Panic raced through Lizzie. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Don’t you dare do anything without consulting me first. I am not opposed to trying to get over this fear, but you will not surprise me, Michael! I will not have you putting spiders in my bed or—or wherever you might think to put them. Now you will tell me what you’re planning...or else!”
Michael’s lips twitched spastically as he tried to keep from laughing. Blast him, but this was serious! She was sure he didn’t understand the extent of her fear. Irrational or not, it was paralyzing. Now he planned to surprise her—trick her into not being afraid of them anymore. And he had the audacity to stand there and laugh at her!
Fury mounted into rage until Lizzie thought she might burst. “Tell me what you’re doing!” she screamed, knowing the sound must be piercing to his ears. It was piercing to her own.
Eleven
Much to Lizzie’s surprise, Michael remained calm and was still trying to suppress his laughter when he announced, “I’m ringing for our dinner.”
“Oh.” Beth looked rather embarrassed. As she should. His wife certainly had trouble controlling her temper. “Are we eating in here, then?”
“No,” he began, and then seeing her eyes widen in terror, added, “I thought we would eat in the garden. It's a lovely night and we should take advantage of the fair weather before it turns cold. Winters in the Highlands are bitter, you know.”
“Well, then, I should fetch my shawl.”
Michael put up a staying hand. “We can ring for Bonnie. You just stay here and calm yourself.”
Beth's sharp intake of breath reached his ears, and he knew he'd made a mistake. The woman didn't take kindly to being ordered about.
“I am calm, you blackguard! And there is no reason to disturb Bonnie right now when I can just as easily climb those stairs myself.”
“She did a rather fine job, by the way,” Michael said, changing the subject. “I daresay, you've never looked so well turned out.”
Just when Beth's nostrils began to flare, Mr. Kerr arrived at the door to take Michael's orders for dinner.
“We'll have it ready in a jiffy, milaird,” he promised and retreated back to the kitchen.
Michael sauntered across the room and poured himself a drink before joining his wife on the sofa. He stared at her, wishing he could read her thoughts. Maybe then he'd be able to say the right thing once in a while, rather than stoking her outrageous temper. She did look beautiful tonight, though. Bonnie truly had done an outstanding job and it had been ages since he'd seen Beth in an unwrinkled gown.
Guilt began to niggle at the back of his mind. Had he done the right thing? Was it fair to have brought her all the way here, away from London's fineries and her family? Goodness, but she was unhappy. Her mouth was in a constant frown, and when she did smile, it never quite reached her pale blue eyes.
And now the infestation. Good Lord, this place needed work, and lots of it. Now that they'd completed their staff, the work could begin, but who knew how long it would be before they'd be able to eat in their dining room again?
This cold, massive cavern was not at all fit for a lady like Elizabeth, but what other choice was there? They would simply have to make the most of it.
“I'm sorry about the spiders, Beth,” he ventured, keeping his voice calm for her sake. “I'll set the staff to that room first, before they get out of hand.”
“It's not your fault,” she replied, thankfully matching his tone. “Thank you for, um, rescuing me before.”
“What are husbands for, if not to protect their wives from the less savory characters in this world?”
As he said the words, he realized they held more meaning than he'd originally intended. This was not the first time he'd rescued Beth from an unfavorable situation. In London, while still engaged to his brother, she'd fallen prey to a flatterer. A no-good dandy out to conquer her, merely to refill his family's coffers. Michael had caught on to his game, heard enough rumors about his determination to win her over, and began following his every move, which oftentimes led him right to Elizabeth. In no uncertain terms, he informed her that he knew what was going on, and if she wanted to maintain her extremely advantageous betrothal to Andrew, she would cease her relations with Edgmond.
He did it more for her own good than Andrew's, though. Andrew hadn't cared much for his fiancée. He was too busy following his heart to Beth's cousin's door. Though in the end, Michael had to admit that his motives had been rather selfish. He had lost Elizabeth to his brother, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring for her. What happened to her mattered to him, and it always would.
Even now, in spite of her surliness since their marriage, and her volatile temper, he cared. It mattered greatly to him that she was unhappy. It ate away at his insides that he was the cause of her unhappiness.
“Goodness, I've hardly been outside since we arrived,” Elizabeth mused, bringing Michael from his thoughts.
“Neither have I, other than to feed the horses. The fresh air should do us some good.”
“Milaird, dinner is served on the terrace.”
Michael turned toward the sound of their butler's voice and nodded before offering his arm to Beth.
“I never did fetch my shawl,” she pointed out.
Wanting to avoid the topic of Bonnie, Michael gave her a nod and gestured toward the door. “I will wait here.”
***
Lizzie ran through the house to her chamber, her steps quickened by her sudden hunger. It was almost seven now and she hadn't eaten since luncheon. She wrapped her arms around herself, anticipating the cold spots in the corridor before she reached them. She'd stopped trying to guess at their origins and simply accepted that they would probably always be there. It was an old house, after all. There was no telling how many cracks were in the walls and windows.
She took another look at herself in the mirror when she reached her room. Blast it, but Bonnie truly had done well. It pained her to admit Michael had been right.
She quickly retrieved her shawl and retraced her steps back to the drawing room, but Michael was already waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She silently took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the terrace. Once they reached the terrace doors at the back of the house, Lizzie could clearly see the unkempt gardens. They looked as if they hadn't been touched in decades.
Everything that should have been green was brown, and what she assumed had once been colorful flowerbeds were now overgrown with weeds. But on the lower terrace sat a table with candles and roses and two dome-covered plates of food. Daylight was almost gone, but torches had been lit at either end of the terrace, cutting through the ever-thickening darkness. The air was crisp and refreshing, but still, Lizzie pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.
“It's so lovely,” she remarked before she could stop herself.
Michael turned to her, his expression surprised, but still guarded somehow. “You think so? I rather think the gardens are in desperate need of a green thumb.”
Lizzie shook her head, keeping her eyes on the romantic setting before them. “Not the gardens, our table. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr are gifted in creating atmosphere, it would seem.”
“Well, they've had years to plot, haven't they?”
Michael gave her a lopsided grin and Lizzie's heart skipped a beat. Her pulse raced, much as it had in the presence of the spiders. She felt just as endangered with Michael as she did with the vile insects. And just as paralyzed. If he hadn't prodded her forward, she was sure her feet would not have moved on their own.
They sat and ate, neither of them eager to ruin the beautiful evening by attempting conversation. It seemed difficult to keep an even temper with her husband, and she loathed herself for that. In London, when she'd thought he was Andrew, things had been so easy. Conversation had always flowed freely; silence had always been comfortable, companionable. But now...
Oh, it was foolish of her to hold on to this grudge, wasn't it? Why couldn't she just accept her fate, as
she accepted the cold spots in the corridor, and move on? It wasn't serving her to act this way, she knew that. She had set out to hurt Michael, to make him pay for his transgressions, but the more she held on to her anger, the more she realized that he was not the only one she was hurting. Long gone was the happy, carefree girl she'd been in London. In her place was a bitter, angry woman, whose heart ached for...
For what? She'd been raised to be a wife to a member of society and nothing else. Her dreams had never truly been her own, and certainly her decisions hadn't been either. She never really had a choice in the subject of marriage, and she'd never wanted one. What else would she have done if not marry? And did it really matter that she'd married Michael instead of Andrew? Looks-wise, they were one in the same, and in the personality department, she had to admit, begrudgingly, that she'd probably ended up with the better half. Michael was open and honest and good-natured, while Andrew had a tendency to brood, to sometimes close himself off, except to those he really trusted, like her cousin, Chloe.
She sighed loudly, and Michael turned to look at her. “What is it?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely interested in what she was thinking.
Lizzie blushed. “Oh, nothing, really. It's just nice to be outside, don't you think?”
“Very nice, indeed.”
Lizzie looked away then to study the back of the house. At the far east end, candles flickered in windows. The servants’ quarters. More than likely, they were all getting settled into their new rooms, preparing for days—or even years—of hard work ahead of them.
Her gaze trailed to the middle of the house, three stories up, to their own suite of windows. Candles burned there as well. And then she shifted lastly to the west wing. Moss grew rampantly up the walls, encasing the blackened windows. Not a single light shone. It was eerie, and Lizzie shivered as a cold breeze whistled through the trees.
She was about to turn back to her almost-finished meal, when something caught her eye. It wasn't a candle, but it was light of some sort. A white glow, rather than orange, far too white to be candlelight. It wavered slightly in the window and then disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
“Did you see that?” she asked, realizing her voice was near a whisper. She couldn't take her eyes from the window.
Michael followed her gaze. “See what?”
“I-I don't know, I just saw...something.”
“Something?” Michael sounded skeptical. “As in an object?”
“I said I don't know. But it's not there anymore.”
“Then perhaps it was a someone?”
“But it wasn't—Oh, I don't know.” She shook her head back and forth, tearing her eyes from the window, and stabbed the roasted beef with the prongs of her fork. “It was probably just my imagination at work.”
“Probably,” Michael agreed, much to her chagrin. Of course he wouldn't believe her. “Still, I'll have a walk through the west wing after dinner just to be certain.”
Lizzie looked up, shocked by his words. He was going to walk through the west wing? Alone? Something about that made her uneasy. She looked back and forth between him and the mysterious window several times before speaking.
“Perhaps you should wait until tomorrow, when it's light out.”
“But by then the someone or something might be gone. If someone is trespassing, I wish to catch them in the act.”
“But that's foolish!” Lizzie's heart was racing now. She really didn't want him to walk through that wing alone. “What if they're dangerous?”
“Then I certainly don't want them traipsing about my house in the middle of the night. Why on earth are you getting so upset about this? You said yourself it was probably just your imagination.”
“It was,” she said definitively, hoping to change his mind. “Nothing more, I promise. I never should have said anything. It was silly of me. Really, you don't have to waste your time going to the west wing tonight alone.”
“Fine.” Michael threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table. He stood and held out his hand, waiting for Lizzie to take it. She looked at his face, then his hand, then his face again.
“What?” she asked warily.
“I won't go to the west wing tonight.”
Lizzie let out her breath on a relieved sigh. “Excellent. Shall we retire to the drawing room?”
“I don't think so,” Michael said, a resigned grin falling into place. “I'm tired all of a sudden. I think I shall retire to my bedchamber.”
“Your bedchamber?” Lizzie eyed him carefully, trying to read his expression. Blast, but he'd perfected the gambler's mask quite well. Still, she didn't believe for one second that he was telling the truth. He was going to go to the west wing tonight. Alone.
Lizzie tried to swallow over the lump in her throat as she held on to the tiny ray of hope that perhaps he wasn't lying. Were those dark circles under his eyes? Maybe he really was tired. When she said nothing, he flicked his wrist, urging her to take his hand.
“Come, my dear, and I shall escort you to your own chamber.”
Twelve
Michael grinned secretly to himself as he escorted his wife back to their chambers. He couldn't believe she'd fallen for his lie. Of course he wasn't going to retire! What did she take him for? A dullard? An old man? Hah!
Not that he believed there was truly anyone lurking in the west wing, but he was bored out of his mind. He wasn't used to quiet country life and it was slowly eating away at him. He rather hoped there actually was someone lurking about tonight. It would at least provide a tiny bit of excitement.
“Well, here we are, my dear,” Michael said as they approached the door to Beth's side of the suite. “Rest well, Beth. Tomorrow will be a long day...and I daresay we'll have a long night as well.”
Beth shot daggers at him and he winked back good-naturedly. Truly, he couldn't wait for tomorrow evening when his wife would finally come to him and attempt a seduction. He tried to keep his features schooled in impassivity, but it was not easily done. His lips twitched slightly and Beth seemed to notice, though she said nothing about it.
“I did enjoy dinner, Michael,” she said, her voice calm. “Thank you.”
Michael reared back slightly. Thank you? When had his harridan turned back into such a polite lady?
“My pleasure,” he finally managed. “See you in the morning.”
Beth disappeared inside her room and Michael moved to his own door. He needed to keep up the pretense of going to bed himself for a few minutes at least, before embarking on his adventure.
He entered his chamber and smiled. A warm fire burned in the grate, and his bedclothes and brandy awaited him. It was good to have a staff again.
Michael made some noise, banging cabinet drawers, sighing loudly here and there and making an exaggerated show of yawning. He heard Beth doing much the same, until, after only a few minutes, her bed squeaked with her weight and she seemed to sigh into her pillows. Michael ignored what the thought of her in bed did to him, and crept to the panel that separated their rooms. He listened carefully for a moment before deciding that she was indeed in her bed, on her way to slumber.
Perfect!
With great care to avoid the squeakiest of floorboards, Michael went to the main door to his room and silently slipped into the hall. Avoiding the squeaky floorboards in the hallway was a little trickier. Damn, but this place was ancient!
When he was convinced he was out of hearing range, Michael picked up his pace and didn't stop until he reached the west wing.
***
Lizzie poked her head through the panel that connected hers and Michael's rooms.
Empty. Ha! She'd known it all along, the liar. The fool!
It wasn't her imagination playing tricks on her earlier, of that she was sure. Someone most certainly was lurking where they shouldn't be. Though Lizzie didn't relish the idea of seeking out that someone, she couldn't let Michael go alone. If something happened to him...
Well, she wouldn't think about th
at right now.
Since her husband was already gone, she didn't have to tiptoe from her room or down the hall, so she caught up to him rather quickly. She watched as he climbed the double-sided staircase to the long-abandoned wing of the manor. His steps were careful, measured, but not tentative. He clearly believed there was no danger in his search, or perhaps he was eager for it.
Once he was out of her sight, Lizzie followed behind, keeping to the shadows as she climbed the stairs behind her husband. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the temperature dropped even further and the darkness swallowed her. She hadn't brought a candle for obvious reasons, but neither had Michael. Goodness, they would kill themselves wandering around this place without any light to guide them. What was he thinking?
Michael continued on, his steps careful and quiet, like a jungle cat on the prowl, until he reached the first door on the long corridor. Lizzie held her breath as he turned the handle and pushed it open. She didn't dare breathe until he'd gone inside the room, and then she ran to the open doorway and stood just outside the threshold, peeking her head around to see inside.
Not that it mattered. It was black as pitch in this room. She listened as Michael moved around and then all of a sudden, there was a scraping sound as he drew back the curtains, allowing moonlight to flood the room. Lizzie jumped back, afraid of discovery in the light, and waited. A short time passed before Michael's footsteps began in the direction of the door, and Lizzie stepped back a few paces to make sure she remained hidden.
Michael continued to search each room, one by one, repeating the same pattern over and over. Lizzie maintained her routine as well until, while Michael searched one of the rooms at the end of the hall, she heard something in a room he'd already searched. The sound wasn't that out of the ordinary—it was something of a swishing sound, like gusts of air through a crack, or perhaps sloshing water. She couldn't be sure unless she went to have a look for herself.
With one last peek around the door to make sure Michael was sufficiently occupied, Lizzie darted down the hall toward the noise. She turned back to make certain she was still alone and then hesitated just outside the door before slipping into the room. She went first to her left, noting she was in some kind of antechamber. Only a few chairs and side tables made up the furnishings in the space. They were all old, practically crumbling. Clearly it had been years since anyone had visited this part of the house.
Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 7
