The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5)

by Chasity Bowlin

  I regret that I married her. I regret that she will never be happy with me nor I with her. I regret that we have both sentenced ourselves to eternal dissatisfaction with one another until one of us manages to shuffle off the mortal coil.

  It did not absolve him of guilt in the crime of murder. In fact, for those who did not know him, or did not know the circumstances she was now aware of regarding Lord Harrelson and his possible involvement in unspeakable crimes, it would have made him appear quite guilty. But that wasn’t what she took from it. What she saw in it was the hopes he’d had for his marriage, and the ultimate disappointment he came to feel. It saddened her that he had suffered such bitter unhappiness when all he had done was to behave honorably.

  Mary closed the book and retreated to the bed once more to tuck it beneath the pillows. She made the bed up herself, not wanting Mrs. Epson to find her treasure trove of his secrets and brand her a thief and a liar, again. After, Mary washed with the cold water from the ewer and then fashioned her hair once more into a simple braid, tied with a length of ribbon she’d found in the sewing box. The green walking dress she’d been provided the day before had been taken up with the use of some very strategically placed gathers along the side. It would, in the long run, do the least amount of damage to the fabric and had required the least amount of sewing.

  After she’d dressed, she sat once more beside the window and waited for Lord Wolverton to come for her. It was sad and telling that she was so eager for his company even when she dreaded the purpose of their excursion. She was drawn to him, far too much for her own security and peace of mind. It would be very easy to cast caution to the wind for a man such as him—one haunted by a painful past and yet with such goodness in his heart. Mary knew that the greatest danger she now faced was falling in love with a man she could never possibly be with.

  *

  Alex rose early, if one could call what he’d experienced the night before sleep at all. After spending hours with his tall frame draped over the much shorter settee, every part of him hurt. His neck and shoulders ached and his back was near broken from it. But the option of lying on the small cot in his dressing room, with only a single door between himself and Miss Mary Mason was far worse. It would have created its own kind of agony.

  The chaste kiss they had shared, one that, upon its completion, he knew to be her very first, had stirred a raging fire in him. Sweet, untutored, unspoiled, and given freely—it was a heady thing for him. The truth was that marriage to Helena had nearly broken him. She’d despised his touch and he’d visited her bed so infrequently, he’d all but turned into a monk during their short union. Regardless of how much he desired Miss Mason, he was not so without honor that he would give in to it or indulge it further. His place in hell was secured already without need of further misdeeds. The only things he could afford to think about, to focus on, were proving his innocence in Helena’s death and, possibly, if such a thing could even be achieved, having the settlements he’d paid returned to him. Mary Mason with her dark, soulful eyes and softly sweet lips would need to be banished from his thoughts. The easiest way to achieve that was to banish her from his home.

  Stretching to ease the kinks in his neck, Alex left the library and climbed the stairs to the bedchamber. He could hear Mrs. Epson inside, haranguing Miss Mason for being a lazy slugabed who ought to be fetching her own breakfast instead of being waited on by a servant as if it were her right. Muttering a curse beneath his breath that would surely have sent both the women into fits, he knocked sharply upon the door and let himself in.

  Miss Mason was most certainly not a slugabed. She was up, seated before the fireplace, wearing a recently hemmed walking dress in a dark shade of green. Her hair had been combed back and braids that she’d managed to twist into a simple chignon were secured with a length of ribbon. Where it had come from he could not guess, for it was with complete certainty he could say Mrs. Epson had not provided something she would deem so frivolous.

  “You are looking well this morning, Miss Mason. That’s a pretty bit of ribbon,” he commented on the sapphire silk that wound through the tight braids.

  “Thank you, Lord Wolverton. I found it in the sewing box and as I had no hair pins… I hope you do not think me too forward for borrowing it,” she finished weakly, a blush stealing over her cheeks.

  Alex noted that she did not make eye contact with him, but instead kept her head down and her gaze averted. He knew why, of course. It was not the ribbon to which she referred at all, but to their midnight kiss. A smile twisted his lips and he offered her his assurances. “I would never think you forward, Miss Mason. I will always think you are exactly what a lady ought to be. If you are feeling well enough, I thought we might go exploring a bit today. I’d prefer to do our searching of Harrelson’s properties before his heirs descend. The lot of them is rather distasteful.”

  “I am feeling much improved, my lord. I had thought we might visit the area of the woods where you found me. That is why I am up and about so early… and if all goes well, perhaps, that is, I wondered—” She broke off, took a deep, settling breath. “I cannot stay here with you, Lord Wolverton, not now that I am well again. If you’d be so kind, you might see me on to Bath tomorrow. I can seek the assistance of Mrs. Simms and write to my brother. If I send word to his establishment in London, surely they will know how to reach him in Bath.”

  She had it all figured out. It was perverse of him, but knowing that she wanted to leave inspired him to wish to keep her there longer. He tamped down the urge. What she’d asked was perfectly in line with what he’d decided on only moments before. But it was much easier to think of sending her away when he wasn’t looking at her, when he wasn’t tempted by the lush curves he knew were concealed by her gown or by the sunlight from the window falling on the curve of one rounded cheek that he knew felt like silk beneath his palm.

  Instead, he said the only thing that he could, “We are of an accord, Miss Mason. I was going to suggest the very thing myself. Let us see how you fare on our outing this morning before we decide further.”

  There was a flash of something in her eyes—a single second where he could see something that looked either like disappointment or hurt. It only strengthened his resolve. For him to desire Miss Mason was only natural. She was a beautiful woman and it had been a considerable length of time since he’d had the good fortune to indulge in any sort of carnal activities. But she was untouched, innocent—and, for her, it would not be about the physical intimacy, but about the involvement of her heart and more tender feelings. To take that from her, to allow any continued intimacy between them knowing it would come to naught, would be a kind of cruelty that he’d never indulged in before. Whatever the world believed of him, he would not be that sort of man.

  “I will require your assistance, I fear. The slippers that were brought down are much too large. Even with the bandages on my feet, they will not fit. I will not be able to walk, but I can ride,” she said. “If there is a mount available?”

  His lips quirked in a vague approximation of a smile. “I am not so poor that I have had to sacrifice all of the horseflesh in my stable. I think I can find one from the handful that remains that will suffice. You are certain you can ride for thirty miles?”

  “I can. I must. It is impossible for me to continue imposing upon your goodwill and hospitality,” she said. “And Mrs. Epson’s, of course.”

  He laughed then. “My dear Miss Mason, that you exist at all, and that I do, are each an imposition upon her goodwill. I will change and see that the horses are ready, and then return for you. Excuse me.”

  Alex left her then, moving toward the dressing room. The walls were thin and if Mrs. Epson continued her abuse, he’d be able to intervene. It wasn’t really a question of if, he thought bitterly. There was little doubt that the woman would begin as soon as the door closed behind him.

  Through the wall, he heard it.

  The thin and quavering voice of the older woman began, “You’re sm
arter than I gave you credit for. You’d do best to leave here and none too soon! It ain’t fit that a gutter bred harlot should be lying in his bed while my poor mistress rots in her grave! If there was any justice in this world, they’d have hung him!”

  Alex sighed. Why Mrs. Epson had decided to canonize Helena after her death, when the woman had reviled her with every breath while she lived, was a mystery to him. But he would have to pension her off. There was no excuse for her behavior and the vile things she’d said to Miss Mason, an innocent in all of it. His late wife, while she might not have been bred in the gutter as Miss Mason was accused of being, she’d have certainly qualified for the distinction of harlot. Helena had spread her thighs for every man on the estate while reviling his touch. Had he been less secure in his own abilities to provide a woman pleasure, he would have taken umbrage. But he’d learned early on that it wasn’t pleasure Helena craved. She’d longed for punishment, for degradation, for things that he’d been unwilling to debase himself to provide.

  There was no escaping the truth that something in Helena had been broken beyond repair. He was not a prude by any stretch of the imagination and had indulged in pleasures of the flesh when the desire struck him, but Helena had been unable to find her pleasure in anything but pain, humiliation, and cruelty—both the giving and receiving it. Recalling his late wife’s behavior in the marriage bed only served to amplify the sweetness and innocence of the woman before him. It also reminded him fully why he needed her away from him as soon as possible. Any association with him would be ruinous for her. The entire country, high- and low-born alike, reviled him. It wasn’t simply the doors of society matrons that would be shut to Miss Mason, but all doors. It could well extend to her brother, as well. Miss Mason would forgive him for destroying her reputation, but not her brother’s. He’d seen the truth of their devotion the night before when she’d defended him so staunchly. It was the type of relationship siblings ought to have, not the base and revolting thing that had existed between his late wife and her stepbrother.

  Dressing quickly, he stepped back into the bedchamber and delivered a cool and quelling glance to the housekeeper. “I will see to our horses and return for you,” he said. “Mrs. Epson, you will leave this room before me. I cannot trust you not to harangue our guest further.”

  With the crotchety old woman before him, Alex left the bedchamber and headed for the stables. He could not afford to be in Miss Mason’s presence enough to defend her at all times from Mrs. Epson. The best course of action for all of them was to see her returned to Bath and to her brother.

  Chapter Nine

  It had been some time since Mary had been riding. It had been a skill that Miss Darrow had insisted all of the girls at her school learn to master. Her reasoning had been quite sound: that it was not possible to know what sorts of positions they would obtain upon completing their schooling. Many of them would serve as governesses or companions in houses in the countryside and, to that end, they should know how to handle a horse. For Mary, riding had been something she had tolerated but had no great love for. Still, the mount Lord Wolverton had selected for her was docile enough. The rather placid mare seemed content to amble along at a sedate pace. As she could not place her foot in the stirrup, she was forced to simply utilize her knee hooked over the pommel to maintain balance. At the speed they were traveling, it wasn’t proving to be too difficult. But Mary had not counted on her recent illness and just how weak it had left her. Her muscles trembled and quivered under the strain and, all too often, she’d feel that familiar tightness in her chest and could hear the faint wheezing of her breath. She was not as well as she’d thought, but to admit it now would delay her return to her brother. It would also necessitate staying longer in Lord Wolverton’s presence, longer under the beguiling temptation of being kissed by him once more.

  Putting on as brave a face as possible, Mary ignored her fatigue and her discomfort as much as she could while they traversed the meandering path through the woods. It was heavily lined with very old trees, each one more gnarled and twisted than the last. In spite of the fact that it was a relatively bright and warm day, Mary shivered. There was something ominous and foreboding about those woods, or perhaps it was simply the knowledge of what they were in search of that had her on edge.

  “Are you warm enough?” Lord Wolverton asked. “I had thought the cloak would be adequate, but if you need mine—”

  “It isn’t the weather that made me shiver, my lord. It’s my own too-vivid imagination and the idea of whatever might be lurking in these woods,” she admitted. “You must think me quite foolish.”

  He glanced over at her, his expression one that she could not quite decipher. “Never that, Miss Mason. The last time you were in these woods you were fleeing for your very life… from those who meant you harm, and even from those of us who did not. I suppose, under the circumstances, it is only natural that you were uncertain which category I belonged to.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Or I could have been insensible with a raging fever. Surely, had I not been ill and been more capable of accurately assessing my situation, I would have recognized then that you meant me no harm!”

  “Really? In the dark, in the woods, with two men on the road discussing your abduction and captivity and the man who’d been guarding you possibly in pursuit? I cannot imagine that your state of mind, fever or no, would have allowed you to see benevolence! And I was not benevolent. I did not seek to help you simply for the sake of it. Even now, I have ulterior motives.”

  She would not have classified them as such. He’d been quite upfront with her in discussing his need to find out who was truly responsible for killing his late wife and clearing his name. He was, she thought, a far more honorable man than he gave himself credit for being. It would do little good to say so, as he would only deny it. Instead, she stated something he could not refute. “Regardless of your intentions, Lord Wolverton, had you not come to my aid that night, I would have died. I owe you my very life and the circumstances surrounding that truly matter far less than the final outcome, I would think.”

  He looked back at her over his shoulder, arched one brow sardonically and replied, “Touché, Miss Mason.”

  “And I would also assert that you can hardly call your motives ulterior when you have never concealed them from the very start. You have been nothing but honest about your motives and your need to find proof—”

  Mary paused, drawing back on the reins of her horse as she stared at a break in the path ahead. There was a large outcropping of rock and several trees growing out of it at a sharp angle. She recalled them well because as she’d run through the darkness she’d very nearly smashed into them. It had been a very narrowly avoided disaster. They were close, on the very cusp, it would seem, of locating her prison.

  “Miss Mason?”

  The earl’s concern was evident in his tone and it pulled her from her reverie. “That way, I think,” she said, and pointed toward the fork of the path furthest from them. “I recall those landmarks from my mad dash through the night.” Her voice trembled and she berated herself mentally for it. She was not weak or cowardly. And yet, being in that place, she very much felt as if both terms could be applied to her.

  “This is too much for you,” he said. “I will return you to Wolfhaven and continue on my own.”

  “It is not too much for me… not as of yet. If I fear it is becoming too much, I will tell you. We cannot be but a few miles from the house, after all.”

  “We are not,” he agreed, “But you have been ill, and this is—well, it can only be detrimental to your health to relive such negative events so shortly after a very serious illness. If you remember coming this way, then I am better off than when I started. It is all the confirmation I needed to know that my first inclinations were correct. There are two entrances to the mines and a rabbit warren of tunnels between them. But only one entrance lies that direction. I can investigate it on my own.”

  Mary looked back at him, and
once more down the ominous path that would lead to her former prison. Perhaps it was cowardice or, perhaps, her illness had robbed her of the fortitude she expected from herself. Regardless, she felt immense relief at not having to face further reminders of those horrors for the time being. “Very well… I will return to Wolfhaven. I fear I must impose upon your hospitality a bit longer. I had thought I would be well enough to go on today, but I am fatigued and winded already, even from such a short ride. It would be impossible, I fear, to ride on to the city. I suppose we must wait then for our journey to Bath.”

  Alex nodded. “I am not completely without friends, Miss Mason, though the number is far smaller than it once was.”

  “The number is not smaller, my lord, you’ve simply winnowed the wheat from the chaff, as it were,” she pointed out.

  “Why, Miss Mason, that is positively biblical!” he replied with a grin. “It is also entirely accurate. As I was saying, I do have friends remaining, and one lives close enough by that I ought to be able to beg a reasonably comfortable closed carriage for our journey. Given your continued ailment, I think my open curricle or riding are simply out of the question.”

  “You are too kind, my lord,” she said, as they turned their horses and headed back toward Wolfhaven.

  As they rode, he asked, “I hesitate to press for more details, but when you were in that cell, and you made your escape, did you go very far within the tunnels? Were there any twists and turns?”

  “Not really. It was not a very long distance, for I could see light at the end of it, dim as it was, from the moon. So, there could not have been any twists or turns then if I had an unobstructed view of the entrance,” she reasoned.

  Given that they were no longer seeking to cover terrain and identify something familiar to her, they made much better time on the return trip. It seemed that within minutes they were once more riding across the overgrown lawn of his estate. It was not as shabby as he’d made it sound. The walls were comprised of the same pale stone as most of the architecture in Bath but, here in the countryside, it was not as discolored by soot as those homes in the city were. While parts of the house were significantly older, the part that he currently resided in was much newer. The Palladian style structure had been constructed around the older sections. She could see that, in certain areas, the glass had been removed from the windows and replaced with boards.