The Dangerous Lord Darrington(10)

'Does she want to cry off?'

'No-that is-I cannot say. I do not believe she is in love with him. The  story goes that Radworth brought news of the brother's death to the  family, fell in love with the widow and had been courting her ever  since. I don't think the old lady is too enamoured of him, though.' A  smiled tugged at his mouth. 'It should prove a stormy marriage-I saw the  way she ripped up at Radworth when he threatened to go down to the  cellars himself! I had the impression she might actually call upon the  servants to restrain him, if he had persisted.'

'It's the red hair,' muttered Davey. 'It might look glorious, but she'll make the very devil of a wife.'

They fell silent and Guy realised that Davey was looking rather pale. He stood up.

'Thankfully, the problems of the Priory are nothing to do with us and I  for one cannot wait to leave them behind! With good fortune, by this  time tomorrow we shall be back at Highridge. Now sleep well, my friend. I  shall call on you again in the morning.'

Guy made his way to his room where he was pleased to see the fire had  been built up and a small basket of logs placed on the hearth beside it.  Peters had unpacked his nightgown and it was draped across the bed, a  pale, ghostly spectre in the shadows. A gusty wind was blowing, stirring  the curtains that covered the ill-fitting leaded window and causing the  occasional puff of smoke to blow into the room. Guy regarded the old  stone hearth with disfavour and thought longingly of his own house,  refashioned in the past ten years to provide such modern conveniences as  small, iron fireplaces that threw out more heat and kept the smoke  going up the chimney. Even Davey's hunting lodge seemed luxurious in  comparison to the Priory!

Guy was not used to keeping such early hours and as he put his coat  over the back of a chair and kicked off his shoes he knew that sleep  would elude him for some time yet. He picked a book at random from the  mantelpiece and threw himself into the chair beside the fire, adjusting  the candles to give him as much light as possible on the page. It was  one of the volumes of Tristram Shandy and Guy was happy to amuse himself  for an hour. He heard the board creak outside his room as someone  padded along the passage. It was not the brisk step of a servant going  about his business, but rather a slow, creeping tread. If they were  trying not to disturb him, then their efforts were wasted, he thought  sourly as another cloud of smoke belched from the chimney. He gave a wry  smile. Perhaps Mrs Forrester was correct; he was grown too puffed up in  his own conceit. He had stayed in much more uncomfortable houses in the  past and never thought to complain. He stirred up the fire and threw a  couple of small logs on to the flames, making up his mind that he would  read until these had burned down, then go to bed.                       
       
           



       

The wind died down and the house grew quiet. The silence of the room  settled around Guy and the slow tick, tick of the clock lulled him until  he began to doze over his open book. He jerked himself awake. This  would not do, he thought, stretching. He should go to bed.

At that moment he heard a cry. It was like a shout in the distance. It  was not loud, and he thought that if he had been asleep it would not  have roused him, but now he froze, his ears straining to catch the least  noise. He heard the soft thud of a door closing, a murmur-it could have  been the wind, or low voices, he could not be sure-then the definite  sound of feet hurrying past.

Guy hesitated. Perhaps Lady Arabella had been taken ill, or one of the  servants. It was none of his business, after all, and they would not  thank him for his interference. But perhaps it was Davey-he hoped Peters  would wake him if that was the case, but Guy could not be sure.  Snatching up his bedroom candle, he opened the door and stepped out.

The passage was empty and silent. Moonlight filtered in through the  mullioned windows at each end of the corridor, creating grey patterns on  the floor. To his left the passage led to Davey's room and the stairs  down to the great hall, to his right it continued the length of the old  building, then turned and provided access to the rest of the house. Guy  walked towards Davey's room. There was no bead of light from beneath the  door, no sound save the sighing of the wind outside. As Guy stood,  indecisive, a sudden cold draught hit his back. He might have put it  down to imagination if his candle had not blown out. He turned. The cold  had passed, as if a door somewhere in the house had been opened  briefly.

Guy put down the candlestick. There was sufficient moonlight pouring in  through the windows to light his way. He padded along the corridor in  his stockinged feet, the only noise he made came from a creaking board.  When he reached the end wall he hesitated. Mrs Forrester had led him  this way to her own room, so he knew the passage led away into the Tudor  wing of the house with the family's apartments. He had no business  here, but he was curious to know who might be about in the house in the  middle of the night. Treading carefully, he made his way through moonlit  passageways, past a series of doors in the polished-oak panelling until  he rounded a corner and saw the dark rails of a narrow staircase before  him. That would lead up to the servants' quarters and down to the  kitchens. His ears caught the soft sound of a footstep and at the same  time a faint glow appeared in the stairwell as someone began to ascend  from the basement. Quickly Guy drew back out of sight. It was most  likely a servant, who could continue up the staircase to the bedchambers  above. He strained to listen, heard the lightest footfall, the slight  creak of a board, barely had time to note the approaching glow before a  figure came around the corner and stopped with a small shriek of terror  to find him blocking the way. Guy had the advantage of knowing someone  was approaching, but he was surprised to find himself gazing into the  terrified face of Beth Forrester.

'Do not be afraid.' Guy reached out and took the lamp from her shaking  hand, holding it up so that she might recognise him. 'I heard noises and  thought I might be of assistance.'

She was shaking so much that he put out his free hand and caught her  arm, feeling her trembling beneath the thin sleeve. She had changed her  silk evening gown for a more serviceable closed robe in some dark  colour. Her hair, free of lace and feathers, hung in a thick braid over  one shoulder, gleaming in the lamplight like a trail of fire.

'I suppose I am allowed to wander where I will in my own house!' she retorted in a fierce whisper, pulling her arm free.

'Could you not ring for a servant?'

She was regaining control. Guy noted that her large, dark eyes were no  longer dilated with terror, although her look was still guarded.

'It is not my habit to rouse my maid from her bed when I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the kitchen.'

She's hiding something, thought Guy. Was there a man, perhaps? An  assignation with someone other than her fiancé? He thought not. He hoped  not. She had roused his admiration with the calm way she had dealt with  Davey's injury and, despite her coolness towards himself, Guy had  thought her honest and honourable.

But he had been wrong about a woman before and it had cost him dear. He  allowed his eyes to travel over her again. Would a woman go to meet her  lover wearing such a homely gown? True, the soft wool clung to her  figure, accentuating her tiny waist and the soft swell of her breasts,  but its long sleeves and high neck looked almost Quakerish. What he had  first thought was a pattern around her skirts at a second glance was  seen to be dust. He frowned.                       
       
           



       

'Where have you been, Mrs Forrester?'

'That,' she said haughtily, 'is none of your business. Now, if you will  please give me the lamp, I will show you back to your room.'

'Surely I should be escorting you.'

Her eyes flashed scornfully, but she said sweetly, 'But I wish to  assure myself that you find your way safely back to your room, my lord.'

'Are you afraid I might discover your horrid secret?'

Her eyes flew to his face and he was startled to see the stark terror in their depths again. He stepped closer.

'My dear Mrs Forrester, pray do not look so alarmed. I was jesting.'

He noted the pale cheeks, the way the tip of her tongue ran nervously  across her full bottom lip. Only a few inches separated them. He had to  steel himself not to reach out and pull her to him. Her eyes were locked  on his. They were cocooned in the lamplight and for a long moment  neither spoke. Guy did not even breathe.



Oh, heavens, what is happening to me? The thought screamed in Beth's  head while her eyes remained fixed on the earl. His blue-grey eyes, hard  as granite, held her transfixed. Even in his stockinged feet he towered  over her, like a bird of prey hovering over its victim. Yet she was not  frightened. Instead she felt an irrational desire to close the gap  between them, to cling to the earl and allow him to take the cares of  the world from her shoulders.