A Perfect Plan

by Alyssa Drake

  The second noise, which probably was the original cause of his sudden consciousness, came again. A light tapping on the chamber door, sounded three times. Benjamin sat up suddenly, instantly alert. His gaze flicked to the loose brick in the fireplace and the pistol hidden behind it. Surely, a murderer would not knock on the door. It had to be someone in the household. This was not the place to be discovered, engaged or not. His eyes roved over Miss Hastings skin, still pink. Who would be disturbing her at this hour?

  “Sammie.” Edward’s voice came a little louder and a little more urgently as he rapped again. The handle jiggled. Benjamin’s eyes flicked to the door, and his heart froze. The door did not open. Thankfully, Benjamin had the presence of mind to lock it last night. However, he now faced a completely different problem—a quite thorny problem. He found himself trapped in the bedroom with Miss Hastings while her soon-to-be irate brother waited, unsuspecting, on the other side of an insubstantial door. Interestingly, even with his sordid reputation, this was the first time he’d been in this particular predicament.

  “Samantha.” Edward’s voice came more insistently, an undercurrent of panic colored his tone.

  Miss Hastings sat up with a gasp, alarm flooding her face. Her wide eyes flew between the door and Benjamin. He pressed his finger to his lips and inclined his head toward Edward’s disembodied voice.

  “Just one moment, Edward,” she called breathlessly, her voice slightly strained. Her eyes darted back to Benjamin and flew about the bedchamber, searching for a viable hiding place. As she continued her frantic assessment of the room, she snagged the nightdress from the floor, thrusting her arms through the sleeves in one quick movement. Miss Hastings glanced at Benjamin again, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Sammie, are you going to make me stand here all morning?” Edward’s muffled voice carried under the door.

  “Of course not,” she retorted through clenched teeth. She studied Benjamin a moment longer, then shrugged as if accepting her decision. Benjamin barely had an instant to wonder what Miss Hastings planned before she shoved him with all her might. Caught off balance, Benjamin tumbled over the side of the bed and landed with a low grunt.

  “Samantha, are you alright?” called Edward in a worried tone. He jiggled the door handle again.

  “I am fine,” she huffed back as she quickly threw the blankets on top of Benjamin’s crumpled form.

  Edward knocked again. “It sounded like something crashed on the floor.”

  “It was me,” Miss Hastings ground out, struggling to cover every inch of Benjamin’s skin. Her fingers brushed across his stomach, igniting a fire in his loins. Had Edward not been waiting impatiently outside the room, Benjamin would have acted on his animalistic desire.

  “Samantha,” Edward’s annoyance seeped through the door.

  “I became entangled in the linens and stumbled. Give me a moment to collect myself,” she yelled back in the same exasperated tone.

  Benjamin choked on his laughter. He heard Miss Hastings’ feet pad across the room. The lock clicked, and she flung open the door. Benjamin wondered briefly what it would be like to watch the ensuing exchange between brother and sister. However, he decided not to risk his discovery. If Edward found Benjamin lying naked under all the bed linens… Benjamin shook his head, all manner of gruesome deaths flashing through his mind. He could not fault Edward for any violent reaction as Benjamin would act the same way should he discover a man in his sister’s bedchamber—if he had a sister.

  She really was going to be the death of him, perhaps indirectly, but the result would be the same. How did he manage to find himself in this ridiculous situation? Benjamin took a deep breath and held his body still as Edward entered the bedchamber.

  Edward, either suspicious or anxious, paced the length of the room. He traveled from the window to the open door within seconds and back again. This trip continued several times before Edward spoke quietly, pausing at the foot of the bed.

  “Why was the door locked?”

  Benjamin felt Edward’s eyes boring into him, burning through the sheets under which he lay frozen.

  “It made me feel safer,” responded Miss Hasting tightly. Benjamin could detect a note of hysteria in her tone as her muffled voice neared the pile of linen.

  “There is no need to be afraid,” answered Edward, his voice softer. “With all the men in this house, you are not in any danger.”

  “I had a nightmare.” Miss Hastings’ voice floated closer still. She stepped between Edward and Benjamin’s hiding place. Benjamin wondered if he could reach out and touch her foot. His fingers twitched at the thought, but he locked his arm to his side, commanding his anxious hand to freeze.

  “Is that why you ripped all the linens off the bed?” Edward’s boot nudged the pile suspiciously, the toe of his boot kissed Benjamin’s ribs. Benjamin held his breath. Had Edward noticed?

  Edward’s voice came from a spot near the window. The drapes rustled. “That must have been some nightmare; you nearly ripped the drapes from their rod.”

  “For your information, dear brother, I do not feel perfectly safe. I feel as though my life is in a great deal of danger.” Benjamin imagined Miss Hastings, her hands on her hips, stretching herself up tall, to argue with her brother. His lips twitched slightly.

  “Benjamin,” growled Edward darkly, his voice ripe with anger. Benjamin’s heart sank. Well, he would welcome his death at Edward’s hand. At least he would die like a man though. Benjamin moved slightly, struggling to stand, but he froze suddenly when Miss Hastings kicked his leg lightly.

  Edward spoke again, his voice drifting from the opposite side of the room. There was a small click as Edward closed the door.

  “How much has Benjamin told you?”

  “Nothing,” she grumbled, her tone causing Benjamin to snicker.

  “He must have said something to you last night,” prodded Edward. “Otherwise, you would not be suffering from absurd nightmares.”

  “Or perhaps I may have figured some of it out on my own,” huffed Miss Hastings.

  “Of course, you have,” Edward groaned. Benjamin could envision Edward pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

  “Why was there an emergency plan in place?” demanded Miss Hastings, attempting to take advantage of her brother’s weariness. “Who do you think started the fire? Do you think they will attack again? What other secrets are you hiding from…?” She paused mid-question. Benjamin assumed Edward must have held up his hands to stop the torrent of questions.

  “Oh no, Samantha,” replied Edward sternly. “You are not getting one shred of information from me.”

  “Uncle Ephraim…” began Miss Hastings.

  “Uncle Ephraim is not here!” Edward was losing control of the conversation. Benjamin noted the strain in Edward’s voice.

  Miss Hastings continued, ignoring Edward’s frustration. “If Uncle Ephraim were here, he would tell me exactly what was going on. He trusted me.”

  “I do trust you,” shouted Edward. “This is not something I want you involved with. It is too dangerous. I am not willing to place your life in jeopardy.”

  “You already have,” she spat, “The moment you began investigating Father’s murder.” The air between them crackled with tension.

  Taking a calming breath, Edward attempted to steer the discussion back to neutral ground. “Please allow the—”

  Miss Hastings cut him off with a growl. “Adults,” she snarled. “You were going to say adults.”

  “I was,” agreed Edward tightly. “Allow the adults to take care of things.”

  “When are you going to accept I am not a little child?”

  “When you start acting like a lady,” retorted Edward.

  “I do,” fumed Miss Hastings.

  “You still spend most of your time barefoot. You lost your shoes at a society luncheon,” roared Edward. “Yes, Wilhelmina told me about the Pierce incident. You refuse a chaperone and risk your reputation by wandering off with
out a word to anyone. Thankfully, Benjamin knew where to find you that time. You are disrespectful to your elders. You constantly use foul language, and you refuse to listen to any advice I give you.”

  The room’s silence stretched out for several minutes. Miss Hastings gave an audible hiccup; the sound strained Benjamin’s heart.

  “Your definition of a lady is very short-sighted.”

  “Sammie,” Edward’s voice softened. He moved closer to her. She must have stepped away since her voice carried from the doorway.

  When she spoke, her clipped tone was formal and distant. “Edward, now that you have finished assessing the flaws in my character, what is the purpose of your early morning visit?”

  Edward sighed heavily. Obviously, this was not the direction in which he planned the conversation to move. “I came to ask you not to wander off Lady Westwood’s estate alone. The grounds are expansive, there is more than enough room for you to explore within its boundaries without the need of a chaperone.”

  “To ask me or to tell me?” growled Miss Hastings.

  “Whichever keeps you on the property,” answered Edward, his tone short. He crossed the room quickly, pausing in the open doorway, the floor squeaking under his boots.

  “How long am I under this involuntary imprisonment?” she demanded.

  Edward’s response was inaudible, and Miss Hastings did not respond to his whisper. However, the last statement Edward flung at her as he exited the room caused Benjamin to snort under his pile of linen.

  “Do not forget, Wilhelmina is hosting a luncheon today to plan the wedding and engagement party. You are expected to attend.”

  “Is there anything else?” Miss Hastings asked waspishly.

  “Try to be on your best behavior.”

  She slammed the door and locked it for spite.

  “That was childish,” Edward’s triumphant, albeit muffled voice danced through the door. His footsteps faded down the hallway as he descended the staircase.

  “Was it necessary to pick a fight with your brother?” asked Benjamin as he emerged from the pile of linen. “He will be in a foul mood all day.”

  Miss Hastings shrugged. “It was the fastest way to disarm him. He is no longer suspicious, and you are still alive.”

  “Fair point,” agreed Benjamin. “Perhaps I should make my escape before the rest of the house wakes.”

  “Benjamin,” began Miss Hastings with a hopeful tone as she watched him slide his pants on and fasten them.

  “I cannot answer any questions,” he replied quickly, fishing his shirt from the floor. He refused to look at her, knowing she wanted to inquire about the fire. “I promised Edward I would not say anything.”

  Miss Hastings grunted several unladylike words in his direction. Benjamin sighed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His body reacted immediately, pressing his desire into her abdomen. His lips descended, capturing her mouth, her sweet breath mingling with his. He inhaled deeply and released his hold reluctantly, taking several steps back in the process, a visible shiver traveling the length of his body.

  “You are extremely distracting, Miss Hastings,” he rumbled thickly. “However, I must leave before you convince me to stay. My mother would not appreciate a murder in her own home.”

  “Will I see you later today?” asked Miss Hastings, her eyes still burning.

  “I have some business in town to take care of this morning, but I should return by the evening. I do have one favor to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Promise me you will attend the luncheon with your sister-in-law this afternoon.”

  Miss Hastings rolled her eyes at him. “Are you and Edward deliberately trying to drive me mad?”

  “Samantha, as a courtesy to your fiancé, will you simply do as I ask?”

  “Alright,” she agreed finally. “But I do not promise to enjoy myself.”

  “I would never dream of asking you to,” chortled Benjamin. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a searing kiss on her palm. “Until this evening.”

  He silently crossed the room and unlocked the chamber door, peering into the hallway. He turned briefly and glanced back at Miss Hastings. With a devilish grin, he winked and quickly slipped out the door, shutting it with a light click.

  That was the last time he saw Miss Hastings that day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sam gazed at the door for a moment, lost in the memory of the previous evening, a warm glow coloring her cheeks. Giving her head a brief shake to clear the cobwebs, she decided to dress first, then clean up the room. She dressed too quickly, becoming entangled in her undergarments. Laughing at her ineptitude, she removed her garments and began again.

  A buoyant feeling of happiness bubbled inside of her. Even though Lord Westwood was spending the morning in town, it felt as though he were still beside her; his scent lingered intoxicatingly on her skin. Sam sighed blissfully, inhaling his musky aroma.

  After she was properly attired, she gathered the bedding from the floor and tossed it into a heap on the bed. Then, considering the strange reaction the upstairs maid might have upon seeing the unusual arrangement of bedding, Sam shoved the linens onto the floor again. She shook out the sheet, spreading it carefully over the mattress and saw several drops of blood—a telltale sign. She sank her teeth into her lip. That particular indiscretion would surely lead to a conversation–or worse–with Edward regarding her deceased fiancé.

  Folding the sheet in half, she covered the stain, hoping the maid would not notice the stain when she changed the linens, or at least, the upstairs maid would remain discreet regarding the discovery. Spreading the second sheet over the first, she tucked in the material then collected the blankets from the floor, whipping them over the mattress. Presentable… or at least, not quite so suspicious.

  Standing back to survey her work, she noticed a shiny object lying on the floor. Her father’s watch glinted in the morning’s light. Lord Westwood had placed the watch in his jacket pocket the previous evening, it must have fallen out in her rush to hide him from her brother’s ire. Sam giggled. She never imagined she would be in the position she found herself in this morning. The image of Lord Westwood trying to hide his tall frame under the blankets was comical. Luckily, Edward did not discover him. Sam was certain Edward would not find the situation as amusing.

  Leaning over, she retrieved the watch from the rug and discovered a missive hidden underneath. Carefully placing the watch on the desk, she inspected the folded note, turning it over in her hands curiously. She did not remember receiving any letters recently. It must have been hidden in Lord Westwood’s pocket with the watch.

  The whinny of horses drew her attention to the window. Peering out, she saw Lord Westwood cross the courtyard. She watched him for a minute, marveling at his physique. He glanced back, as if he could feel her eyes on him, his gaze raising to the window. Sam jumped backward behind a drape, embarrassed to be caught staring. When she peeked out again, Lord Westwood had already climbed into the carriage. The carriage vanished from sight.

  Her fingers stroked the note thoughtfully. Technically, this letter should be returned to Lord Westwood, which she intended on doing, eventually. However, since he stated he would not return until this evening, was there any harm in perusing the missive? She glanced around the room quickly. Obviously, no one had realized the note was missing. Or maybe Lord Westwood had left it on purpose. It was not addressed to anyone. In fact, the outside of the letter was completely blank.

  There would be no harm in looking. She unfolded it carefully, smoothing the page out, her eyes quickly scanned the words. All feeling drained from her legs, and she collapsed on the bed. Her white lips repeated the final line.

  “A Hastings will die,” she whispered.

  No. This could not be. She would not lose Edward again. Whatever this man wanted, she would find it and give it back to him. She read the note again, searching for clues, but she found nothing helpful. Sh
e flipped the note over, scanning the back, to no avail–three sentences. She stared at them again, willing them to reveal their secret; not even the handwriting appeared familiar. She smelled the paper. The thick parchment held a rose smell as if the paper was sprinkled with rose water. Was the murderer married?

  She turned the idea over in her mind. The thought did not seem completely inconceivable. Over a decade had passed since her father’s murder; surely the killer would have had the opportunity to marry, even have children. Sam shuddered. What kind of monster would attempt to kill her brother, burn down their house, threaten the lives of her nieces, and still have the audacity to return to his normal home life? Was he currently sitting at breakfast with his pretty wife, smiling at her over a vase of spring flowers which decorated their lavish dining table?

  She tapped the missive thoughtfully against her chin. The note must have been given to Edward and Lord Westwood after Wilhelmina and Sam left for the Westwood estate. She gasped suddenly. Of course, it seemed so simple. It had to be someone who attended the Leveret ball last evening, a friend or at the very least, an acquaintance. This is what Lord Westwood and Edward were trying so earnestly to hide. Their plan backfired. The murderer remained masked. Now, they were all in more peril than before.

  Suddenly, the door handle rattled. Sam squeaked and jumped off the bed, her head whipping around toward the door.

  “Samantha,” Wilhelmina called from the hallway. “Samantha? Why is this door locked?”

  Sam quickly folded the note and tucked it into her bodice. She raced to the door and flung it open. “I’m sorry, I did not sleep very well last night.”

  “Nor did I,” responded Wilhelmina with a playful wink.