jessica’s ramblings with patience and compassion. Love for him burst to life in Sophia’s chest—a love so beautiful, so painful, so raw.
“Is there a reason you keep the bowl in here?” he asked.
Jessica stared out of the window. “The angel in the woods said it would ward off evil spells. That I must place it near a window to deter wicked spirits.”
Unperturbed by the strange conversation, he said, “I thought a man gave you the bowl, not an angel.”
“Yes, but he came to do the Lord’s work.”
“And yet you don’t know this man? You cannot identify him?”
Jessica shook her head and continued to stare out towards the woods. “It was too dark. But he foresaw your visit, sir. He said a familiar form would bring salvation.”
