Dark Obsession

by Allison Chase

  ‘‘No. He’d been looking for something, to be sure, but not to read.’’ Smoothing the hair from her shoulders, he traced his fingertips along the delicate lines of her collarbones, raising a little shiver and a ghost of longing in her eyes. ‘‘Come, my paramour. If we are to appear normal, we must be going down for supper soon.’’

  The warmth of her palm on his cheek detained him. She rose on tiptoe, bringing her face level with his. Her features were tight, her eyes luminous. ‘‘This explains a lot. But whatever else he might have done, I still believe he is your friend. And I do not believe he hurt your brother.’’

  ‘‘Hurting my brother is not the issue.’’

  ‘‘It isn’t in him. Not to do what you suspect.’’

  ‘‘How can you be certain?’’

  Both hands cupped his face and dragged him close. She kissed him, then said against his lips, ‘‘I was certain about you, wasn’t I?’’

  Chapter 26

  Dressed in rose silk, her hair restored to respectability and a false smile pasted on her face, Nora turned into Jonny’s room—and discovered it empty.

  An alarm went off inside her, quelled the next instant by approaching footsteps and Kat’s easy voice humming a carefree tune.

  ‘‘Good evening, ma’am.’’ Carrying a bundle of folded clothing in her arms, she bobbed a curtsy and crossed to the clothespress. ‘‘Is his lordship ready for his supper?’’

  That little alarm set off another wail. ‘‘I came to ask you that very question, Kat. Where is he?’’

  The maid arranged stockings and underthings in the top drawer, a stack of shirts in the second. Then she turned, her brows gathering above her dark eyes. ‘‘Why, with you, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘No, he isn’t.’’ Nora’s heart fluttered, spreading spasms of fear through her. ‘‘I left him with you in the schoolroom.’’

  ‘‘Yes, that was earlier.’’

  ‘‘Do you mean to tell me you left him alone?’’ Fright, misgiving and anger twisted inside her. ‘‘After I explicitly ordered you never to do so?’’

  The other woman pulled up straighter with an indignant shake of her shoulders. ‘‘Certainly not, ma’am. The earl came for him.’’

  ‘‘The earl?’’ Her voice was faint, tremulous, drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears.

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am. Lord Wycliffe said you wished to see his little lordship, and so—’’

  Nora hoisted her skirts and started running. ‘‘Search for him, Kat,’’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘‘Search everywhere.’’

  She maneuvered the corridors as fast as gown and petticoats and constricting corset would allow, becoming dizzy for want of a full breath as her legs pumped beneath her.

  Less than a half hour ago she had told Gray she didn’t believe Chad was capable of violence. Now Jonny was gone and she couldn’t be sure, could no longer abide by instinct and sheer faith when it was the child’s well-being at stake.

  She found Grayson exiting his bedchamber, neat, dashing, ready for supper. Without preamble she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. ‘‘He’s somewhere with Chad.’’

  ‘‘Who is?’’

  ‘‘Jonny. Chad took him. From the schoolroom. Kat told me. I’m not sure how long ago. We must find him—find him this instant. We must tell the servants to start searching. . . .’’

  ‘‘Slow down.’’ He grasped her shoulders, gave her a gentle shake and drew her to his chest.

  Against his hard length she sought strength, solace, reassurance; found all three for the briefest moment before pulling away. Jonny was missing; she had no right to be comforted. Breath heaving, she fisted her hands around his lapels. ‘‘We cannot sit here when—’’

  ‘‘I’ve no intention to. But I need you calm. Rational.’’ His hands closed over hers, easing their grip on his coat. She met his gaze and nodded. ‘‘Good. Now, then. You mount a search of the house in the event they are still here.’’

  He crossed the room, and a twinge of exasperation eclipsed her fears. How dare he seem so composed, so methodical. ‘‘What are you going to do?’’

  He stopped and regarded her with no more agitation than if she’d asked what he wished for supper. ‘‘If Chad does indeed have my nephew, I fear there is only one place he would take him. One place where Jonny’s life would hang in the balance. I’m going to the cliffs.’’

  Horror flooded slowly but surely through her, like the tide that swallowed the beach each day. ‘‘But . . . they can’t have gone out . . . it’s grown dark . . . the storm . . .’’

  She gestured feebly toward the rain-lashed windows. Jonny, out in this weather, with a man who might very well wish him harm . . .

  ‘‘You said you didn’t know how long they’ve been gone. Probably left during the lull in the storm. Perhaps one, two hours, now.’’

  ‘‘While we were . . .’’ With a groan she glared up at the ceiling as if she could see through to the room above, as if her gaze could set the blasted place on fire. All that time making love, imperiling Jonny’s life. Her eyes fell closed. Her legs gave out and she sank to the bed. ‘‘Heaven forgive us.’’

  He was before her in an instant. His hands gripped her again, shook her again. ‘‘You mustn’t do that. We haven’t time.’’

  He released her and sprinted for his dressing room. When he didn’t immediately return carrying a cloak as she expected, she rose and followed him.

  She found him crouched beside an open cupboard, fiddling with something in his lap, something she couldn’t see because his back was to her. She heard a sound like a marble rolling, a tamping, a series of clicks.

  When Grayson stood, she saw the pistol in his hand.

  The smooth wood and cool brass of the Boutet .58 caliber filled Grayson’s palm with a sense of surety. How ingenious, how intricate the workings of trigger, magazine and spring-loaded striker.

  How empowering.

  He reached back into the cupboard, grabbed a handful of extra bullets and the mercury pellets that fired them, and dropped them into his coat pocket.

  Straightening, he confronted Nora’s anguished stare. ‘‘He has my nephew. I’m ending this tonight.’’

  He brushed by her, needing to distance himself from the indictment in her eyes.

  ‘‘Not with that.’’ She followed at his heels, her voice rising to a precarious summit. He braced for the tears that would surely follow.

  ‘‘I want my nephew back. And I’ll use any means I must.’’

  She caught up to him at his chamber door, her hand banding around his wrist. ‘‘And Chad?’’

  He forced himself to meet her gaze, heartsick to be the cause of her pain. ‘‘I plan to ask him why he killed my brother.’’

  ‘‘You don’t know that.’’

  ‘‘I know all I need to know. He’s a thief and a liar, Nora. Why should he have drawn the line at murder?’’ He pulled from her grasp and pounded down the corridor. Her scampering footsteps sounded behind him.

  ‘‘Even if he didn’t draw that line, you must. Please. For me and Jonny.’’

  Her plea thrust him off balance. The staircase bucked beneath his feet and he nearly plummeted, only just catching the railing in time.

  The gargoyles carved into the newel posts seemed to echo her command: you must, you must, but in hissing, taunting voices. To Grayson, it was an affirmation of what he already knew he must do.

  The very thing of which he had once been accused.

  Fratricide.

  Except this time it wasn’t his brother. It was his closest friend, a man who might as well have been his brother.

  He crossed the foyer in four great strides, was out the door when he stopped beneath the portico, frantic to be off but unable to leave it like this, unable to leave her believing he finally had gone mad—truly, irreparably mad. And that she had been wrong to trust him.

  She scrambled out the door behind him, arms snaking around his waist. He felt her trying to drag him inside.<
br />
  ‘‘Gray, killing him will mean destroying yourself.’’

  ‘‘I don’t matter.’’ He spoke to the blustering wind, to the rain pelting the drive, while she heaved sobs against his back. ‘‘If Jonny saw what happened to his father that night, if he knows who murdered Tom, then he isn’t safe. It’s up to me to do something about it.’’

  She circled him, thrust her face in his. ‘‘We’ll find them together. But I’m begging you, do not take the gun.’’

  How could he deny her when she looked like that? So desperate, so anguished. So filled with love.

  But he thought of Chad winning her regard with his abundant charm, winning his entire family’s affections through the years and playing them all for fools.

  He kissed her, hard and urgent.

  ‘‘Forgive me.’’ Then he broke away, rushing headlong into the storm.

  Nora dashed inside, lingered long enough to shout commands to a flustered Gibbs. Then she too set off into the rain.

  She was within ten or so paces of the stable doors when Gray rode out, his horse already spurred to a trot. Splashing by her, he cleared the first paddock gate and urged his mount to a canter.

  ‘‘Wait for me!’’ she shouted, straining to be heard above the wind, rain and his horse’s squelching hooves.

  ‘‘You’ll be safer here,’’ he yelled back before breaking into a full gallop and vanishing down the riding lane.

  ‘‘Slow down,’’ she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. ‘‘You’ll break your blasted neck.’’

  Yet she intended taking the same risk. Gathering her dampened skirts, she made her way into the stable. A cough erupted from her as the scents of horse, hay and pine, made all the more acrid by the wet weather, closed around her.

  As rain dripped from her hems, she blinked away bits of floating hay and scanned the small selection of geldings and mares. Some stared quietly back over their stall gates. Others snorted and pawed the floor in their storm-induced agitation.

  Which one to pick? It had been more than a decade since she’d ridden, and then only her shy Shetland pony.

  The sight of a lantern hung near the end of the line of stalls sent her scurrying down the aisle. ‘‘Is anyone here?’’

  Edwin, a groom’s assistant about her own age, poked his head out and tugged his cap brim in greeting. ‘‘Evenin’, my lady. Can’t say it’s a good one.’’

  ‘‘I need a horse, quickly.’’

  ‘‘Come to the right place, ma’am.’’ He sauntered out and placed the brush he’d been holding into a box with other tools.

  ‘‘A tame one I can handle, but not too sluggish either.’’

  ‘‘Aye, ma’am.’’ He moved up the aisle and gestured to the misty cob Nora knew well. ‘‘Puck here’s a safe wager. Used to gentling our young Lord Clarington, but still got a fair scrap of spirit in ’im.’’

  ‘‘Yes, he’ll do.’’

  As if the cob comprehended their conversation, Puck’s gray muzzle appeared over the stall gate. Nora offered a hand, let him catch her scent, then ran her palm down his sleek neck. She’d seen Puck carry Jonny smoothly over the lower jumps in the paddock. She had also seen the horse veer from the higher ones, even when the eager child on his back attempted to steer him in that direction. No doubt Puck would see her through the forest without mishap, would bring her safely to his master.

  ‘‘Please hurry.’’

  When the groom wandered in the wrong direction, she called out sharply, ‘‘Didn’t you hear me? Where on earth are you going?’’

  ‘‘Tack room, my lady. You’ll be wanting a saddle, will ye not? ’Tis a might wet tonight to be going about bareback.’’

  ‘‘Yes, yes, of course. But please do hurry.’’

  He returned with saddle and harness and set to work. Though it seemed an excruciating eternity to Nora, within minutes he walked Puck out to the aisle. ‘‘Pardon me for saying, ma’am, but if you’ve a mind to catch Sir Grayson . . .’’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘‘Not at the rate he set out and not in this weather, ma’am. Perhaps I should—’’

  ‘‘No. Please just help me up.’’

  With a dubious lift of his brows he stood at Puck’s side and bent low at the waist. Nora gathered the reins and placed her foot into his clasped hands. He boosted her up, giving a second push when her wet skirts threatened to haul her back down. Once he had adjusted the stirrups to the length of her legs, he held up a crop to her.

  ‘‘Oh, no, I couldn’t . . .’’

  ‘‘Don’t have to use it, my lady. Just rub it so ’gainst his shoulder to let ’im know ye have it.’’ He demonstrated against his own arm. ‘‘Else the clever lad’ll know you for a novice and may decide to have a bit of fun with you.’’

  ‘‘I see. Thank you, Edwin.’’

  Outside, she pointed the Welsh cob toward the headland, unsure of the distance, and not knowing what obstacles might lay in her path. This weather assuredly had felled trees and flooded gullies. She would be half-blinded by the rain besides.

  ‘‘I can do this,’’ she murmured. ‘‘We can do this.’’ She patted encouragement against the horse’s neck. ‘‘Bring us safely there, Puck, and quickly.’’

  A shadow fell between her and the lane. A figure draped in black lurched out of the darkness, taking shape at Puck’s side. Like talons, long fingers clutched at the bridle. Nora bit back a cry. Instinct sent her riding crop lashing outward, but she drew it back without striking as recognition took hold.

  Like a disembodied ghost, a pale face framed in bedraggled gray wisps hovered beside Puck’s shoulder. ‘‘Lady Lowell, if you care at all about Jonny, put a stop to these inquiries.’’

  ‘‘Why, Mrs. Dorn? What are you afraid of?’’

  ‘‘The truth.’’ Tears slid down the lined, quivering cheeks. ‘‘It will only hurt the boy.’’

  Nora leaned over Puck’s neck, locking her fingers around the housekeeper’s wrist. ‘‘If you know what happened that day, Mrs. Dorn, you must tell me.’’

  ‘‘I cannot.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be afraid.’’

  ‘‘He . . . it was . . .’’ Indecision and obstinacy warred across the careworn features. Nora waited immobile, afraid to either frighten or anger Mrs. Dorn back into silence.

  ‘‘I did it,’’ she breathed. ‘‘I pushed him.’’

  Shock struck Nora a blow that nearly knocked her from the saddle. Hand shielding her eyes from the rain, she stared down, taking the woman’s measure. Mrs. Dorn’s defiant gaze faltered, and Nora knew. ‘‘You’re lying.’’

  ‘‘No. He owed me money. A great deal. He had promised to pay me but continually put it off and . . . that day he dismissed me.’’

  Nora bent lower until her face came level with the other woman’s. ‘‘This is ludicrous, and I haven’t time for it.’’

  She clucked to the gelding but Mrs. Dorn groped for her hand, squeezing it in both of her own. ‘‘Leave Jonny alone. It was me. I killed his father.’’

  Frantic to be off, Nora had been struggling to pull free of the woman’s stubborn grip. But that last mention of Jonny brought a realization cascading through her. She stopped tugging. ‘‘You’ve been trying to protect Jonny, haven’t you?’’

  ‘‘He has nothing to do with this. Nothing.’’

  ‘‘You’ve been hostile toward me since I arrived, especially when it came to Jonny. I resented it, but now . . . now I believe you only have his best interests at heart, that you’d even relinquish your freedom for him. For that, Mrs. Dorn, I forgive you every slight you’ve ever done me.’’

  As the housekeeper gawked at that pronouncement, Nora snatched the reins free. ‘‘We will discuss this later, of that you can be certain. But now I must be off.’’

  A cluck of her tongue and a tap of her heels coaxed Puck to a canter.

  She didn’t know whose instinct, hers or the cob’s, conveyed her through the drenched forest, where the storm made a sodden unity of sky, trees
and turf. The pins scattered from her hair until the heavy mass streamed down her back, over her shoulders, in her face. Flashes of lightning blinded her, disoriented her. She squeezed with her knees for balance, leaned well forward and gave Puck his rein, praying they would emerge from the trees to find Grayson, Chad and Jonny laughing at what would turn out to be an extraordinary misunderstanding.

  She didn’t know how long she bounced in the saddle, thighs burning, aching fingers snagged in Puck’s mane, before the distant roaring of ocean waves thrust past the hissing rain.

  ‘‘Do hurry, Puck,’’ she cried, her voice lost in the tumult of water inundating the earth now from two directions, both sea and sky. In vain she tried flinging the hair from her eyes but in the end had no choice but to trust the gelding’s ability to follow the trail.

  At a break in the trees she pulled back on the reins. Across the terrain, boulders and thick brush made for dangerous footing. After a few more yards, she climbed from the saddle, tugging when her wet skirts clung to the leather.

  Beyond the cliffs, lightning sizzled across the water. Thunder rolled in the distance now, and the rain fell less insistently. Her legs trembled from exertion, threatened to buckle beneath her. Dropping the riding crop, she shoved shanks of sodden hair from her face and strained to see into satiny darkness.

  ‘‘Grayson!’’ she tried to shout, but her voice was a drowning gasp. She cupped her hands around her mouth and filled her lungs with air. ‘‘Chad, Jonny!’’

  No response.

  Panic quaked through her. What if she had emerged a mile or more in the wrong direction? The path had been wide and clear, but perhaps she’d missed a turn. Perhaps the others weren’t here at all. Perhaps she was too late.

  On unsteady legs she stumbled toward the cliffs. Her shaking fingers lost their grip on her skirts and her next step tangled with her hems. Down she plunged, splashing onto the turf, her cheek smacking the ground and stinging against a clump of nettles.

  As she dragged herself to her hands and knees she spotted the moving shadows, velvet specters silhouetted against the glistening night.