Christ, but he was ready for her! His mind and soul were filled with Eleanor and, in turn, he wanted to fill her.
“Gray,” she said, pulling back slightly.
“Eleanor,” he returned, biting his tongue to keep from apologizing because he knew it irked her when he did so.
Besides, he didn’t feel sorry. Not even a little. He wanted to do it again. What’s more, he fully intended to do so when the library door swung open.
Chapter Nine
Shocked, Eleanor and Grayson both stood, frozen, their heads turned in unison, his hands on her behind, hers around his neck.
Luckily, it was only Phoebe, whose eyes grew as big as dinner plates.
“I…I…I,” she tried three times.
By then, he and Eleanor had parted.
Before either of them could say anything, Phoebe backed out the door and closed it firmly.
“Oh, dear!” Eleanor said. “What do you think we should do?”
“I suppose one of us should go find her and talk to her,” he suggested.
“One of us?” she asked, tilting her head, offering him a wry smile.
“Probably you since I might be seen as threatening.”
She blinked at him. “I don’t feel threatened.”
He liked the new, husky tone to her voice as she flirted with him.
“That’s because I want to kiss you, not order you to keep quiet.”
“True,” she agreed. “And it would be better coming from me. I may have to bribe her, too. Beryl once gave Phoebe a boiled sweet to keep her from telling Lord and Lady Angsley how we’d made Asher sneak into the cellar and steal a bottle of wine for us.”
“What happened?”
“Poor Asher, he succeeded, and so we had to let him drink with us. He got very sick. Phoebe found us and threatened to tell.”
Grayson couldn’t help laughing. “Did she hold her tongue when bribed?”
“She did, as far as I know. I had best go find her now.”
He nodded.
“Don’t work on the puzzle without me,” Eleanor begged.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I promise.”
She rushed to the door. When she reached it, with her hand on the latch, she turned.
“I very much enjoyed the kiss, by the way, and would like to do it again.”
Then she left.
Was he playing with her emotions? Toying with her heart?
He thought about it long and hard. No, he was perfectly serious about Eleanor Blackwood. In that moment, he decided what the treasure at the end of the game would be.
There had been no opportunity to meet with Grayson in the library before dinner. First, Eleanor spent ages with Phoebe, agreeing to answer questions truthfully in exchange for the girl’s silence. It seemed an easy bargain until she discovered Phoebe had many questions—about boys, babies, London, dancing, the Season, and more.
She expressly wanted to know about kissing, and Eleanor found herself giving a first-hand account, toned down for the girl’s younger ears, of what it was like. She would have liked to be alone, perhaps lying peacefully in a meadow, recalling how it felt to have Grayson not only kiss her but touch her tongue with his. Even thinking of it made her stomach twitch.
And when his hands grasped her bottom, he certainly shocked her at first. Then his squeezing fingers had made her tingle all over. For a brief moment, she remembered how he’d pulled her against his male parts, which were hard. Rather than being scary, she had wanted more.
Of course, she didn’t tell Phoebe any of that. Perhaps, in a few years, she would give the girl a copy of a helpful book. She and Beryl had read more than one which had opened their eyes to what happened between men and women.
Eventually, Eleanor fled the girl’s room, promising to have another heart-to-heart talk in a few days. Then she had run directly into Lady Angsley who sighed about missing her eldest child before saying how glad she was to have Eleanor there, “almost like having Beryl.”
With those kind words, she could hardly turn her ladyship down when asked to go for a long stroll. Eleanor used the time to ask about any beetles Lady Angsley might have seen since the woman was a devoted gardener. That led her hostess to give an extended discourse on every flower in her terraced beds.
When Eleanor thought even she was tired of hearing about the natural world, she excused herself. She wanted to get her sketch pad and begin her drawing of Grayson’s horse.
By the time she had a rather good illustration of a horse sketched and shaded, she looked up from her perch on a bale of hay in the stables to see Mrs. O’Connor happening by.
“Good day,” she called out to Grayson’s mother.
Turning and waving, Mrs. O’Connor changed direction from walking toward the main house to the open paddock gate.
“Good day, Miss Eleanor. And it is a lovely one after so much rain. What have you got there?”
Suddenly, Eleanor felt a little shy. What would Mrs. O’Connor think about her creating a drawing for Grayson? She turned the pad so his mother could see.
The woman studied it a moment, then she looked over at the horse, then she looked at Eleanor.
“I’m sorry. I can see that horse plain as day,” Mrs. O’Connor gestured to the one beyond the fence, “but this one is a bit blurry without my spectacles. Still, they don’t look the same at all. With the blaze on its nose, your drawing looks more like Gray’s Percy.”
“You’re correct. He told me Percy was his favorite.”
His mother looked again, then she smiled. “He’ll love it. It’s very sweet of you to make this for him.”
Eleanor felt the heat rise to her cheeks. If only she were better at hiding her emotions.
“He has been ever so kind to stay and keep me company after Beryl left.” She had to glance away from his mother’s gaze when her mind started to consider their kissing, but her skin grew warm, nonetheless.
“I won’t interrupt you any longer,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “I’m on my way to the main house to have tea with Cook while the younger ones prep the fixings for tonight’s meal. I wish I could invite you along, but the kitchen staff would go barmy if you were to sit at their table. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.”
“I understand,” Eleanor said. “I shall have to go in soon and dress for dinner anyway. Enjoy your tea.”
Mrs. O’Connor strode off, a very fit woman in her late forties, perhaps early fifties, who, if not for her failing eyesight, could have served at the main house for decades to come. How fortunate her son lived so close.
Thinking of Grayson, Eleanor sketched in the detail of the back hooves and then closed her pad and headed in the same direction as his mother had taken. Though many hours stretched ahead of her before bedtime, it would be difficult to spend time alone with him after dinner in the library, for guests were expected to be social and to participate in games or provide entertainment if one could sing or play an instrument.
Eleanor couldn’t beg off for the sake of sitting in a corner trying to decipher a cryptic message from a dead pirate. Her rudeness would be inexcusable.
The rain, which had held off all day, started just as they sat down to dinner and continued. It was coming down in sheets by the time the merry party gathered in the drawing room for cards and charades.
Eleanor managed to stump them with riddles about time, a windmill, and even a teapot, all memorized from her tattered copy of Food for the Mind by the secretive John the Giant Killer, Esq. She long-suspected “John” was really a quick-witted woman but couldn’t prove it.
When Grayson guessed her last riddle about the sun, they were all beginning to yawn, and it was time to retire. As she left the room, he caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. It was the first time they’d spoken privately since the kiss.
“Shall we get back to Captain Kidd’s mystery first thing in the morning?” he asked.
“I can hardly wait.” She wondered if they would also kiss again, but that was ha
rdly something she could simply ask. “Where is the paper?”
“I put it back in the book for safekeeping, as it seems no one has looked at those volumes for years.”
“Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.”
But she couldn’t simply turn and go upstairs, knowing he was following her with his eyes. Nor could they go up together.
When she hesitated, they locked gazes, and she could see numerous thoughts flickering behind his dark eyes. If she knew precisely what passion looked like, she would swear she saw it, along with merriment and myriad other emotions.
A slight softening of his lips, a crinkling of the corners of his eyes, and in his expression, a hidden message meant only for her.
“Good night,” he said, turning away and disappearing down the passageway to the back of the house. Lord Angsley was still milling about somewhere. Maybe the two men would smoke cigars and drink brandy.
Eleanor wanted to follow him, but she did the responsible thing and went to bed. Unfortunately, hours later, she still lay awake, listening to the rain. She’d been unable to relax her mind, thinking of how amazing the appearance of the markings on the paper and how even more amazing was Grayson’s kiss.
Getting out of bed, she opened her drapes a little to enjoy the lightning show, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up when thunder boomed, seemingly directly over Angsley Hall. A moment later, a brilliant, blinding flash split the blackness. She was momentarily blinded.
Strangely, she thought she heard the whinny of a horse, but no rider would be out in this weather. It was worse than the night Grayson arrived.
Was it possible the sound had carried from the stables?
Sighing, she considered continuing to read one of the books from the library. Picking up The Necromancer, she opened it to where she’d left off. Then she tossed it onto the bed. Instead of reading about the strange and unusual, Eleanor decided she would rather indulge herself in a real-life mystery.
Wrapping herself in her dressing gown and reaching for her lamp, she tiptoed along the hallway and went quietly downstairs. The house seemed larger and the ceiling higher in the pitch black of night. A delicious shiver raced up her spine, and for a moment, she could imagine she was wandering the halls of the castle of Otranto or of Udolpho. All she needed was a good strong draft to blow out her lamp, and the setting would be complete.
Soon, however, she was in the tidy, modern library setting her lamp on the table to chase the gloomy shadows. She lit two other lamps, and then found volume fourteen, relieved to see the paper safely tucked between the pages about Captain Kidd’s trial.
Eleanor couldn’t wait to dive back into the puzzle and discover if the gibberish really were instructions leading to his treasure. Surely, a simple map would have been easier, but then, she supposed, anyone could find the buried gold and jewels.
Perhaps Lord Angsley bought the book from a London merchant who got the book from someone who placed that mysterious paper in it after attending the pirate’s trial or his execution. Maybe this same someone got the paper directly from William Kidd or created the puzzle as instructed without even knowing what it really said.
Hopefully, Grayson wouldn’t be angry with her for forging ahead on her own, but instead, pleased with any discoveries she made. To that end, she studied the seemingly random letters. If they did make up words, which she was positive they did, then some of them would repeat, the vowels, for instance, more than any other.
Did she know this to be true?
Off the closest shelf, she grabbed the first book she put her fingers on, which turned out to be James Boswell’s acclaimed The Life of Samuel Johnson. Eleanor studied a paragraph, then another, and then another. She was right. The letter e showed up more than any other letter.
Perhaps if she figured out which of the numbers or symbols was most used in the brief passage, she could mark them as an e for the time being. She should have brought some blank paper, not wishing to mark upon the original.
Luckily, she was in the library with a writing desk. To her delight, it was stocked full of paper, pens, and pencils.
Why had Grayson not been able to find paper when he was looking for a sheet the other day? If he had found some, he might never have looked in Volume XIV and discovered Kidd’s puzzle. How fortuitous!
She set to work making a list of the characters, finding there were thirty-three instances of the number eight.
“I shall make each of them an e,” she said aloud. It made perfect sense, especially when she saw five double eights, which she decided must stand for ee, perhaps indicating such words as seen or meet.
The next most prevalent character in the puzzle was a semi-colon though it didn’t seem to be used as punctuation. It was undoubtedly code for another letter; however, she couldn’t decide what letter appeared the most after an e in the English language. Perhaps an a.
“Maybe a t or an o,” she muttered.
If she got off on the wrong track now, it could be disastrous. Spending a few more minutes creating a list of all the characters in order of how many were in the puzzle, she then copied out the puzzle again on her paper, writing the letter e above each of the eights. It was a start.
Yawning, Eleanor realized she ought to get some sleep if she were to rise early enough to meet Grayson in the library before breakfast, and undeniably, some rest would sharpen her mind to help solve the puzzle.
After putting everything back as she’d found it and slipping her new sheet of paper into the pocket of her wrap, Eleanor turned down the two lamps, and then picked up her own.
Outside the library, all was quiet until—bang! She jumped, startled, and then froze at the loud sound that had come from the other end of the hallway, somewhere toward the back of the house. Her heart quickened.
She waited a moment, and all was silent. Just as she breathed a sigh—bang!—she heard it again.
“Oh, dear,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t a gunshot this time. Something more benign, like a…
Her brain couldn’t fill in anything. She could go upstairs and ignore the dreadful noise, or she could investigate.
Choosing the latter, as she trod along the passageway toward the rear of the house, one thing became uncomfortably clear—the floor was wet. She held her lamp down low to see it was merely water, though a little muddy, as if someone had come in from the outside.
She was certain it hadn’t been there at bedtime. Someone had been out in the storm. How strange!
Bang! Taking a deep, fortifying breath, thinking she could hear her own heartbeat, Eleanor continued along the wet hallway, getting her kidskin slippers damp.
Bang! Eleanor approached the window overlooking the garden. The shutter had blown loose and was now making a merry racket as it slammed shut before swinging open again.
She laughed with relief and set her lamp down on the wooden floor beside her before working to open the window sash, which, if properly maintained, should easily slide upward. It did. Eight glass panes over eight moved fluidly under her touch, and she reached out, even as a gust of wind blew rainwater all over her and snuffed out her oil lamp.
“Drat!” she exclaimed. It was damnably cold water, too.
In a moment, she had managed to secure the shutter with its clever little hook. As she closed the window, however, Eleanor felt rather than saw the presence of someone nearby. The hair on her neck arose, as did gooseflesh upon her arms.
The scuffling of a shoe upon the floor alerted her to the unknown person’s proximity, and suddenly, arms went around her.
“I’ve got you,” an unfamiliar voice exclaimed.
Chapter Ten
Eleanor struggled, feeling the tall stranger’s bony arms tighten.
“Let me go,” she yelled, lashing out, even as terror filled her, making her want to run and scream.
Surprisingly, the arms dropped away from her instantly.
“Miss Eleanor?” came a bewildered voice, and then she recognized it.
“Mr. Stanley?” The butler, of course!
“Why are you creeping in the window?” the Angsley butler asked, sounding flabbergasted. Then, as if recalling his place, he added, “Not that it is any of my business, miss.”
Everything would make sense with some light, she thought.
“Somewhere on the floor is my lamp,” she told him, and they immediately bumped heads as they both bent down to find it.
“Ow,” she said.
“My apologies, miss.” In another moment, he said, “I have found it.”
When he relit it, she nearly yelled again. For in the scant light flickering from below, the butler’s face looked skeletal, and his eye sockets appeared very large and dark, almost as if sunken.
She shuddered, probably from the cold rain that had spattered her face and neck. Moreover, he was not dressed for going to bed, but rather, wearing an oil skin and Wellingtons. Even stranger, they were perfectly dry, so he could not have caused the water in the front hallway.
How many people were up and wandering in and out of Angsley Hall?
As he dropped a handy box of matches back into his pocket, she thought she’d better explain herself, though she was dying to ask him where he was going on such a night and at such a late hour.
“I was awake,” she told him, “and I heard the shutter slamming against the house.”
He nodded. “Thank you, miss. I was just coming to do the same.” Then he looked down at the puddle. “I’ll get the maid to clean that up before someone slips.”
Poor maid, getting dragged out of her well-deserved sleep at this hour, Eleanor thought. But that was the way of it, and the butler wasn’t going to stoop to such a menial task.
“Good night, Mr. Stanley.”
“Good night, miss. I’m sorry to have startled you.”
“And I, you,” she said, taking a few steps before realizing she was leaving him in darkness.
“Shall I stay with the lamp until you—”
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 61
