by Olivia Drake
Annabelle sincerely hoped it was a burial chamber. That day in the library, when Simon had come to ask her to the Samhain ball, he had been so enthusiastic at the prospect of unearthing a trove of ancient artifacts …
But of course she didn’t care a fig for his happiness. It was just that she wanted him to have something to occupy his time. Then he would be too busy to bother her with his unwanted attentions.
“We must fetch a lamp,” the vicar declared. “There may be relics inside, perhaps even items the Druids used in casting their spells.”
Simon shook his head. “It’s too late in the day,” he said. “I intend to start out fresh in the morning.”
“But my lord—”
“Whatever is in there can wait,” he said firmly. “Come, we’ll head back to the castle together.”
After dismissing the workman waiting by the wheelbarrow, Simon rejoined them and they climbed the hill to the path. He walked in the middle and spent the time grilling the vicar about his knowledge of the ancient Britons. Annabelle made no attempt to participate in the conversation. She was too busy battling a keen awareness of Simon.
Though she looked straight ahead, she could see him from the corner of her eye, and every glimpse brought a tidal wave of memories. How skillfully those hands had caressed her body. How expertly his lips had kissed her. How adroitly his words had fooled her into believing that he loved her.
Yet despite her rejection of him, the arrogant devil still believed he could charm her into his bed. She had to make it absolutely clear that he had no hope of ever doing so.
As they entered the courtyard, she said, “Lord Simon, if I might have a word with you in private.”
He turned toward her, his expression cool. He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Bunting, who had stopped to wait by the dolphin fountain a short distance away. “This is hardly the time,” Simon said in a low voice.
Annabelle felt the scrutiny of the vicar’s dark eyes. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to voice her grievance. The splashing of the fountain should mask a whispered conversation.
“I came to return this to you,” she murmured, lifting her arm slightly to indicate the shawl. “I cannot accept it.”
His jaw tightened. “Consider it a gift. To replace the one ruined by the crow.”
“That isn’t what your note implied. You wrote—”
“I know what I wrote,” he growled under his breath. “I only spent the better part of half an hour debating how to word it so as not to offend you—though it seems that was an exercise in futility. Now, pray excuse me. I’ll discuss the matter with you later.”
Abruptly, he turned from her and rejoined the vicar. The two men walked into the castle, leaving Annabelle standing alone in the courtyard.
My love, I hope you can forgive me.
Simon had spent half an hour composing that simple message? Because he was anxious about her reaction? She imagined him sitting at a desk with pen in hand, attempting different versions, then crumpling them up and tossing them into the rubbish bin. And for a reason she didn’t care to examine, a tender pang softened her heart.
Chapter 22
At the very same time the following afternoon, Annabelle held on to her straw bonnet as she carefully made her way down the rough-hewn steps to the beach.
The day was overcast and blustery, the sea choppy. A chilly wind whipped her skirts and threatened to entangle her legs. Despite the precariousness of descending the staircase cut into the cliff, she found herself marveling at the wild beauty of the scene. Dark clouds crouched on the horizon. White-capped waves crashed onto the sand and filled the rocky pools where she and Nicholas had come the day that someone had been watching them from the cliff. Someone with a gun.
Had that man been Mr. Bunting?
Annabelle shivered. She needn’t worry about him since she’d seen no one on the path. The castle grounds had been deserted, too, as was the coast as far as the eye could see. Not even a fishing boat braved the rough waters.
Her mind dwelled on the purpose that had brought her here to the beach. Simon must have made a discovery at the site this morning. It had to be something spectacular or he would not have asked to meet her away from the castle.
His note had been waiting on her desk after she’d returned from a visit to the library with Nicholas. The message had been written in Simon’s distinctive, bold penmanship: I must speak to you. Come to the cave on the beach at four. Pray tell no one. Simon
Annabelle reached the bottom of the steps and gingerly picked a path through the jumble of enormous rocks lying at the base of the cliff. It appeared as if a giant hand had tossed the boulders like so many marbles. The waves sent out long fingers of foam that touched the rocks.
Was the tide coming in? The water seemed closer than she remembered from other visits to the beach. Perhaps the turbulent winds were pushing the waves onshore. Simon surely would know the tide schedule. He wouldn’t arrange to meet her in this spot unless it was safe.
She reached the opening to the cave. The entry was a foot or so higher than the beach and she had to clamber over a pile of rocks. No doubt Simon knew the place well from his boyhood. He had told her once that as a child he’d roamed everywhere on the estate. She could imagine him as a mischievous lad, tricking his governess, eluding his lessons, and stealing down here to the beach to play.
Annabelle stepped into the dim interior. Never in her life had she been inside a cave. It was surprisingly airy, the walls and ceiling composed of well-worn rock, the floor of moist sand. Several elongated pieces of stone looked eerily like statues, and she fancied she had entered a sacred grotto. Venturing deeper into the cave, she spied clumps of seaweed, a few scattered shells, and even a little stream trickling through the piles of rock.
How peculiar to think that Castle Kevern stood directly above her. The servants would be going about their daily chores, ironing clothes, tending the fires, preparing dinner. Nicholas would be curled up in the window seat of his bedchamber, reading the new book he’d selected from the library. She hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she rejoined him.
Darkness shrouded the far reaches of the cave, and Annabelle regretted not having a lamp to enable further exploration. She retreated to a place where she could see the opening and found a flat rock on which to sit and wait. The rhythmic roar of the waves out on the beach echoed hollowly in the cavern. The air was damp and chilly, but at least here she had protection from the wind.
She huddled inside her cloak. It must be past four o’clock by now. Where was Simon? Ever since visiting the site, she had been waiting on pins and needles to hear from him. When she’d attempted to return the shawl, he’d said that he would talk to her later.
But he hadn’t. The previous evening, she had dawdled in the schoolroom, hoping he would come to visit. When she’d finally given up and gone to bed, it had been to dream of Simon. In the dark of night she had awakened, her body aching for him. Not even the knowledge that he wanted only to use her could hold sway over the weakness of her flesh.
Annabelle hugged her midsection. Passion had nothing to do with why she had come here to meet him, she sternly reminded herself. Rather, she wanted to relate her suspicions about the vicar. She had to make certain that Simon had arrived at the same conclusion as she had. Mr. Bunting must have left the spade they’d found hidden beneath the vines. He had to be the one who had been secretly digging there.
Which meant he was also the gunman.
She drew a shuddery breath. Dear heaven, what had Simon unearthed at the site this morning? Mr. Bunting must have been present to see it. Had the vicar said something to reveal himself as the culprit? Perhaps that was why Simon wanted to speak to her away from listening ears.
Then again, she might be wrong. Maybe he wished to meet her in private just so that he could hold her in his arms again. So he could ply her with kisses in an attempt to convince her to become his mistress.
It would be a futile effort. She would never relent. H
er mind was made up.
Yet a wicked part of her hoped he would try.
She buried her face in her hands. But she could not shut out the needs that clamored inside herself. With his masterful touch, Simon had transported her to heaven. He had awakened her dormant desires, and she wanted him to satisfy the hunger in her again. God forgive her, she ached to learn the mystery of taking the act to its completion. For a few wicked moments, she allowed her imagination to run wild …
Icy water chilled her feet.
Annabelle opened her eyes and glanced down. Her hem rested in a puddle. Seawater had seeped into her shoes.
Gasping, she jumped up and looked toward the entrance. To her shock, waves were surging through the opening of the cave. The swells looked as high as her knees.
The tide was coming in. She had to leave at once. From the servants, she knew this cave filled completely during high tide. To remain here meant certain drowning.
Lifting her skirts, Annabelle sloshed through the water. The wet sand sucked at her shoes and slowed her progress. Dear God, where was Simon? Why had he told her to meet him here at such a dangerous time? Had he merely made a mistake?
Devil take that man! Now her shoes would be ruined by the salt water. So would her gown, and out of vanity she had worn her favorite blue silk because she’d wanted to look her best. She certainly would give him a piece of her mind once she was on dry land again.
If she ever reached high ground.
Horror overtook her as she arrived at the entrance and saw the sea. Greenish-gray waves churned and boiled, splashing her with salty spume. The beach had disappeared completely; the boulders around the cave were already partially submerged. She could see in the distance the stairs that were cut into the cliff, but water covered the bottom steps.
Fear twisted her stomach. How was she to walk there? The sea had risen almost to her knees now, and the cave was situated a bit higher than the beach. Once she left this spot, she’d be submerged to her waist and unable to see anything beneath her.
While she hesitated, a large swell nearly knocked her off her feet. She braced a hand on the wall to steady herself. If the waves could do that to her right here, how much worse would it be on the trek to the stairs? She might be flung against the sharp rocks.
But she had no choice. She couldn’t stay here to die.
Her muscles tense, she whispered a fervent prayer. Then she took a cautious step out of the cave.
“Annabelle!”
At first she thought the gusting wind had tricked her. Then the shout came again, an unearthly echo that emanated from behind her.
Behind?
Pivoting, she clutched at the slippery rock of the entrance to keep from falling. She strained to see into the dim interior. Much to her astonishment, she spied a ghostly figure with a lantern moving swiftly toward her from the depths of the cavern.
Simon.
With a joyful cry, she reversed course and splashed through the water to meet him halfway. Never in her life had she been happier to see anyone. A sob caught in her throat as she flung herself at him. She pressed her face to his chest and breathed in his scent, trying to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. He held her with one arm tight around her waist in a hug that was all too brief.
He drew back to grasp her hand. The light of the lantern revealed the intensity of his gaze on her. “We have to go,” he said. “But you needn’t be frightened anymore. We’ve ample time to get to safety.”
“But we don’t,” she said in confusion. “Simon, the water is already high out there, and maybe you know how to swim, but I certainly don’t—”
“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t going that way. Come along.”
He tugged on her hand as if to draw her deeper into the cave, but she resisted. “Where are you taking me?”
“There’s more than one way out of here, my love. Where did you think I came from?”
Annabelle hadn’t thought, she had been too agitated to reason things out. But of course he hadn’t just been hiding back there to frighten her.
She clung tightly to his fingers and followed his lead.
The darkness thickened and the light of the lantern cast eerie shadows on the rock walls. The subterranean route progressed up a steady incline until there was no more water and the sound of the sea had diminished to a distant murmur. Simon limped a bit and she remembered him saying he had a scar on his leg. The dampness of the cave must have caused it to ache. At last, he drew her up a crude stairway hewn into the bedrock. He pushed open a door at the top and guided her into a tunnel.
She glanced around. “This looks like … the secret passageway! Are we in Castle Kevern?”
“Yes, thank God.”
He stared fiercely at her; then he set down the lantern and pulled her to him again. Annabelle burrowed against him. It was sheer bliss to feel the heavy beat of his heart against her cheek and to let his heat seep into her cold body. There would be time enough later to consider the wisdom of allowing his embrace. For now, she needed him as much as she needed air to breathe.
As her fears ebbed, however, she remembered her annoyance.
She tilted her head back to look at him. “Why did you make me wait there so long?” she asked. “Didn’t you know the tide would come in when you told me to meet you there?”
Simon placed his hands on her shoulders and set her back at arm’s length. His expression was very grim in the lamplight. “Annabelle, listen to me. I did not write that note. I found it lying on your desk when I came to the nursery to speak to you.”
“But it was your penmanship, Simon. I know it was.”
“Then someone has learned to imitate it. Someone who intended for you to die in that cave.”
Annabelle stared at him in horrified disbelief. “But who? Why?”
“I’d lay heavy odds on Percival Bunting.”
Her blood ran cold. She recalled the bitter resentment in the vicar’s dark eyes whenever he looked at her. Slowly, she said, “I had the distinct feeling yesterday that he was the one on the hillside who’d shot at Nicholas and me.”
“Then both of us came to the same conclusion. I knew from the outset that Bunting had an interest in Celtic history. I’ve been watching the knave for some time, but I lacked the proof to accuse him. Then when you brought him to the site yesterday and he went on about the Druids, I thought it was a brilliant opportunity to set him up. I let him think I was about to uncover a treasure trove.”
“Then you didn’t really find anything?” She actually felt disappointed for his sake. “Oh, Simon, I’m so sorry.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “Don’t be, the chamber never even existed. I invented that on the spot in the hopes that Bunting would return during the night to steal the artifacts. But the weather turned stormy and he didn’t show up until morning.”
“Do you mean to say you stayed up all night outside in the cold watching for him?”
“I took turns with the coachman.” He chuckled at her appalled expression. “It’s no different than sentry duty. I’m accustomed to it.”
No wonder Simon hadn’t come to visit her the previous evening. He’d been otherwise occupied. “What did the vicar say when there was no burial chamber?”
“I pretended to have made a mistake. I said my eyes unfortunately had deceived me. Bunting had a difficult time hiding his anger. He went stomping off at mid-morning, and I didn’t see him again.” Simon’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “But I swear, I never imagined he’d take out his fury on you.”
Annabelle shuddered. “I can almost understand why he would want to warn me away from the site. But that’s a far cry from luring me into the cave … to die.”
“He’s a madman, that’s why,” Simon said flatly. “He’s resented you ever since you had him ousted from the schoolroom all those weeks ago.”
She tried to imagine the vicar plotting murder. Had he come back to the castle to write that note? How had he left it on her desk without anyone seein
g him?
Then she knew how. “He may have an accomplice, Simon. Yesterday I saw him speaking to Mrs. Wickett, and I had the distinct impression they were … intimate. Do you suppose he asked her to leave the message in the schoolroom?”
“I’ll find out, I promise you that.” He picked up the lantern, and though his expression was forbidding, his hand was gentle as he placed it against her back. “Your skirt is wet. You must be freezing. You’re to go back to the nursery and warm yourself by the fire.”
Annabelle walked with him through the narrow tunnel, which led upward into the cellars of the castle. “What will you do now?”
“What I should have done from the outset. I intend to have Bunting arrested for attempted murder.”
Chapter 23
On the night of the Samhain ball, Annabelle perched on the edge of her narrow bed to don her dancing slippers. Picking one up, she admired it by the light of the candle. The crystals sparkled, and the satin lining glowed a rich garnet hue. It still touched her heart that Lady Milford had given her such an exquisite gift. She owed the woman so much that could never be repaid.
Since Lady Milford had asked for regular reports, Annabelle had dutifully written a long letter three days earlier describing Nicholas’s progress in his studies. Then she had related all that had happened in regard to the Druid site, including the two malicious attempts on Annabelle’s life. How gratified Lady Milford would be to learn that her instinctive dislike of Percival Bunting had not been mistaken!
The man now resided in a prison cell awaiting trial. According to Simon, Bunting had vehemently denied the charges of attempted murder, though he did admit to being the one who had been secretly digging at the site. In addition, Mrs. Wickett had confessed to having released the crow in the library in an effort to frighten Annabelle into leaving the castle. However, she’d claimed not to have left the note in the schoolroom. Nevertheless, the woman had been dismissed for aiding and abetting her lover. One of the upper maids had been promoted to housekeeper, just in time to direct preparations for tonight’s ball.
