Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

  Perhaps things might be easier if he cared about women as much as he did for men, but then he wouldn’t be with Etienne now, and that would be a fate dreadful to contemplate.

  Geoffrey stared down at Etienne’s flushed face, and warmth spread through his body. His cock shuddered inside Etienne, and Etienne’s erupted, his seed spilling between them. The slick, wet

  “Geoffrey,” Etienne gasped.

  Geoffrey withdrew slowly. Etienne’s eyes closed, and he pulled him toward him. He buried his head in Etienne’s hair, the smell of pinecones and cloves still in it. “This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

  Etienne’s eyes darted up.

  Geoffrey nibbled on Etienne’s lips, raising his head to whisper, “Happy Christmas, Etienne.”

  *

  Sometime during the night, Geoffrey had led an exhausted Etienne to his room. Etienne awoke and jolted up from under the blankets, but Geoffrey pulled him back down. “Stay.”

  Etienne squirmed beside him, and Geoffrey frowned. The anxiety that had consumed him in London returned. He swallowed. “Unless you desire to leave?”

  Etienne stopped, and heat rose to Geoffrey’s cheeks. He averted his eyes, concentrating on the pillow and not on any expression that might be on Etienne’s face. Geoffrey loathed sounding like some lovestruck maiden.

  Warm lips pressed against his cheek. “Of course not.”

  Geoffrey smiled, cursing himself for being able to switch from bliss to agony in a few moments.

  “I was considering your accident,” Etienne said.

  Had Etienne thought them too vigorous? “My arm healed long ago.”

  Etienne smiled. “I noticed. But I think we should investigate where you fell in.”

  “I ordered someone to fill it in.”

  “Good. But we should still investigate.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. The man was ordering him about, but he adored it.

  Etienne scrambled off the bed. “Now.”

  Geoffrey scratched his neck and followed him. “It’s cold outside.”

  “I know. I waited outside for hours. The coach took forever to arrive.”

  “Hmph. Serves you right for surprising me so.”

  Etienne laughed, and they dressed and headed outside.

  Geoffrey followed him, still in wonder. He hadn’t expected to find this happiness with anyone, and now that he had, he wanted to spend all his time with Etienne, preferably not traipsing through the cold. They wandered deeper into the woods. Etienne pointed out various trees, pink and orange rays illuminating their now bare branches, on the way. Apparently, there was much that was interesting in the forest even in December. His cheeks reddened again as he remembered becoming lost. Etienne knew the forest very well, and perhaps Geoffrey had been simply wandering from impressive tree to impressive tree.

  Etienne sank onto the ground. “This is it, isn’t it?”

  Geoffrey looked around him, trying to remember that horrible day. The trees were barer now, but Geoffrey still recollected their placement. He thought they would be the last things he would ever look at. And maybe they would have been had it not been for Etienne.

  Etienne dug into the ground with his fingers. “The soil is loose.”

  “I love you.” Heat rose to Geoffrey’s cheeks as he realized the words had escaped his mouth, but he refused to take them back.

  Etienne stared at him and blinked. “You do?

  Dread began to fill Geoffrey, the same dread that always filled him when he thought Etienne might not care about him. When he thought Etienne did not care for him. He mumbled, “It’s not important.”

  Etienne leaped toward him and grasped his hands. “Of course it’s important, you oaf.”

  And then he flung his arms around Geoffrey and said, “I love you too.”

  That part was much nicer. They both grinned at each other. Geoffrey eyed him, his heartbeat quickening. “Maybe we should go back to the castle.”

  Etienne smacked him. “No excuses.”

  “Not even everlasting love?”

  Etienne stared at him, and his eyes glistened. “Oh, Geoffrey. I love you so very much.”

  Geoffrey swallowed hard.

  Etienne sighed and began to attack the ground with greater vigor. “We’ll just need to end this sooner.”

  Geoffrey laughed. “Who says criminals don’t practice efficiency?”

  Etienne’s mouth tilted up, but his eyes seemed a bit less joyful than earlier. Geoffrey pressed his lips together. Perhaps calling Etienne a criminal was not something the man needed to hear. If he could only find something else for the man to do . . .

  “Just like I thought,” Etienne said.

  “What is it?” Geoffrey bent down.

  “It wasn’t a trap. I didn’t think anyone would put a trap here. You’re the magistrate after all, and your uncle wasn’t exactly a forgiving sort of person.”

  Geoffrey furrowed his brow. “But why else would somebody dig a hole in the ground?”

  “They wouldn’t.”

  “But I clearly fell . . .”

  “They wouldn’t dig a hole into the ground. But they would dig a hole through the ground.”

  Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “My uncle . . .”

  Etienne nodded. “Exactly. I think we’ve discovered how he was able to leave notes at the castle.”

  “And steal so much.”

  Etienne nodded. “And possibly he even arranged for a tunnel leading to Somerset Hall.”

  “Which would explain the note he left there. So when you were riding around as the ghost . . .”

  Etienne looked down. “I should have realized it. I suppose I wasn’t there just to frighten them. I was there to distract them.”

  Geoffrey stared at him. “You’re marvelous.”

  Etienne blinked. “You needn’t flatter me.”

  Geoffrey frowned. If only Etienne had an occupation that made him feel worthy, perhaps he might accept compliments more easily.

  Etienne pulled his hand forward, and he crouched into the pit, contemplating the long tunnel.

  “We’ll need lanterns. And men to investigate.”

  Etienne nodded.

  “The duke will need to be informed.”

  “The duchess should be warned too,” Etienne said.

  Geoffrey nodded, and his heart clenched. “Yes.”

  He stepped from the pit and pulled Etienne toward him. “Let’s go stop this madness.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thick snowflakes plummeted from the sky, and Geoffrey’s heart expanded as Etienne smiled. They wandered into the woods, the once bare trees decked in ivory finery that sparkled under the rising sun.

  Etienne caught snow with his gloved hands. “I have the whole Christmas experience now.”

  Geoffrey smiled. “I’m certain snow is not a novel experience for you.”

  “Perhaps. But I’ve never had a nice, warm place to return to after.”

  Geoffrey longed to pull Etienne toward him, but the trees were still thin in this section of the forest, and he wasn’t about to do anything to destroy their liaison. “I wish we didn’t have to find the tunnels.”

  Etienne tilted his head and laughed. “Nonsense. You’re going to adore restoring order here. Anyway, Barnesley will help.”

  They were fortunate. Perhaps they would have found their way together otherwise, but Geoffrey wanted to make sure he cherished Etienne.

  He never expected to give in to sentimentality, to find someone to love, but now he had, he would permit nothing to take that away.

  *

  Etienne followed Geoffrey toward the castle. A burly silhouette paced the bridge over the moat, and Geoffrey’s strides lengthened.

  “Barnesley,” Geoffrey called. “We need your help.”

  “Sir? I didn’t anticipate seeing you so early.” Barnesley pulled his hands out of his pockets and glanced at Etienne.

  Geoffrey’s neck reddened, and he shook his head. “Bring a shovel. And torches.�
��

  “Whatever for, sir?”

  Geoffrey paused and lowered his voice. “I think we found my uncle’s secret tunnels.”

  “Oh.” Barnesley’s hand moved to his chest, and he smoothed over his coat. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is rather,” Geoffrey agreed. “But it’s Christmas Day, and I would prefer not to do this all day.”

  Barnesley raked his hand through his hair. He grunted and his mouth tightened into a sulky grimace. “Very well, sir.”

  Etienne darted a gaze at the servant, but his shoulders relaxed when Barnesley’s face transformed into a placid expression.

  The sun shone over the whitened valley and forest. A new year approached, but right now Etienne could enjoy being out here, toiling with Geoffrey and Barnesley.

  “Etienne figured it out,” Geoffrey said.

  “Indeed.” Something flickered in Barnesley’s face, and Geoffrey seemed to hold the servant’s stare for a moment too long.

  Horses’ hooves thundered through the air, soaring over the sound of the wind rustling through the few remaining leaves, and drowning Barnesley’s and Geoffrey’s breathing.

  Etienne tensed, and his skin prickled. Perhaps Sir Ambrose still lived after all.

  The hooves struck against the frozen earth, the sound so deafening Etienne realized multiple horses must be advancing over the frozen ground. He widened his stance, and his feet braced the ground.

  The duke, duchess, Captain Carlisle, and Sebastian Lewis rode toward them on glossy horses. They wore thick greatcoats and woolen scarves dangled from their necks.

  Etienne’s limbs felt light as he ambled toward the riders. “He’s returned!”

  The duchess’s mouth parted, and she smiled, smoothing over her riding dress. She peered down from her side saddle, holding the leather reins lightly. “How marvelous. I’m so pleased to hear that.”

  Geoffrey smiled and he approached the duke, his feet crunching on the snow. “We found tunnels. We think Sir Ambrose—”

  “Say no more.” Lansdowne beamed and turned to his wife. “I’ll meet you at home.”

  The duchess shook her head. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Nonsense.” The duke turned to Lewis. “Sebastian, please accompany her.”

  Etienne considered it odd the duke displayed such comfort at the prospect of his wife spending time alone with the man she at one time was supposed to marry. Carlisle and Lansdowne disembarked from their horses, tying the geldings to trees and following Geoffrey into the forest.

  Geoffrey clambered into the pit, and started digging. Barnesley sighed and followed after him, and soon they revealed the entrance to a narrow tunnel. Flagstones lined the walls, and they crouched before the entrance. Geoffrey lit a torch and directed it toward the tunnel.

  No end was visible.

  The duke tapped his hand against one of the flagstones. “This must be centuries old,” the duke said, his voice somewhat awed. “I never knew . . .”

  “We think it goes all the way to Somerset Hall,” Geoffrey said.

  A strangled murmur sounded from Barnesley. “Surely that is unlikely, sir.”

  Geoffrey tilted his head at him. “We can only investigate. But that would explain how an intruder was able to enter Somerset Hall with a swarm of wedding guests and servants not noticing.”

  Barnesley coughed, and his face reddened.

  “The current Somerset Hall was only constructed in the last century,” Geoffrey said. “Any digging would have been to expand wherever these tunnels originally went to the new structure.”

  Lansdowne turned to Barnesley. “It is odd that Sir Ambrose never confided in you.”

  Barnseley looked away. “Sir Ambrose was a private man. Clearly he confided in others.”

  Carlisle nodded. “Yes, some of his servants did certainly know.”

  Tension filled the air, and Etienne said, “Sir Ambrose only realized you were honorable.”

  Barnesley’s shoulders slumped down further. His voice sounded hoarse as he said, “Forward then.”

  They crawled along, the men cursing at their awkward positions.

  They came to a fork.

  Geoffrey swallowed. “We should split up.”

  “Really?” The duke turned to him.

  Geoffrey nodded. “Perhaps, Barnesley, you can go with Etienne?”

  Barnesley smiled. “Good idea.”

  Etienne shot his gaze at Geoffrey, already conscious of missing him, before following Barnesley into the deep tunnel, listening as the others disappeared through the other tunnel. With a start, he realized this was a constrained place, and he should feel frightened . . . and yet Geoffrey’s presence imbued him with strength.

  They crawled along, the air cold. At every bend, Etienne drew in his breath, half expecting to see Sir Ambrose appear. But if the man had been in the tunnels so long, why had it taken him so long to take anything?

  “Finally,” Barnesley muttered.

  “Do you think Sir Ambrose is about?”

  Etienne had no desire to see Sir Ambrose again.

  “Maybe,” Barnesley said, and his voice sounded tight.

  “I wouldn’t have thought anyone could survive a fall like that.,” Etienne said.

  The servant’s shoulders tensed, and the man swallowed hard, the sound echoing through the chamber of the tunnel.

  Etienne’s fingers gripped the ground. Suddenly the tunnel was much farther down than before.

  “You know,” Barnesley said.

  “I—” Etienne attempted to laugh, but the sound seemed unconvincing.

  Barnesley sucked in a deep breath of air and pulled a pistol out of his coat. He directed the weapon at Etienne. Dullness spread through Etienne. Everything made sense now.

  “Barnesley. Please put the gun down.” Etienne strove to make his voice firm. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “You’re right,” Barnesley said. “I am sorry . . . this might be one of the few things I will regret. The two of us have things in common. I’m sure you’ll understand that I need to survive.”

  “You don’t need to do this.” Etienne attempted to sound stern, even as his heart hammered away in uneven beats that threatened to tear him apart.

  Barnesley shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

  Etienne wrinkled his brow.

  “This is what I wanted to do all along. That night when I arrested you . . .”

  “You wanted to kill me?”

  “I should have just killed you. But at least I can do so now.”

  Etienne tensed. “You don’t mean that.”

  “It would be so easy.” Barnesley tapped his fingers against his pistol.

  Etienne’s eyes widened and he glanced around. “I’m sure Sir Ambrose wouldn’t like it.”

  “Don’t pretend that you’re under the impression that the baronet will rescue you.”

  Etienne’s shoulders slouched. “I suppose that would be uncharacteristic of him.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “He sent notes.” Right now, Etienne hoped Sir Ambrose was cackling away somewhere at the corner of the cave. Because right now, Barnesley seemed far too nervous, and far too desperate.

  All this time the General and Lewis and he had worried about the baronet. They should have worried about Barnesley.

  Barnesley’s eyes narrowed. “Despite your habit of pretending to be a ghost at times, I rather doubt the afterlife is quite as active as you pretend it to be.”

  “Perhaps he found the tunnel system, and . . .”

  “He didn’t.”

  “But those notes . . .”

  Barnesley sighed. “Were from me.”

  “But his handwriting . . .”

  Barnesley tilted his head. “I have many documents with his writing at the castle. I am fully capable of forging it.”

  Etienne had the strange sensation he was floating. “That was very clever of you.”

  Barnesley pursed his lips together. “You needn’t
be condescending.”

  Etienne opened his mouth in outrage. “I wouldn’t dream—”

  “I know you’re after my position.”

  Etienne frowned. “Nonsense.”

  “Hammerstead made inquiries about you staying on when you were still sick.”

  Etienne shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

  Barnesley’s jaw tightened. “You two are too close.”

  Heat rose to Etienne’s face. “Why didn’t you leave earlier that night? So many other servants did.”

  “I thought there was too much at the castle that could be valuable. I knew about the tunnels.”

  “And threatening the duchess . . .”

  Barnesley shrugged. “Why not? That’s what Sir Ambrose would have done.”

  The tunnel was dark and damp. Etienne was buried underground, alone with a true criminal who happily spoke about murdering him. The others were exploring the other tunnel, looking for a man who no longer existed.

  “What will you tell them?” Etienne asked.

  Barnesley smiled. “That Sir Ambrose killed you, of course. They would believe it too. I’ll say I tried to defend you, but it was hopeless. And then you’ll be dead.”

  “No, he won’t be.” Geoffrey’s voice boomed from the cave.

  Etienne’s heartbeat quickened, more joyful now.

  Barnesley opened his mouth and stared. “Sir . . .”

  “I’ve had my doubts about you,” Geoffrey said.

  Barnesley shifted.

  “Drop the pistol. You are under arrest.”

  Etienne grabbed the gun, and held it against Barnesley. His hands shook, angry for Geoffrey, angry for himself. It would be so easy to kill him now.

  But he was no longer a criminal, no longer a spy.

  Geoffrey approached, and Etienne handed him the pistol, careful to still aim it at Barnesley.

  “You bastard,” Geoffrey said, his expression fierce.

  Barnesley stiffened. “You were supposed to be in the other tunnel.”

  “Your behavior has been erratic. You worked closely with my uncle, and—”

  Barnesley growled at him. “Can you blame me for wanting his treasure? It’s not like you appreciated it. You never respected the paintings, weren’t clever enough to even sell them.”