She’d never wanted anything more. A future with him, free of the curse. Claire pushed herself up from the ground, gathering up her clothing. She forewent her stays, for she did not know how to lace them up on her own. Flinging the chemise and dress over her head, she slipped her shoes back on.
“Claire?” Teddy stood too, hopping on one foot as he tugged on his breeches. The sight would have been comical, if it wasn’t a dagger through her heart—she’d never again have this moment with him, in all his gangly silliness. “Is something wrong, love?”
“Don’t call me that.” Defeat lanced through her tone, as reality came crashing back to her. “I can’t be your love. You know why.”
“The curse.” He stopped mid-clasping of his breeches, staring at her in open-mouthed shock. “You still believe in that? After what we’ve done?”
“I just wanted one night,” she whispered. “One night with you.”
“So what do you expect to happen now? You’re just going to leave me?” He grabbed for her, but she jumped back, slipping from his grip. “Please don’t do this. I love you, and I know you love me too. We’re better together, don’t you see?”
“I do love you.” The words were out before she could stop them, for so long had that confession burned in her soul. “It’s because I love you that I won’t burden you with my madness. You deserve the world, Teddy, and I can’t give you that.”
“I don’t want the world,” he said. “I just want you.”
He reached for her again, but she was already gone, running through the maze.
Chapter 7
The next evening, Teddy played cards with St. Giles, Lancaster, Beck, and some of the other guests. But even whist, with its predictable rhythms and sensible rules could not soothe his disquieted mind. He’d played with a small amount of success, but nothing close to his usual acumen. How could he, when his mind was far more occupied with memories of Claire than the cards? And then that Priske girl, Lady Cassandra, had claimed she’d seen a ghost. A man dressed in black, like what Teddy had seen two nights before. He hadn’t told Lady Cassandra that, of course. For all he knew, the man in black she claimed to see was an entirely different spirit—and Teddy was still not convinced he’d seen something real. Fatigued eyes were easily deceived, and he’d been damnably tired that night.
But he was certain of one thing: Claire wasn’t mad. Not in the way Viscount Blackwater, or anyone else for that matter, thought. Teddy had gone after St. Giles when he’d moved to follow the startled Lady Cassandra from the room, knowing that Cassandra’s father already disapproved of St. Giles. Taking off after the girl half-cocked in a very public manner wouldn’t garner any regard for him in Widcombe’s eyes.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t chase after the girl right now,” he said to St. Giles.
St. Giles ignored his advice. “You both can keep your own council on the matter.”
Blackwater, meanwhile, shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Madness does run in the family, Jack—”
Bloody hell, this again? Ever since Claire had been dubbed the “Mad Daughter” by one of Almack’s patronesses, everyone had viewed her differently. As if it she had anything to do with her mother’s madness. He couldn’t stand by and listen to Blackwater disparage Claire—even if the man thought he was doing it to save Teddy grief.
He faced Blackwater, fists clenched. “That’s nothing but a ridiculous tale. The madness isn’t hereditary. Lady Claire is quite sane.”
“We both know it is,” Blackwater countered. “Both her mother and her aunt suffered from it. Who’s to say Lady Cassandra...”
Concerned or not, Blackwater was out of line. Teddy’s eyes narrowed, and his balled-up fists ached to strike the man, when he’d never hit another in his life. “Now see here—”
“Lady Cassandra is related to the late earl, not his wife.” Jack interrupted. “There’s no madness in her family.”
St. Giles stormed off. Blackwater disappeared too, depriving Teddy of what he could only hope would have been a very eloquent soliloquy on the roguery of besmirching a lady’s good name.
Except Teddy had done far worse than sully Claire’s good name. He’d ruined her.
He, who had always promised to stand by her, had done exactly the opposite. He did not understand society’s fascination with the virginal states of women—it was a double standard he found distinctly illogical, for men were allowed to cavort with as many women as they wanted, whenever they wanted. His thoughts on the matter aside, however, he comprehended fully now the fatal blow that would be dealt to Claire’s reputation if this was discovered.
He needed to make this right with her—but to do so he needed to be able to speak with her. He hadn’t seen Claire since she’d run from him in the maze. He’d tried to find her earlier, but instead he’d run into Kinney. She’d informed him in no uncertain terms that her mistress would not see him.
It was the first time Kinney had ever viewed him with disapproval, and it stung almost as much as Claire’s refusal to speak with him. Almost.
When the rest of the group decided to reconvene in the music room, Teddy declined. He could no longer tolerate being surrounded by people, yet feeling alone, because for the first time in his life the one person who mattered to him wasn’t there. Even when he’d studied in London and she’d been back in the country, they’d sent so many letters it had seemed like she was nearby. And now…he didn’t have a clue how to proceed.
For hours, well into the evening, he roamed the castle aimlessly. The closer he got to the castle turrets, the fewer people he ran into; even the servants were scarce. He finally ended up in a small library, far away from the guests’ quarters. While the room itself was suitably clean, the furniture was antiquated and shabby in comparison to the rest of the castle. But it was peaceful and secluded, which was just what he wanted, so he cared not for the shape of the room. He moved a pile of papers off a tattered armchair, briefly investigated the structural integrity of the chair to ensure it would hold his weight, and then flopped down in it.
The chair was so comfortable, and the room so quiet, that within minutes he had drifted off to sleep.
Teddy awoke with a start. For a second, he couldn’t place his surroundings, the haze of sleep still clinging to his sluggish mind. His heart beat inexplicably fast, as though he’d been running a race in his slumber. He blinked, running his hands down his breeches, unable to ascertain what had woken him so abruptly. Frowning, he adjusted in the chair and closed his eyes. Sleep was just beyond his grasp, waiting for him—
A bone-chilling shriek sliced through the quiet of the little library. All thoughts of going back to sleep quickly dissipated as a second, equally disturbing, scream followed the first one. He’d bet the entire coffers of Ashbrooke Manor that the phantom wail came from a woman, but he wasn’t close enough to the origin of the sound to tell who it was.
Claire!
Teddy bolted up from the chair. He didn’t know if Claire was all right. What if she’d been wandering the castle, trying to gather her thoughts like he’d been, and she’d been injured? What if that man—he steadfastly refused to call the vision a ghost—had hurt her? He’d crossed the room before he even realized he’d begun moving, so quickly did his limbs out-pace his thoughts. If last night he’d been a carnal stallion, tonight he was a primal bear, instinctively seeking to protect her.
He sprinted out of the room, down the hall, toward the sound. It was eerily silent now; the only noise the pounding of his footsteps and the pant of his breath as he ran. He hadn’t imagined the scream, had he? Once was a possibility, but not twice.
Then a door opened. Teddy came to a sudden halt, almost slipping on the plush ornamental rung beneath his Hessians. For there, framed in the glow of the candle she held up high in her hand, was Claire—his beautiful, unharmed Claire. Relief flooded through him. He took two steps toward her before he remembered this was no longer the proper response to the abatement of his concerns.
She frowned at him. “My room is here. What are you doing here? Your quarters are across the castle.”
Well, at least she was talking to him, even if she didn’t look pleased. He’d take any progress he could get. “Why aren’t you and Kinney with the rest of the party?”
That was the wrong question to ask, for now that frown deepened into a scowl. She held the door, keeping it partially open, so that he could only view her through a tiny slit. “Perhaps the Hamblys didn’t want the taint of madness on them, so they put us out here where no one would be near us. Papa didn’t argue with the servants. He was glad for the quiet.” Since the death of his wife, Lord Brauning had become almost a recluse, only venturing out when convention absolutely dictated it.
“Claire, you are not tainted—” Never mind that he’d ruined her. He couldn’t let her think she wasn’t worthy of love, or somehow broken.
She interrupted him, holding up a hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“No one is going to see me.” That should cause him more concern. The last time they’d been alone together had caused this mess. But he was just so damnably happy she was fine.
“You don’t understand.” Her hand tightened on the doorframe. “My mind…it’s not right. I’m hearing things. Bad things. You need to go.”
She went to close the door, but he grabbed hold of it, covering her hands with his own. “Bad things like a woman screaming?”
She blinked up at him, confusion flitting across her pale face. “How did you know?”
“Because I heard it, too.”
Relief splashed across her face, her shoulders sagging with tension released. “Kinney didn’t feel well at dinner, so I advised her to take a small draught of Battley's Sedative Solution. When she didn’t wake up during the first scream, I thought…”
“You thought you were hearing things.” He would do anything—anything—to make it so she no longer had to doubt her own mind. Yet the only thing he could think to do, the only thing he knew how to do, was tell her the truth. “But you weren’t. The laudanum must have made Kinney sleep heavier. I was trying to find you, to make sure you were safe.”
She smiled, her grip relaxing on the door. “That’s sweet.”
But that moment of ease was gone too soon, for just as Claire started to open the door further to him, another bloodcurdling scream tore through the silence, shredding the last bits of peace left between them.
Claire’s face went ashen. “You heard that too, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
She breathed a single, small, double-edged sigh, half comfort from his acknowledgment, half concern for the unknown woman. “It sounded like—like she was tortured.”
Or being tortured.
He did not make that clarification for Claire. Instead, he released the door and turned on his heel so that he faced the stairwell at the end of the hall. “I think it came from there. Wait here and I’ll check it out.”
“I think not.” Claire stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Absolutely not.” He frowned at her, motioning for her to go back inside. “Just let me look into it.”
“Teddy, a woman is most likely hurt. I’m not staying behind when she needs my help.” She pursed her lips for a second, as if lost in thought, then darted inside. She came back with a fire iron in hand, and turned the lock on the door. “There. Now Kinney will be safe, and we have a weapon. Let’s go.”
“This really isn’t necessary—” he began, stopping when she glared at him. The fire iron was a decent addition, and given the current state of things between them, he didn’t want to pick a fight with her. Besides, if he was with her, he could make sure that she was safe.
Or so he tried to tell himself as she refused to hand him the fire iron, shooing him forward. He grabbed the lantern hanging in the hall. Hadn’t he read something in one of his many books about men who finally had sex being more courageous and valiant?
He set off down the hall, hoping his new roguish persona came with super fighting skills too.
Claire waited as Teddy unlatched the door to the stairwell, entering after him. He held the lantern up high, casting a small golden circle across the pitch-black castle stairs. Teddy took the steps two at a time, and she followed him as quickly as she could in her day gown, saying a small prayer of thanks that she hadn’t changed into her nightclothes. There’d seemed no point, when she knew she wasn’t going to sleep.
No rest for the wicked.
Mama had used to say that, and then she’d laugh that shrill, shaky laugh of hers, the one that always made her sound like she was on the edge of something terrible. Claire had been wicked in the folly with Teddy, and now she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too disordered—her thoughts too dark, so full of demons that she’d been certain the screaming woman was just another sign of impending madness.
But Teddy had heard her too, and Teddy didn’t believe in the supernatural. So the woman was as flesh and blood as Claire was, and maybe as broken inside. Her unearthly shrieks echoed in Claire’s ears, though the only sound was the pounding of their feet against the steps. They reached the first landing, but there was no door. Only the solid grayness of the castle fortifications, and another flight of stairs.
Teddy shone the lantern on the stone, tipping his head to the side. She’d expected dirt and dankness, even the over-present pall of black mold, so common in the vacant sections of these old buildings. Yet there were no cobwebs. No grime on the wooden steps. In fact, this stairwell was better tended than the rest of the wing she and Kinney stayed in. Why would an out-of-the-way staircase receive such special treatment?
“Someone’s been here recently.” The sick slosh of her stomach that had started with the first wail now became an iron fist, twisting her gut. Something wasn’t right.
Teddy nodded. “Often, I’d guess.”
She paused on the landing, grimacing. “Nowhere to go but up.”
“Do you want to turn back?”
She couldn’t, not when the cries still split her skull. “No.” She took off toward the second flight, running faster now, unable to shake the sense that they were close. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, intermingling with the horrifying litany of that poor woman’s agony. What could have happened to her? Claire wouldn’t allow herself to think about what they’d see when they finally found the woman.
The staircase dead-ended into a hall with several strategically placed sconces. The wicks on each candle were still lit, indicating someone had been around recently. But why? She’d thought this wing of the castle was rarely visited.
The knot in her stomach tightened even more. The remoteness would make this a perfect place to conceal nefarious deeds. She had to find the woman, before it was too late.
While Teddy hesitated at the top of the stairs, shining his lantern down the hall, Claire surged forward, her grip tight on the fire iron. If someone was going to come for the woman again, by God, she was going to be ready.
Teddy stepped off the landing. Another wail, quieter this time, sounded. She bit her lip, turning back to him; needing that reassurance again that he’d heard it.
He nodded, pointing toward the end of the hall. “She’s in the turret, I think. If my memory of the maps I read before coming here is right, then if we go down this hall, and then turn right, then left, this corridor should take us right to her…”
He trailed off, putting his fingers to his lips when she opened her mouth to retort that of course he had read maps before coming. She stayed completely still, not even daring to breathe, as she too listened.
And then she heard it. Footsteps, coming from the stairwell.
“What if someone’s coming for her?” She whispered. “We’ve got to get to her.”
They crept down the hall. But the intruder followed them—his heavy, pounding footsteps echoed from the area they’d just left.
He moved at a swift pace, almost a clip, with a pause between that indicated a long stride, like that a man would have. A man who had no fear of others knowing where he’d been…or who he’d hurt…
They reached the end of the corridor at the same time the man entered the hall. He was tall and thin, with black hair streaked with gray. In the light from the lanterns, he appeared eerily menacing. His beady black eyes focused in on them, and a chill raced down Claire’s spine.
“Get out of there!” the man shouted, sprinting after them. “You can’t be here!”
Claire didn’t need any more convincing that the man meant harm. She grabbed for Teddy’s hand, and they took off down the corridor at a breakneck pace. Teddy led them right, then left, the turns fading into each other; she moved so fast and with so little awareness of her surroundings. The intruder kept after them, one step behind, his snarls making her already upset stomach tangle into a hundred knots.
A door appeared at the end of the hall. “That’s her. It’s got to be,” Teddy said, tugging her toward it.
The belligerent blackguard was right behind them as Teddy grasped the doorknob, turning it.
The door was unlocked. She didn’t stop to question that—when Teddy pulled open the door, she came right after him. He slammed it shut behind them, locking it. For the first time since they’d heard the woman screaming, Claire breathed freely again. Because for now—if only for a second—they were safe. She cast a sweeping glance from one end of the room to the other, taking in the surroundings.
They’d ended up in a brightly lit room with a cheery fire. Even now, several hours past midnight, the fire burned bright, giving the room a toasty, warm feel. The hearth was bare of mementos, stark in its emptiness as the white wallpapered walls. Two armchairs sat close to the fire, and a wooden table with the remains of a meal was to the right of the door. To the left of the door was a bed with a snowy white comforter and plush pillows.
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