by Cathie Dunn
“I beg your pardon?”
“I do feel at home here already. Strangely so.” She smiled, swallowing hard as he covered her gloved hand with his.
“Yes, this land pulls you in, doesn’t it? I never much liked the seaside in Kent where my mother resides. It’s too…” He cocked his head.
“Civilized?” Minnie smirked when he laughed.
“Yes, I guess you’re right. We appear to share a sense of adventure, don’t we?” His gaze met hers, full of mischief and…something she couldn’t determine.
“We may,” she whispered, suddenly hot beneath her skin.
They stopped at the slope. The view ahead was dizzying. Only a short distance away, the land crumbled steeply into the sea. Minnie could only guess how high up these cliffs were. To her left, a mile or two away, the shoreline dipped gently downward to a beach.
“Henrietta.”
Minnie startled. What made her say that?
Lord Drake eyed her quizzically. “Mr. Walker’s murdered wife?”
“Yes.” Dread settled in her stomach. “I was just thinking how she…died.” A sense of flying gripped her. Black spots blurred her vision. “The cliffs. I…”
“Miss Goodridge…Minerva?”
Strong arms encircled her, and the spell of giddiness passed as his warmth seeped into her. Minnie blinked.
“Here, look this way.” He steered her away from the abyss, toward the manor barely half a mile away.
She blinked again, then straightened. “Thank you. I don’t know what came over me.”
Lord Drake didn’t loosen his hold. “Don’t worry, these heights often have that effect.”
“I never feel faint, Lord–” Her breathing stilled as his gaze–only inches away–captured hers. She licked her suddenly dry lips.
“Gideon,” he groaned, then his mouth was on hers, fierce at first, then tender, softening.
Minnie’s eyes closed as a tingling sensation surged through her. His arms pulled her close; a hand caressed her exposed neck. Delicious shivers ran over her skin and she forgot to breathe. His tongue nudged her lips, the playful invitation almost too much to bear. As her body molded against his, she returned his exquisite exploration with an eagerness unbeknown to her.
Men and their motives.
Minnie stilled, her father’s admonishing voice in her ears. He’d warned her of men and their habitual seduction of innocent girls like her. Placing her hands firmly against Lord Drake’s chest, she pushed away from him. When he released her, she almost fell, having leaned into him so much.
“Here, here.” His deep voice comforting, he steadied her until she felt safe on her feet.
Embarrassed, her cheeks burning, she turned away, but her shawl caught in the breeze, drifting toward the cliff edge. “Oh no!”
He reached out to catch it but the soft woolen fabric floated over the edge, and disappeared into the mist. Halting too close to the sheer drop, he stopped short. “I’m sorry, Minerva.”
Minnie froze as memory flooded back. Henrietta Walker’s shawl had been found washed onto a beach nearby.
“Step away from the edge,” she shouted, her heart contracting in fear. For him? Or for Henrietta? Staring at the spot where only moments ago her shawl had lingered in the wind, Minnie shuddered.
Perhaps Henrietta hadn’t been murdered after all.
Perhaps it had been an accident.
***
Gideon glanced at Minnie’s tense profile as she rode back to the manor, head held high, her back stiff. They were cantering along the open fields, heading to a side gate into the grounds he’d pointed out.
How soon until she realized he knew more about Trekellis than he’d admitted?
But watching her, he might rather be concerned about her changed attitude toward him. Following the kiss, her demeanor was cool, almost dismissive, despite her cry for him to remove himself from the cliff’s edge. She seemed frightened.
Damn! He shouldn’t have kissed her, even though her reaction had surprised him. She’d seemed as taken as he was.
They reached a rusty gate and he dismounted. With a firm shove, he pushed the bar locking the gate and opened it. Minnie rode through without a glance at him and, instead of waiting, she urged the mare into a canter toward the manor house.
Gideon pulled himself into the saddle and extracted the leather thong from his windswept hair. Brushing it back with his hand, he fastened it again at his neck, then followed Minnie at a slow pace. No need to rush. He had to think.
With her now resident, he had very little chance of discovering his grandfather’s secret. Certain the answers lay hidden in Bartholomew Walker’s study, he had to gain access to it. Soon.
Outside the stables, Gideon watched John help her from the saddle. She nodded her thanks before almost running to the kitchen door.
What was she running from? Him, or something else?
The sun had moved westward, hanging low in the sky when finally the door to the parlor, where Gideon had made himself comfortable following the ride, opened.
“Oh.” Minerva’s voice didn’t hide her surprise.
Gideon rose, a book still open in his hand, and gave a curt bow. “Miss Goodridge.”
She closed the door behind her and stood, arms crossed, glaring at him. “I thought you’d gone back to your friend’s manor.”
He grinned, spreading his arms wide. “Apparently not.”
“I thought you’d left after I made it clear that…” Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. “Erm.”
“You made what clear?” His voice low, he cocked an eyebrow.
The flush in her face deepened. “You know exactly what I mean, Lord Drake.”
“Gideon.”
“Pardon?” Her breathing increased.
He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her rising and falling breasts, still confined inside the tight fitting riding jacket. “It’s Gideon, Minnie.”
Minnie’s back straightened. “I can’t remember allowing you to use my given name.” The rising and falling grew quicker.
Meeting her gaze, he snapped the book shut and dropped it onto the chair. “I’d say you have.”
In three strides, he stood inches from her and grasped her hands firmly, not allowing her to withdraw. The stubborn set of her chin showed her apparent displeasure. His mouth quirked. Minerva Goodridge was utterly tempting when she was furious. He pulled her close.
“I can always remind you…”
Her intake of breath, breasts straining the tight fabric, sent heat coursing through his body. He swallowed and shifted his position, not wanting to scare her off. A flicker of shock in her eyes, she opened her mouth. His lips fastened on hers before she could speak.
Her rigid body softened as he wove his arms around her narrow waist. Caressing her back, he deepened their kiss as he explored her mouth, tongues teasing in playful contest. He nipped her plump lips before leaving a trail of soft kisses down her delicate throat but the collar of her riding jacket put a stop to any further progress. Gideon swore softly before plundering her pliant mouth again.
Minnie’s body relaxed into his, her curves pressing against him. God, she was unaware of what she was doing to him. Damn! He dragged himself away with a final soft kiss on her lips, keeping his arms loosely around her.
“Do you remember now?”
“Umm, I…” Flustered, she stepped back, and he let her go, ignoring the sudden sense of loss. With shaky hands, she patted her hair, pinning escaped strands into place. Her face a polite mask, she couldn’t meet his eyes. How endearing! So unlike the ladies who’d thrown themselves at him in London. So very much unlike Emmaline...
Chapter Six
I think you should leave now.
Minnie remembered her words to Gideon Drake as she pummeled the pillow into submission before lying back. Crossing her arms, she stared at the ceiling in the light of a solitary candle. How dared he!
A wave of indignation washed through her. She brushed as
ide a pang of conscience. No, she had most definitely not enjoyed the kiss. Gently, she touched her lips with her fingertips. Four days had passed, yet she could still taste him. At first, her lips had felt sore, then she’d begun to crave more, the fire between her legs burning stronger with every day she didn’t see him.
“No!”
This had to stop. She crossed one leg over the other, ignoring the warmth spreading from her center. Lord Drake was just an adventurer, a rake, here on a whim to play lord amongst the locals.
After she had–politely–kicked him out of the house, Minnie had thrown herself into a tidying frenzy. Two further reception rooms, four bedrooms including Walker’s, and all the servants’ quarters had fallen prey to her cloths and dusters. She giggled, remembering Beth’s astounded face when she’d rolled up the sleeves of an old gown of hers and, gritting her teeth, set to wiping surfaces, removing curtains and drapes, beating the dust from padded chairs and settees. Not that the maid had stopped either. Her skills at cleaning floors, doors and windows had worked wonders. Together, they’d finally managed to make Trekellis Manor sparkle again.
Apart from the study.
Claiming a headache, she’d refused to see Lord Drake when he visited the day after the kiss. But watching him ride away from behind the curtains of a reception room hadn’t been as satisfying as she’d have preferred. Somehow, the man made her blood boil, and the longer she left it to simmer the more miserable she became.
True to his word, he’d sent Eaton’s gardener to attack the overgrown shrubs, the high grass, and the moss stuck to the weathered stone of the building. Even the towers were slowly cleared of their encroaching ivy. The piles of cut branches burnt for hours on the pyres he built close to the cliff’s edge–at safe distance from the house.
Then, the day before, Gideon Drake hadn’t come. Nor today had he stopped by. His absence irked her but her pitiful attempts at questioning the gardener to discover whether Lord Drake had left Cornwall altogether led to shrugs. The Cornishman minded his own business, apparently.
Pah!
Minnie blew out the candle and turned on her side, drawing her knees up, her arms draped loosely around them. She had to establish her life here, and her name as the owner of Trekellis Manor.
That was important, not some lord on a fancy quest into his family history.
She firmly closed her eyes, determined to banish all thoughts of Lord Drake.
“Hettie…”
“What?” Minnie blinked. Full darkness surrounded her. She must have fallen asleep. Had anyone entered her room?
Impossible. She looked around, straining her eyes, barely able to make out the shapes of the wardrobe, the dressing table, the mirror. The door lay in deep shadow.
“Hettie…”
“Huh?” Her skin crawled, and she wrapped her covers tighter around her. This time, she couldn’t have misheard.
A man’s whisper, the tone desperate. Close to her, yet on neither side of the bed.
Hettie? Only one woman called Hettie had lived within these walls. Henrietta, Bartholomew Walker’s wife. The woman who disappeared.
Minnie swallowed. Goosebumps covered her skin and she rubbed her arms. Holding her breath, she reached for the flint to light the candle.
A thud from below made her hand stop in mid air. First, a voice. Now, a break-in? She swallowed, aware again of still being alone in the house.
Eyes adjusted to the dusky light, she slid out of bed, pushed her feet into the slippers, and wrapped a woolen blanket around her shoulders. As she searched the room for a hard object, her gaze fell on the candlestick on her bedside table. She removed the candle and grabbed the weighty ornament at the hilt. It would have to do.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she tried to reassure herself. Somehow, a hollow in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away.
Beth had promised to move in the next day, seeing the house was safe.
Safe indeed. Ha!
Goosebumps rose on her skin. Minnie had to face the intruder alone.
“Right,” she whispered. With a trembling hand, she opened her door. Shadows played in the corners of the corridor. Fortunately, the doors to the other bedrooms were closed, a sign that nobody had come up here. She felt less watched.
Watched? Who would watch her?
The fine hairs on her arms rose. Slowly, Minnie approached the staircase. Glancing over the bannister, the hall lay in semi-darkness. Slivers of moonlight shone through the windows either side of the main doors which appeared firmly shut. She tiptoed downstairs and checked the locks but found them in place. No-one had entered here.
On tiptoes, she crossed the hall toward the corridor leading to the kitchen. All calm and quiet. Nudging the kitchen door open, she found it empty. She closed the door gently and froze at a sound from behind her. She swallowed hard before turning sharply, brandishing the candlestick. The corridor was empty. Where had the sound come from? It was almost like someone shuffled papers.
Ahead, a sliver of light escaped beneath one of the doors further along. She edged closer.
Her heart pounding, she stopped outside the study. The thin line of light moved beneath the sturdy oak door, but she couldn’t confront whoever was in there without revealing her approach. The key in the old lock waited for her to turn it but from her first visit, she remembered it grated. The intruder could hide quickly, even attack her.
The locked door meant the thief must have entered through the window. Her pulse raced in her ears, the sound echoing inside her head. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wiped a damp hand on her nightdress. Dabbing her head with the blanket, uncertainty flooded her. What was she doing, with a silly candlestick? Fight the thief? She stood no chance against a man.
Still, Trekellis was her home; she had a duty to defend it. Not for the first time, Minnie wished she owned a dog. Tomorrow, she’d ask Beth to find her a puppy. No, a bigger dog. A beast that could defend…
Minnie shook her head. Here she was, without a dog or a friend, facing an intruder. She straightened, pulled her shoulders back, dropped the blanket and clung to the candlestick. Now. Giving herself a push, she nodded. Blood surged through her body.
Now.
Her fingers gently probed the cold key. As quietly as possible, she turned it bit by bit. So far, no sound escaped it. Sensing the lock shifting, she held her breath. Almost there.
The lock snapped loudly as it slid into place. Damn! With a swift move, she shoved the door open. “What on earth…” she hissed.
A chuckle reached her ears. “Good evening, Minerva.”
***
“Or should I say, good morning?” Gideon grinned.
“You!” Minnie’s body swayed in the doorway, and she leaned against a post, dropping the candlestick. Then her head rolled back.
“Damn!” His mirth evaporated in an instant. Rushing forward, he caught her before she would hit the floor. He scooped her into his arms and carried her prone body to a settee in a corner of Walker’s study. Gently, he lowered her, cradling her head as he knelt by the side. “Minnie?”
Damn again! He hadn’t meant to scare her, didn’t even know how she could’ve heard him. Apart from the precariously balanced accounts book he’d nudged off the desk earlier. But the sound hadn’t been loud enough to wake a sleeping woman. Or had it?
“Minnie?” He caressed her face, eerily pale. In the absence of smelling salts, only water would help.
Berating himself for scaring her to near death, he ran through the dark hall to the kitchen. His eyes scanned the room frantically until he spotted a jug. Peeking at the liquid inside, he sniffed. No smell. Taking a sip confirmed it was water. Gideon grabbed a glass from a shelf and strode back, careless of sloshing water.
Minnie’s quiet form, her silky chestnut hair loose around her shoulders, lay as he’d left her. He crouched on the floor and filled the cup. Easing his hand beneath her head, he lifted it slightly and held the glass to her lips.
“Minnie?” No reactio
n. “All right. I’m sorry for having to do this but…” He poured water into his hands and patted her face, swiping the cold liquid across her forehead and cheeks. Repeating the process, he was pleased to see color flooding back. She began to stir.
“Minnie?” He took her hands in his cool grasp, pressing them gently.
Her lashes fluttered. “Where am I?” Then her gaze hardened. “You?”
She scrambled upright and, rising, he released her.
“What are you doing here?”
Gideon studied her. Still as white as her frilly nightgown, she seemed to compose herself. Her hand went to her shoulder, then she looked at the door. Behind the threshold, a blanket lay crumpled on the floor. He retrieved it and she almost ripped it from his grasp and wrapped it around her shoulder and across her chest.
Pity, the glimpse he’d caught of her shapely form before she fainted had been enticing. If his memory served him right, her nipples had strained through the material when he carried her...
Deep breath! He leaned against the desk. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Minnie sipped the water, her thunderous gaze boring into him. “You still haven’t explained your presence.”
Gideon sighed. Telling her the truth would prove her uncle’s innocence–and possibly destroy his family’s reputation. He must tread carefully.
“Make yourself comfortable, Minnie. It’s a long story.”
Not letting him out of her sight, she settled into a corner of the settee and pulled her feet up, covering them with the blanket. “We have all night.”
Oh, how he wished she’d say that in another place. Upstairs, in that comfortable bed of hers…
He shrugged off the treacherous thoughts. “I’m looking for evidence that Henrietta Walker was married to my grandfather, Rufus Drake, 6th Earl of Rothdale.”
“Your grandfather? But she was married to Bartholomew Walker when she died.”
He wished he could brush away the confusion from her face. “Did she die at Walker’s hands? My investigations raise doubts.”
“Doubts?” She shook her head. “No. Henrietta fell down the cliffs; Bartholomew,” she paused, staring at the painting behind the desk, “pushed her.”
