by Shana Galen
“We have so few guests. The last couple was touring Cornwall on their honeymoon. Such a nice young man and a pretty lady. They didn’t stay long.”
“Did they meet with the earl?” Rosalyn asked.
“Oh, no. They wanted to tour the castle, but we don’t show The Temples.”
“Why not?” Dominick asked.
“Oh, too many ghosts, I suppose.”
Rosalyn’s eyes grew wide, and she moved closer to him.
“Just ring for me if you need me.” Mrs. Wright indicated the bell-pull. And then she was gone.
“Do you think she was serious about the ghosts?” Rosalyn whispered when they were alone.
“No. I’m sure she’s trying to scare us away. Stories like that will deter other travelers from stopping by and expecting a tour.”
“But we don’t want a tour. We want to speak to the earl.”
“And I am afraid that is not possible,” a voice said from the doorway. Payne was back. “The earl is unwell today and will not see visitors.”
Dominick had been expecting this. “Did you tell him the Duke of Tremayne is calling? I’ve come a long way.”
“I did, Your Grace. The earl sends his regrets.”
“I’ll return this evening.”
The butler nodded. “That is your choice, Your Grace.”
Dominick extended his arm to Rosalyn, and the two exited. Outside, the rain still poured. “May I offer you an umbrella, Your Grace?” Payne asked. Dominick glared at him.
“Don’t bother.”
When the door to The Temples closed behind them, Rosalyn huddled under the scant protection provided by the overhang. “The lightning and thunder have stopped,” she said. “If you make a show of walking out to the carriage, I can slip around to the back.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You hired me to scale the walls if you couldn’t speak to the earl.”
Dominick had to resist the urge to pull her close and protect her. “The rain is coming down in sheets. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ve climbed in the rain before. I can do it.”
“You’ll wait,” he ordered and, taking her hand, pulled her to the carriage with him.
ROSALYN DID INDEED wait. She waited three days. The duke went back to The Temples time and again, but was turned away regardless. They had taken lodgings in the only inn within ten miles, and as there were only two rooms, she and the duke shared a wall. She could hear him railing to his servants that time was running out and he was no closer to acquiring the book than he had been.
Soon, they’d return to London empty-handed. Then what would happen? Michael’s declining health required that she earn the rest of her fee, and she wouldn’t receive it if she didn’t make certain the duke acquired the volume he sought. The duke hadn’t said as much. In fact, he’d said very little to her the past few days. She was relatively certain he was avoiding her. They hadn’t taken a meal together since the night they’d kissed. Did the duke worry being alone with her would be awkward, or did he simply not want to see her again? Perhaps she was the only one who thought again and again about the kiss they’d shared and wished for another.
Truth be told, she wished for more than that. The duke was a good man. He could be rigid at times, but he could also soften and make her smile. He was good to his servants, the horses, and the innkeepers. He was a kind man. A good man. Letters arrived from London, and he took hours each day to pen responses addressing every concern his stewards might have on any of his vast properties. Yes, he might be mad for this book, which to her seemed rather unimportant, but as hobbies went, collecting books was far less detrimental than gambling or whoring.
When she heard him return from The Temples on the third night, heard the disappointment in his voice as he addressed a servant, she knew what she had to do. The duke might very well feel obliged to pay her, even if she didn’t acquire the book for him. She didn’t want his charity, didn’t want to take advantage of his goodness.
Rosalyn pulled the shutters open and looked out. A half-moon sat in a partly cloudy sky. She might have wished for more light, but it was not raining and it was the best she could hope for. Rosalyn dressed in her male clothing, slipped down to the stables, saddled one of the horses, and made her way to The Temples.
She tied the horse far enough back that he would not be spotted, then approached the narrow, treacherous path alone. The Temples was dark. No lights burned in the windows, and she relied on the light from the moon when it wasn’t buried behind clouds. Finally, she’d made her way to the rear of the building. A path wound around the castle, but it was less than a yard wide and ended in a sheer, rocky drop down to the tumultuous seas below. Peering over the edge and into that churning black water, Rosalyn knew if she fell, no one would ever know what had become of her. Her lifeless body would be washed away and never seen again.
So she would not fall.
She extracted her gloves from her pocket and pulled them over her shaking hands. These were one of the tools she’d packed in her valise. Then she changed into her special shoes, leaving her worn half boots at the base of The Temples. She walked along the edge of the building, feeling for handholds, and when she found a likely spot to begin, she took a deep breath.
“For Michael. Always Michael,” she whispered to herself, calming her racing heart. “And this time for Dominick too.”
When she was calm and steady, she reached up and began to climb. It was difficult work, and she was perspiring within minutes, but it was also familiar. Her body knew what to do. Her hands sought alcoves or outcrops even without her having to think about it, and her toes curled and wrapped around ledges too small for anyone but the most astute to note. She climbed without looking up or down, without wondering at the passage of time, without any thought but of the next place for her hand or foot. When it began to rain, she did not think of the weather. She took more care, now that the stone was slick, but she did not hesitate.
Several times, she lost her footing and dangled above the crashing waves below. Rosalyn wouldn’t allow fear to enter her mind. She held tightly with her hands and slid her foot along the wall until she found a better foothold. Then, when she’d regained her balance and caught her breath, she inched upward.
She had no idea how long she’d been climbing when she felt the turret at the top of the building. It might have been minutes or hours. The important thing was that she’d made it. She grabbed the edge of the stone wall circling the top of the building and hauled herself up, her arms shaking with the effort. But the section she’d grabbed began to crumble under her hands, and she realized she’d made a novice mistake. She’d been so relieved to see the end in sight, she hadn’t tested the strength of the next handhold. She slipped down, and stone scattered past her, falling for so long she did not hear it land. She had one chance to grasp the next closest section of wall. If it too was weak, she’d go sliding into the sea like the loose rocks.
Her hand slipped as more of the wall dissolved, and she grasped for the section above her. She caught it with the tips of her fingers and closed her eyes, praying it would hold. When it didn’t disintegrate, she pulled up. This was the hardest part. Her arms were tired, and now she had to haul her entire body up and over this wall. With a grunt of effort, she lifted herself high enough to release the footholds. Sweat poured down her face, and her arm muscles felt as though they might ignite from the fiery pain lancing through her. Though there was little to give her traction, she tried to use her feet to give her more leverage. Gradually, she worked one elbow over the wall, then the other. She rested for a moment, then swung her legs over and fell onto her back.
The rain felt good on her face, cooling her skin. She didn’t know how long she lay there, but when she rose and checked the location of the moon, she realized she had probably been climbing no more than an hour.
Standing, Rosalyn tucked her gloves back into her coat and pushed her wet hair off her face, securing the loose pieces into the qu
eue at her nape. She spotted a doorway and started for it.
Time to meet the mad old earl.
Chapter Seven
DOMINICK BLAMED HIMSELF for not knowing she’d left earlier. It was his own fault for not prioritizing his correspondence, as was his usual practice. But the servant who’d delivered the letters had placed one from the bailiff of his property in Yorkshire on top, and Dominick had not looked at any others in his haste to read that one.
As matters in Yorkshire were still tenuous, he had replied at once and only glanced through the rest of the letters when he’d finished with the most pressing issues. That was when he’d spotted the letter from his secretary in London and one from Mrs. Dashner. It was addressed to him, not Miss Dashner, which he supposed made sense, as it was easier to find a duke than a young lady of no real name or fortune.
He opened the one from his secretary first and read it quickly, nodding the entire time. It seemed Dominick had been right to question the credentials of Doctor Banting. The secretary wrote that the man had few if any credentials and had a reputation for being a fraud and a cheat. In the opinion of the men the secretary had interviewed, consulting with Banting would do a patient more harm than good. Dominick would show it to Rosalyn—Miss Dashner, he had to stop thinking of her so informally—immediately. When they returned to London, she could dismiss the fraud and engage the services of a doctor who could provide real care for her brother.
Dominick supposed the letter from Mrs. Dashner was to ask for more money. These were the sorts of letters he was used to receiving. He only hoped the woman didn’t attempt to threaten him with some lie, like he’d stolen her daughter away. He would not show this letter to Miss Dashner. She had not once asked him for so much as a ha’penny. She didn’t appear to have any designs on him. After that kiss, he’d worried he’d opened himself up for a seduction ploy. Would she try to repeat it when they’d both be discovered, then force him into proposing marriage? But she’d made no attempt to be alone with him or to steal into his room at night, even though it would have been incredibly simple, as their doors were but a foot apart.
He certainly hadn’t slept well thinking about her on the other side of the wall they shared. He could hear her conversing with Alice, her maid, and he tortured himself, wondering if she was dressing or undressing. She might be petite, but he had held her close enough that he knew she still had a woman’s figure. He would have liked to explore those curves and dips at leisure.
Pushing his lustful thoughts away—again—he opened Mrs. Dashner’s letter and then stood. He couldn’t have been more wrong about the reason the woman had written. It wasn’t any sort of scheme. It was a notice that Michael Dashner had taken a turn for the worse. Mrs. Dashner did not expect Rosalyn to rush home, as she knew her daughter had given her word to the duke, but would he ask Miss Dashner if she wanted to pen a final note to her brother in case he passed away in her absence?
“What rot!” Dominick said and swore. He’d do far better than asking Rosalyn to pen a note. She needed to see her brother in the flesh. He’d take her home immediately. Tonight. And he’d pen a note now to have the best doctor he knew, his own, sent to tend to Michael.
He was almost to the door when he realized that leaving now meant he would not acquire The Duke’s Book in time for Professor Peebles’s retirement. The volume on arcane medical knowledge would not be among those presented to the man. Dominick would be the only one who failed in the quest to reunite the complete set.
And he didn’t care a whit.
The revelation stunned him. He’d rarely cared for anything more than he cared for his collection of books, but he had come to care for Rosalyn. He’d come to anticipate her smile, look forward to her morning greeting, long for her kiss. Dominick couldn’t imagine seeing the light go out of her eyes if her brother died. And it wouldn’t happen if he could prevent it.
He could find The Duke’s Book another time. But at the moment, it was as useless as the medical knowledge it contained.
A moment later, he tapped on Rosalyn’s door. When her maid opened it, he realized he hadn’t thought what he would say. But he wasn’t given time. The maid looked as though she had been crying. “Your Grace, thank the Lord you are here. I cannot find her.”
“Miss Dashner? You mean, she isn’t in her room?”
The maid shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I left for a few minutes to bring the tea tray down to the kitchen, and when I came back, she was gone.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“An hour at least, Your Grace.”
Dominick clutched the door’s casement. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
The maid shrank back at his harsh tone. “I-I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Dominick wasted no more time. He all but ran down the stairs and into the common room. A few questions told him no one had seen Miss Dashner in the inn. In the stable, no one had seen her either, but a quick check showed that one of the horses was missing, as was some tack.
She’d left. She’d taken the horse and left.
And since she didn’t know about her brother, there was only one place she would go. The image of her battered and broken body lying on the rocky ground beneath The Temples flashed in his mind.
“No!” he yelled and began to shout orders.
ROSALYN DESCENDED THE narrow, stone steps leading into the castle keep, then spent some time at the base working to wedge the door open. If she’d had to guess, she would have estimated it had been at least a century since the steps had last been used and the door was stuck closed. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked. And when, with bruised shoulders, she finally opened it, she stepped into a small, dark corridor. The door was at the end of a short, bare hallway with a wooden floor. Closing the door behind her, she made her way along the hallway and encountered another set of stairs. These were wider and cleaner, and she descended them, electing to explore the first landing she reached rather than continue into the bowels of the keep.
The landing led to a small antechamber, which was ornamented with rugs, dark wooden furnishings, and tapestries. No fire burned in the hearth, and with her wet clothing, she shivered in the chill. But she could feel a warmth emanating from the door at the other end of the chamber. A light shone through the sliver of an opening, and she could hear the crackle of logs in a hearth. She tiptoed to that door and peered inside.
A figure sat near the fire, small and clad in black. The woman—Rosalyn surmised it must be a woman—was bent over with concentration. It was a posture she knew well from watching her own mother sewing by firelight. As though sensing she was being observed, the woman turned. “You should have stayed away,” she said.
DOMINICK FOUND THE horse Rosalyn had ridden some little ways from The Temples and tethered his own beside it. The rain made the rocks on the path slick, but he ran at full speed, his eyes scanning the stone walls of the structure for any sign of Rosalyn. When he didn’t see her on his approach, he ran around to the back, slowing to take more care on the narrower path. But he did not see her. Holding his breath, he looked over the cliffs to the ocean below. In the darkness and rain, it was impossible to discern anything about the shapes below. They might be bodies or boulders. If she’d attempted to climb the building and had fallen, she was certainly dead.
His heart clenched as he considered that possibility. He didn’t care about the damn Duke’s Book any longer. He wanted only to see Rosalyn smile at him again. He wanted only to know she was alive and well.
Dominick ran to The Temples’s entryway and hammered the knocker on the door. After five minutes, his arm ached, but he wouldn’t give up. If he had to break the door down, he would gain entry. He had to believe she had made it inside. Finally, Mrs. Wright opened the door. She looked white-faced and wide-eyed. “Your Grace, may I help you?”
“I’m looking for the woman who accompanied me on my first visit. Have you seen her?”
The housekeeper’s eyes lowered. “You will have to return later, Your
Grace. There’s been a disturbance.” She began to close the door, but Dominick wedged his shoulder against it.
“I’ll not come back later. If she is here, I demand to see her.”
“No one is to be admitted,” she said, as though repeating a refrain. Dominick had heard enough. He took the older woman by the shoulders and gently moved her aside before shouldering his way in.
“Where is she?” he asked. “Tell me.”
Mrs. Wright looked up.
Dominick took the steps two at a time.
“I SUPPOSE IT WAS TOO much to hope that I would get away with it,” the woman said, setting her sewing aside and rising. She was perhaps sixty, slim, with gray hair and a straight spine. She was only a few inches taller than Rosalyn, but her rigid posture made her seem taller. “I do wish you would have listened to Payne and gone away.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosalyn whispered. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I need to see the earl.”
The woman sighed. “You cannot. He’s dead.”
Rosalyn took a step back. The woman’s words rang in her ears like a warning. I suppose it was too much to hope that I would get away with it. Had she killed the earl?
“Now you know my secret,” the woman whispered.
Rosalyn shook her head. “I don’t know anything. I can leave now. No one has to know I was here.”
“I wish that were true,” the woman said sadly, “but you will tell someone. I don’t know how I kept it a secret this long.”
“I won’t tell your secret.” Rosalyn began to back into the cold, dark antechamber. “No one need ever know I was here, Mrs.—”
The woman raised her steel-gray brows. “I am Lady Verney, and you have no need to be afraid. I didn’t kill him.”
Rosalyn let out a long sigh. Thank God. This was the earl’s wife, and she hadn’t murdered her husband. But then, why did she keep his death a secret?
