Sarah met her cousin’s quizzical gaze. She was astonished to find that she was inclined to be angry, not afraid. ‘We will not run away!’ she said stoutly. ‘I could not bear those odious creatures to win! They do say, Amelia, that revenge is very sweet. I have an idea…’
Chapter Seven
It was much later when Sarah left Amelia’s bedroom and ventured across the darkened landing to her own room. She was feeling weary but still buoyed up by the plan that she had hatched with her cousin. The urge to laugh at the ridiculous antics of Sir Ralph’s guests had fled now, but the flame of revenge that had taken hold of both herself and Amelia still burned very brightly. Sarah thought it unlikely that she would sleep, despite her tiredness.
Instead of retiring to her room, she tiptoed down the stairs to the library in search of a book to help her calm herself. The hall was in darkness now and it seemed that whatever revelling was still going on was probably taking place behind closed doors upstairs. Sarah refused to think about it. She opened the library door tentatively and was relieved to find it all in darkness.
Sir Ralph had sold many of Lord Sheridan’s books upon inheriting Blanchland, but the old oak shelves still held a few volumes, steeped in dust and smelling strongly of damp. Sarah climbed the little wooden stepladder and selected a couple of her old favourites. It did not seem as though anyone had touched them since she had last been at Blanchland. She curled up in an old armchair and turned the pages slowly, enjoying the rediscovery, and relaxing as silence took over the house.
The door opened suddenly and the candle flame scuttered in the draught. Sarah jumped violently and the books fell from her hands. For a moment the shadowed figure in the doorway was unrecognisable, and then Guy Renshaw stepped forward into the circle of candlelight and Sarah let her breath go on a long sigh. Not Lord Allardyce, then, but possibly just as dangerous. It had definitely been a mistake to go wandering after the lights were out.
‘Good evening, my lord. Could you not sleep?’ Sarah was proud of the steadiness of her voice and even prouder that she sounded so uninterested. She picked her books up and stood looking at him with polite indifference.
At some point in the evening Guy had removed his jacket, and his linen shirt revealed rather than concealed the ripple of taut muscles beneath the fine material. His cravat was undone, giving him a slightly dishevelled air that Sarah could not deny was attractive. The important point, she reminded herself sternly, was that Guy’s rumpled look was no doubt the result of some activity she did not really wish to dwell on. His fair hair was tousled, probably by feminine hands, and there was a glitter in his dark eyes that was deeply disturbing.
‘I have not yet attempted to sleep,’ Guy said smoothly, ‘being too occupied with other activities. But you, Miss Sheridan—I had thought you retired hours ago.’
Sarah felt a rush of fury at the Guy’s casual reference to his recent debauchery. She gave him a cool little smile.
‘I wonder that you had time to notice, my lord! You were…somewhat occupied!’
A smile that was not reassuring curled Guy’s mouth. The flickering candlelight made him look very tall and gilded his skin with a bronze sheen. ‘Oh, I noticed, Miss Sheridan. I noticed that Lord Allardyce was most attentive and that his compliments were not unwelcome to you!’
Sarah shrugged indifferently. ‘His lordship was amusing.’
‘I see. You did not consider my warning worth heeding?’
‘I considered your judgement faulty, my lord,’ Sarah said coldly, ‘as demonstrated by your own choice of company.’
‘I see,’ Guy said again. He took a step forward, until he was close enough to touch her. She could sense the tension in him. ‘Do you then object to the company I keep?’
‘I have no opinion,’ Sarah said, neatly sidestepping the trap that had been laid for her, ‘other than that of any gently bred lady who does not wish to see the amorous affairs of others displayed before her!’
Guy put his hand under her chin and tilted it up to force her to meet his eyes. ‘You have no personal feelings on the matter? Even though I have given you the right to an opinion?’
It cost Sarah a huge effort to meet his gaze so calmly. ‘You may remember that I declined your offer of marriage, my lord,’ she said steadily, ‘and with it the privilege to a hold an opinion on your behaviour.’
She saw the flash of some emotion in his eyes, vivid as lightning, before his expression was veiled once more.
‘Indeed. I do recall that.’ His fingers brushed Sarah’s cheek, sending shock waves tingling through her. It was terribly difficult to concentrate and even harder to remain indifferent to him when her whole body was responding to his touch. ‘Is it possible to make you change your mind, Miss Sheridan?’
‘I doubt it. But I have observed that you do not repine too much, my lord!’ Sarah stepped back, her books clutched to her chest like a shield. She wished this had never started. The mockery in that intent dark gaze suggested that Guy was not going to let it go easily. ‘Excuse me. I am tired and must retire.’
‘In a minute.’ The challenge in Guy’s tone was more apparent now. ‘I thought you were down here reading because you were unable to sleep, Miss Sheridan?’
‘That was a half-hour ago.’ Sarah took a wary step sideways. He moved negligently to block her path to the door.
‘And now you find you are conveniently tired? I was hoping that you would indulge my curiosity and tell me why my offer of marriage was repugnant to you.’
Sarah frowned, aware of the quicksand at her feet. She did not wish to get involved in this conversation when she was tired and her emotions were worn to a thread. She felt intensely vulnerable, all too aware of this man and the power he could exert over her senses.
‘I believe that that discussion must await a better occasion, my lord,’ she said, a little huskily. ‘It is late—’
She broke off as Guy took the books out of her hands and placed them very deliberately on the table beside her. He held her gaze with his. Sarah knew what was about to happen and knew also that he was giving her plenty of time—time to run away, time to make an excuse, any excuse, to leave before it was too late. She did not move. She felt breathless, incapable of anything other than standing there and watching him as he watched her. She could see a pulse beating in the hollow of his throat and felt a shocking urge to press her lips against the skin there…She tore her gaze away, but only to trace with her eyes the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth…
Sarah was never sure which of them moved first. Guy’s arms closed around her and it felt confusingly right to be there. This was a softer and sweeter kiss than the one at Amelia’s ball and for a moment she freed herself a little.
‘My lord, you mistake your companion—’
‘Certainly not!’ She felt Guy smile and it made her weak with longing. ‘I could never mistake you for anyone else, Sarah. And if you think that I would ever let Allardyce touch you—’
His lips returned to hers before Sarah could reply. The last vestiges of common sense were draining from her mind, leaving her pliant in his arms. He was so gentle, but there was a current that ran hot beneath the tenderness. Sarah felt the tension uncoil within her. It was easy to forget that she did not trust him, that only an hour before he had probably held Lady Ann Walter in his arms…Jealousy, sharp and shocking drove through her like a knife. She stepped back and Guy released her at once. In the shadowy library it was impossible to read his expression.
‘I must go.’ Sarah knew she sounded breathless. ‘Good night, my lord.’
Guy did not try to stop her, but she knew he watched her from the doorway as she made her way upstairs, and for some reason the knowledge made her want to cry.
The morning brought more snow, drifting white over ground that was already frozen hard. No one was stirring when Sarah donned her pelisse and boots, and went for a walk. She had not waited for breakfast, correctly assuming that there would be none. Later, when Amelia started to p
ut her plans into practice, the food would definitely improve, but for now Sarah did not relish stale bread and cold coffee.
Close to the house lay the formal gardens, bare of colour now, the snow transforming the empty branches into ice sculptures. Sarah wandered beyond the rose garden and out into the park, her feet crunching on the frozen ground. At a little distance from the house, she turned to look back at the elegant façade of Blanchland, sitting serenely within its ring of trees. Sarah sighed. Was everything as deceptive as the view before her? Blanchland looked exactly as it had done ten years before, and yet the happy days of her childhood there were gone forever. Sir Ralph had turned the house into something unrecognisable, yet it looked just the same on the outside…
Sarah turned her back on the view before she became too melancholy. She did not want to think about the home she had lost, nor to think about Guy, to whom her thoughts inevitably turned. Her instincts told her to trust him, but at the same time a contradictory conviction suggested that he was hiding something from her. Perhaps he was as deceptive as the view.
The woodland closed about her and the dead leaves were crisp beneath her feet. Here, sheltered from the wintry breeze, was the little grotto that Lord Allardyce had referred to the night before. It had always been one of Sarah’s favourite places.
She stooped to enter the mouth of the cave, then straightened up and looked around. It was just as she remembered it. The faint light reflected off the shells that lined the interior, giving it a ghostly glow. In one corner, a natural spring bubbled softly over stones into a pool. It was very peaceful and made a nonsense of Allardyce’s suggestions of black magic. Sarah sat down on the stone bench beside the pool and trailed her fingers in the icy cold water.
A shadow darkened the entrance and Sarah jumped, feeling relief as she recognised the newcomer. Perhaps Allardyce’s stories had made her more nervous than she had realised.
‘Tom! Good gracious, you startled me!’
‘Sorry, Miss Sarah!’ Tom Brookes touched his cap diffidently. ‘Saw you walking this way and waited to catch you on your own.’ He glanced over his shoulder and the very secrecy of the gesture made Sarah shiver a little. ‘I’ve a message for you from Miss Meredith. She sent this for you.’
He fumbled in his pocket and took out a small package, wrapped in brown paper. Sarah looked at it curiously. ‘But is there no letter, Tom?’
The gardener looked awkward. ‘Don’t know, ma’am. This was all I was given. From a friend of a friend, if you know what I mean…’
‘And Olivia—where is she now?’
The gardener looked awkward. ‘Can’t say, ma’am, to be sure! At this very moment she could be in any number of places…’
Sarah smiled, understanding him. ‘Very well. I shall not ask any more questions!’ She put the little package in the pocket of her pelisse. ‘Thank you, Tom. If I need to find you—’
‘I’ll be in the greenhouses, ma’am, trying to find flowers for Lady Amelia.’
Sarah smiled. ‘A hard task in December! Amelia is a household tyrant, I fear! But I thank you, Tom.’
The gardener turned his cap around in his hands. ‘Lovely job, ma’am,’ he said, and the old West country phrase made Sarah smile again. She waited until she heard his footsteps crunch away from the grotto, then took the parcel out once more. Her fingers were a little clumsy with the cold, but eventually she managed to remove the brown paper and dropped the contents into the palm of her hand.
It was a locket.
Sarah gave an exclamation of surprise. The locket looked very old, for the pattern chased in the gold was worn and smooth beneath her fingers. The clasp opened with a tiny click to reveal the portraits inside. Sarah held it up to the light.
On the left was a lady with chestnut ringlets, sparkling brown eyes and a wide smile. She looked as though she would have been fun to know and Sarah’s own smile widened in response to the obvious happiness that the painter had captured. She also looked a little familiar. The picture on the right…Sarah almost dropped the locket on to the stone floor. It was Guy’s face that looked back at her from its setting in the golden frame: the thick fair hair, tied back here in an old-fashioned queue, the striking dark eyes, the high cheekbones and firm line of the mouth. The painted gaze seemed to mock Sarah’s astonishment.
She looked back at the other portrait again. The lady was in a low-cut gown with one ringlet resting in the creamy hollow of her throat. Little of her dress was visible. But in Guy’s picture the artist had at least included the bottle-green frieze coat that fitted those broad shoulders so well…Enlightenment came to Sarah in a blinding flash. The locket was old and the pictures were also antique, from at least fifty years before. The gentleman in the picture had to be Guy’s grandfather.
Once Sarah had thought of this, the differences rather than the similarities seemed clear. The gentleman in the picture had the same unconsciously arrogant tilt to his head that Guy had, but none of Guy’s easy humour was perceptible. The man’s eyebrows were more heavily marked, adding to the air of aloofness, the dark gaze hooded. Sarah shivered a little. It was becoming cold in the grotto, and whilst the realisation that the man in the picture could not be Guy Renshaw brought some reassurance, it also raised questions she needed to consider. She got to her feet a little stiffly and turned towards the entrance.
Immediately, her foot scuffed a tiny scrap of paper that had fallen unnoticed from the locket when first she had opened it. Sarah bent to pick it up.
Miss S
Please meet me at the Folly Tower at twelve tonight.
Yours, O.
Sarah wrinkled up her nose. It seemed that Miss Meredith had a penchant for melodrama, for why else choose a midnight rendezvous at the ruined tower? In winter! Sarah shivered a third time at the thought and made for the pale sunshine she could see outside.
Once out in the daylight she carried on walking away from the house, all the while trying to make sense of the locket. Had Olivia Meredith sent it just to hide the note, or in an attempt to give her another, coded, message? More importantly, how had it fallen into Olivia’s possession? It could hardly be a coincidence, so what was her connection with the Earls of Woodallan? Once again, Sarah remembered the mocking dark gaze of the portrait, the arrogant lift of the head. Finding such a trinket in Olivia’s possession underlined the sinister role Guy seemed to be playing. Sarah remembered the conversation she had overheard between the Earl and his son. It had been important to find Olivia first, and Guy had been making enquiries, offering money…Sarah tried to make sense of the ever more complex pattern.
There was no reason to doubt that Olivia was Frank Sheridan’s daughter, for her brother had told Sarah that himself. It seemed, however, that Olivia also had a connection with the Woodallan family that was not so clear. Sarah frowned as she remembered Guy assuring her that Frank had written to Lord Woodallan asking for his aid. That was probably true, although Frank’s reason for asking now seemed more complicated than had first appeared. It could not be solely because Sarah was the Earl’s goddaughter. Woodallan himself must also have some link with Olivia. Sarah shook her head over the questions with no answer. She could always ask Guy directly, but for some reason she hesitated over from such a course of action. His secretive behaviour had created a barrier between them.
‘Miss Sheridan!’
Sarah jumped as the voice penetrated her thoughts. She had been walking almost aimlessly through the woods and now found herself back on the south side of Blanchland, where the frozen lake sparkled in the early sun. Coming towards her, a large brindled wolfhound at his heels, was Guy Renshaw himself.
Sarah blushed, aware of a feeling of guilty embarrassment. She was not sure whether it was her recollection of the previous night or her suspicions that were making her feel so uncomfortable, but facing Guy in the cold light of day was proving difficult. She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Good gracious, my lord, wherever did you find that dog?’
Guy laughed. H
e was looking as casually elegant as ever, his resemblance to the gentleman in the locket very pronounced. It made Sarah feel very self-conscious.
‘I believe he has adopted me! He is Sir Ralph’s pet and of a wholly gentle disposition!’
Sarah watched dubiously as the hound ran off to sniff excitedly amongst the reeds. ‘He seems very happy to have some exercise! I doubt Sir Ralph is prone to taking long walks!’
Guy fell into step beside her, glancing at her with a look of such evident admiration that Sarah was once again forcibly reminded of the scene in the library. A deeper shade of colour crept into her cheeks that she hoped could be attributed to the chill morning air. She quickened her step towards the house. Some thirty yards ahead of them stood the Folly, a small tower built by Lord Sheridan in a position that gave a superb view of the surrounding countryside. It immediately brought Olivia to the forefront of Sarah’s mind again.
‘Perhaps we could all go skating this afternoon,’ Guy was saying thoughtfully. ‘The ice looks thick enough to be safe. Did you skate here as a child, Miss Sheridan?’
Sarah wrenched her mind away from the mystery of Olivia and her locket and answered him slightly at random. ‘Skating? Oh, yes, it was great fun! I have not tried for years, but I believe I would not have lost the skill.’
‘You sound as though you were thinking of something else, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy observed acutely, giving her a searching look from his very dark eyes. ‘Perhaps it is Miss Meredith who occupies your thoughts? Do you have any plans to continue your search today?’
Blanchland Secret Page 14
