An Unexpected Pleasure

by Candace Camp

  Megan nodded. “I have to go ahead. The fact that he is…pleasant cannot matter in this.” Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders. “The sooner it’s done, the better. I need to speak to Julian Coffey.”

  “Andrew introduced Mr. Coffey to me,” Deirdre told her. “He seemed a very nice man. I am sure he will help you in any way he can.”

  “Look out and see if Theo is still there,” Megan told her, nodding toward the door.

  Deirdre stepped into the doorway and looked down the hall, then turned back to Megan. “He is walking toward the stairs with that odd-looking old woman.” She turned back, keeping up a running commentary in a hushed tone. “They are going up the stairs. Almost gone…they are out of sight.”

  She and Megan stepped out into the hall.

  “I am going back to the ballroom to look for Mr. Coffey,” Megan told her. “I—it is probably best if we don’t spend any more time together.”

  Deirdre nodded. “I will remain here for a little while.”

  Megan nodded and moved off down the hall. It felt strange to leave her sister without a hug or even squeezing her hand. She glanced back at Deirdre, who smiled and turned away. Megan went on. Her sister would be fine, she told herself. She would find Mr. Barchester, and he would take care of her.

  Of course, that was another worry. Was Deirdre falling in love with the Englishman? Mr. Barchester seemed an honorable, upstanding man, but still, Megan could not help but worry about Deirdre. She was such an innocent, and this was the first time that Megan had not been around to protect her. What if Deirdre fell in love with him? What would she do when it came time to go back to New York?

  Megan walked around the edge of the crowded ballroom, searching for Coffey and hoping that she would not run into any of the Morelands. Just as she reached the middle of the room, she cast a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of the museum curator walking through the doorway into the hall.

  Hurriedly she changed course and retraced her steps, weaving through the crowd, excusing herself. She reached the hallway and glanced first one way, then the other. A man was turning the corner into the back hallway. She caught only a glimpse of him, but she thought it was Coffey.

  She followed him as rapidly as she could without causing comment and turned as he had done. A short hallway stretched in front of her, leading to a set of stairs. It must be the old servants’ staircase, she thought, and it provided an easier way to get to the next storey than the crowded staircase in the front.

  Lifting her skirts to keep them from dragging, she went lightly down the hall to the stairs. Just as she started to go up the steps, she heard the distinct clatter of feet on the stairs below her. She looked down, surprised. Had Coffey gone down into the cellars?

  It seemed odd, but she turned and started quietly down. She reached the bottom and paused, looking cautiously about her.

  She was in another hallway, this one much less well lit than the one upstairs had been. Candles burned in infrequent sconces up and down the hall, casting a flickering light and leaving much of the hallway in shadow. Megan was tempted to turn around and go back upstairs, but then she saw a man emerge from a room down the hall and turn the other way. It was Mr. Barchester.

  Her curiosity piqued, she started after him. What in the world was he doing down in the basement? she wondered. He should be upstairs, looking after Deirdre. Had it been he she had glimpsed turning the corner, instead of Coffey?

  Far in front of her, Barchester turned left into another room and closed the door after him. Megan slipped down the hall and paused a little way from the door, wondering what to do. Her curiosity was fully aroused now. What was one of the guests at the party doing wandering about in the basement?

  As she stood there, she heard a noise. She stiffened, listening. It sounded…it sounded almost like someone crying softly. Megan frowned, turning slowly. Was it coming from behind her? From one of the closed rooms she had passed?

  She started down the hall, moving as quietly as she could, listening for the faint sound. With all her attention on the soft crying, the sudden scrape of a heel behind her made her jump, and she started to whirl around. But before she could do more than glimpse a flash of black at the corner of her vision, something thudded hard into the back of her head. Pain exploded inside her, and she crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Megan?”

  The voice came from far away, and Megan turned her head, wanting to bury her face in her pillow. But the voice would not let her sleep.

  “Megan? Can you hear me?”

  A hand stroked over her cheek, then picked up her arm and began to chafe her wrist. Megan realized that her head was throbbing violently. She let out a groan.

  “I think she’s coming ’round,” said another voice, feminine, this time. A breeze touched her face, cooling her.

  The masculine voice once again said her name, adding, “Wake up.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Why is she here?”

  Those were two more women’s voices.

  And now a man said, “You know, if any of the women of my family were proper ladies, you would have smelling salts about you.”

  Megan wondered how many people were here. And what were they doing around her bed?

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Theo was beside her on one knee, holding her hand in one of his, his other hand around her wrist, and he was looking down at her, frowning.

  “Thank God!” he exclaimed, adding unnecessarily, “She’s awake.”

  Megan blinked and looked cautiously around. She was not lying in her bed at all, but on the hard floor in some hallway. The duchess and Kyria were standing behind Theo, and most of the other Morelands were grouped around her, as well, all staring down at her with worried frowns. Anna was bent over her beside Theo, wielding her fan so that the air cooled Megan’s face. The odd woman in the red wig to whom Theo had been talking earlier was standing at her feet, leaning on a cane and peering down suspiciously at Megan.

  “What the devil is she doing up here?” the old lady said querulously. “Queer start, I must say.”

  “I don’t know, Aunt Hermione,” Theo replied shortly. “I think perhaps she fainted.”

  “But what is she doing up here?” the old woman persisted. “There is no one else about.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Megan said, not sure exactly why she felt the need to apologize. Something about the old woman seemed to call for it.

  “Lady Rochester,” Rafe said in his molasses-tinged voice, sliding a hand around the old woman’s arm. “It must have been very tiring for you to have climbed these stairs.”

  “Yes, you really should not have,” the duchess put in flatly.

  “Let me escort you back downstairs and get you a seat. And maybe a nice glass of punch?” Rafe went on smoothly.

  “Hmph. Don’t think you can work your way around me, young man,” the old lady groused, but she let him turn her gently around. “I would take a cup of punch. Can’t imagine what the world’s coming to, young women running about fainting all over the place.”

  Her voice went on, listing complaints, punctuated by the thud of her cane on the floor, as she and Rafe went down the hall.

  “Sorry you had to meet Lady Rochester this way,” Theo said, smiling down at Megan. “Can you sit up?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She started to protest as his hand slid under her back to help her, but as she sat up, her head swam. She closed her eyes, sucking in her breath, and it took all her concentration to keep her suddenly pitching stomach from tossing up all its contents.

  Theo stopped, his arm around her back, bracing her. “Are you all right?”

  Her stomach settled enough for her to breathe, “I—I feel a little ill.”

  “Of course you do,” Anna said soothingly, squatting down beside her and wafting the fan.

  The breeze it created was cooling, reviving, and after a moment, Megan felt well enough to open her eyes ag
ain. “What happened?”

  “We were rather hoping you could tell us that,” the duchess told her.

  “I found you here,” Theo said. “No one had seen you in quite a while, so I started looking for you. You were nowhere downstairs, so we began a search of the rest of the house. I found you here.”

  Megan looked around her, careful not to move her head too suddenly. “Where is here?”

  “A back hallway on the second floor,” Theo replied, his green eyes studying her. “Do you not remember how you got here?”

  “No. I have no idea.” Megan raised a hand to her head. “My head aches.”

  “I think you must have fainted,” Anna told her, “and hit your head when you fell. You may have been unconscious for quite some time. I don’t know how long it was before Theo found you.”

  “The last thing I remember was talking to, uh, a woman. I don’t recall coming upstairs at all.” Megan’s brow furrowed.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Anna said. “It is often so with head injuries. People forget what happened right before. It will come back to you later, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps,” Megan agreed somewhat doubtfully. She felt as if her head was stuffed with wool batting.

  “I’ll take you home,” Theo said, and slid his other hand beneath her knees, as if to pick her up.

  “No! I can stand,” Megan exclaimed and started to rise.

  “Stubborn,” Theo said beneath his breath, and helped her up, his arm around her back.

  Megan swayed a little, and he steadied her.

  “I’ll carry you,” he told her firmly.

  “No. I won’t make such a spectacle of myself in front of everyone,” Megan protested, blushing. “Just give me a minute.”

  She could not keep from leaning against Theo as she stood there, gathering her strength. The Morelands all gathered around her, gazing at her with such concern on their faces that she felt tears prick at her eyes. She hated deceiving these kind people.

  “We shall go home with you,” the duchess said.

  “Oh, no! Please, stay. I don’t want to ruin your evening,” Megan protested.

  “It’s all right. I will take her home,” Theo told his parents. “I’ll send the carriage back for you.”

  The duchess agreed somewhat reluctantly, and they started down the stairs. Megan was determined to walk on her own, but every step sent pain jarring through her head, and she was grateful for the support of Theo’s arm.

  When they finally reached the front door and were able to step outside, away from the crowd of partygoers, Theo swept Megan up into his arms and carried her to the Morelands’ waiting carriage, despite her feeble protestations that she could walk.

  “You pride has been maintained,” he told her. “Now hush and just let me take care of you.”

  Her head ached too much to protest, Megan decided, and she leaned her head against his chest gratefully.

  The coachman jumped to open the door of the carriage, and Theo bundled her inside. Megan leaned back against the leather squab of the carriage seat, wincing a little as her head touched the material. Theo swung into the seat opposite her, and the carriage set off at a sedate pace. Her forehead ached, a continual pounding that was in counterpoint to the sore spot on the back of her head. She closed her eyes and tried to pull together her scattered wits.

  What had happened to her? She had been looking for Julian Coffey, hoping to talk to him; she remembered that much, though she had not, of course, revealed that to Theo and the other Morelands. She remembered winding through the ballroom, searching for Coffey, then spotting him and starting after him. Everything after that was a blank.

  One thing she was sure of: she had not fainted. That was something she had never done in her entire life, even during the most tension-filled or gruesome moments she had gone through covering her newspaper stories. She had been cinched up more tightly at the waist tonight than she was accustomed to, but she did not remember feeling faint.

  If she had not fainted, it followed that someone had intentionally knocked her out. That would account for the sore spot on the back of her head. She reached up and gingerly wound her fingers into her hair until she touched her scalp. There was a lump forming there, and she could feel dampness, too, as well as the rougher texture of dried blood.

  But who had hit her? And why?

  She opened her eyes and looked across the carriage at Theo. He was watching her silently, his eyes shadowed in the dim light. He was the obvious suspect.

  There was some stubborn part of her that did not want to admit it, but that was what made the most sense. He was the person who had found her. It was easy, after all, to find a person if you were the one who had felled her.

  Theo knew she had been poking her nose into things. Perhaps he had seen her following Julian Coffey. He might have known that Coffey could give her the information she needed. So, to stop her from questioning Coffey, he had sneaked up behind her and cracked her over the head.

  She remembered opening her eyes and finding Theo bending over her. There had been fear in his eyes, something she had attributed to concern for her. But wasn’t it more likely that it was fear that she had seen him when he attacked her and would identify him? Or simply the fear of discovery that had led him to hit her to begin with?

  There had been something else in his gaze, she remembered as she thought about it. Despite the expression of concern on his face, there had been a watchfulness in his eyes, a certain shrewd consideration.

  It occurred to her that it was perhaps very foolish of her to be riding alone in a carriage with the man. Her stomach tightened. She reminded herself that everyone in Theo’s family knew that she had gone back to Broughton House with him. He could not risk harming her, not with everyone aware that she had been alone with him.

  She laced her fingers together tightly and leaned into the corner of the carriage, closing her eyes once again, in a pose of resting. Inside, every part of her was on alert, poised for defense.

  The time passed slowly, but eventually the carriage rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Moreland mansion. Theo climbed out and turned to help Megan down. She put her fingers in his to step down, and his hand closed possessively around hers.

  “Your hand is cold,” he said, and peered down into her face.

  “I’m fine.” She knew it was fear that had sent the blood rushing from her extremities, not shock, but she did not want to say so.

  “Let’s get you inside, so I can look at your head.”

  “I only want to go to bed,” she said, hating the weakness in her voice.

  He shook his head. “Not when you have been out cold like that. You need to stay awake.”

  He whisked her through the front door and down the hall to a cozy, masculine room paneled in oak and furnished with dark maroon leather chairs. It smelled pleasantly of tobacco, and against one wall was a cherrywood sideboard on which sat glasses and decanters of liquor.

  Theo rang for a servant and sent him for the supplies he wanted. Then he turned and went to the sideboard, where he poured golden brown liquid into two short glasses. He took a hearty drink from one glass and handed the other one to Megan.

  She looked doubtfully at it.

  “Don’t be missish. Drink it down,” he ordered her. “It will warm you up.”

  Cautiously, Megan took a sip. She shuddered at the strong taste, but it did warm her throat as it slid down. She took another, larger, sip.

  The footman returned with a tray containing a bowl of water, a bowl of ice and a tin of medical supplies. Theo turned up the gas sconces to their brightest and lit a kerosene lamp, which he placed on the small table beside her.

  Dismissing the footman, he dipped a rag in water and squeezed it out, then gently parted her hair and dabbed the rag against her wound. Megan sucked in her breath sharply at the pain.

  “Sorry.” He continued to clean the wound, touching it as lightly as he could. “Someone cracked you a good one.”

  “What?�
� Megan’s eyes widened, surprised at his blunt statement. “What do you mean?”

  “Come, come,” he retorted. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that you fainted.”

  Finished cleaning the area, he dabbed a bit of ointment on her wound and pressed a small pad to it.

  “That is what everyone said.”

  “It seemed the most likely explanation. And they didn’t look at the location and severity of that bump on your head. I did. It split the skin and was a little high and to the side—not a likely place for your head to hit the floor when you fell. Looks more like someone knocked you out.”

  “Oh.” Megan didn’t know what to say.

  Theo wrapped up a few small chunks of ice in a towel and handed it to her. “Here. Hold this against it. It will help the swelling.”

  He sat down in a chair across from her. “Who was it, Megan? Who hit you?”

  “I don’t know!” she blurted out honestly. “I don’t remember. The last thing I remember is leaving the ballroom.”

  Even as she said the words, a wisp of a memory came into her mind—a shadowy corridor lined with walls of stone, lights flickering in wall sconces. She had been in the basement, far from the place where she was found.

  “You’re lying,” Theo said dispassionately.

  “No. I mean—yes, I just remembered that I was in the basement. But it is the very vaguest memory. I don’t know why I was down there or how I came to be upstairs when you found me.”

  She wasn’t about to tell him that she had been following Julian Coffey or that she now remembered seeing Andrew Barchester in front of her in the basement. She had followed him, she thought, but beyond that, her mind was still a blank.

  “I think this has gone on long enough. What is going on, Megan? Who are you and why are you masquerading in our home as a tutor?”

  Megan opened her eyes wide, saying, “What are you talking about?”

  “Come now, Miss—I don’t know what your real name is, but I would hazard a guess it isn’t Henderson. So I shall just call you Megan. I think we have moved beyond protestations of innocence, haven’t we? It is clear you are up to something—stealing the key to the collection room out of my father’s desk, sneaking into my room when you are supposed to be too ill to come down to supper…. I cannot flatter myself that your purpose was to seduce me, since you assumed I would be in the dining room with everyone else.”