A Night of Secrets (10 page)

Because he hadn’t known for sure if Hanna was the Collette he sought. She had the right coloring, she had the same laugh as Emma. But…he didn’t know for sure. And he wouldn’t know until her ninth birthday when her true nature would surface. Could he wait that long? Two months? Damn, but he thought he’d know the moment he saw her.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

Grayson stood. “What is it?”

The door opened and Nelson stepped inside carrying a silver tray. “Tea, my lord.”

“I’m no lord, Nelson, as I’ve told you a stream of times.” Grayson clasped his hands behind his back and strolled to the windows. It was the perfect day, dark and gloomy. It was so rare when he could have the curtains thrown wide.

China clanked as Nelson readied the tea service. It didn’t matter that Grayson had not rung for tea, didn’t matter that he hated the bitter taste, nor did it matter that he’d rather be left alone. Nelson had a mind of his own.

“Is that all, my lord?”

“Considering I didn’t ask for the bloody tea in the first place, yes, that is all.”

He didn’t need to turn around to know that Nelson bowed before he left the room. Annoying man, but humans made the best servants. The man knew his place, and reveled in it. Unlike Grayson. No, he’d always wanted more. Wanted to be human. But he would never be more than a monster to this world. He’d realized that the day his parents were murdered. And then Emma…gone in the same way.

A breeze swept through the gardens, and a burst of red rose petals fluttered through the air like the splattering of blood. Grayson’s heart skipped a beat, his nostrils flaring as memories flashed through his mind. Pale faces lying on the ground, staring up at him with wide, blank stares, blood soaked clothing, missing limbs...

Misery.

The threadbare velvet curtains billowed with the morning air, tickling his face and forcing him back into the present. He stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest.
Merde,
would he ever forget? Would the memories ever leave him in peace? He lifted his hands, staring at his pale fingers. His mother had been proud of his hands, of the beautiful music they could produce. His parents had been proud of who they were. He had as well, until his parents had been murdered for being monsters.

Thorned branches scratched against the side of the house like swords being drawn from their sheaths. He’d gone into the army to forget their deaths. It hadn’t helped. His attention swept past the red roses, and focused on the yellow blossoms that wavered in the wind. Emma adored yellow roses. At ten years of age, he’d nearly broken his ankle climbing a trellis to get her the perfect bloom.

Did Collette love flowers as her mother had? So many questions about the child ran through his mind, tripping over each other in their haste to be answered. She would turn soon. If he didn’t find her before she turned, he didn’t want to think about what this human world would do to her.

Then there was Hanna. A sweet, strong child who could easily belong to Emma. Black hair, green eyes, the spitting image. He rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window.
Mon dieu
, he was confused. How badly he wanted to demand answers at that picnic yesterday. How hard it’d been to keep from staring at the child, trying to decipher every feature of her face, the way her hair curled, the way she smiled.

And with thoughts of Hanna, came thoughts of Meg James. Instinct declared her innocence and his instincts had never been wrong. But how could an innocent kiss like she had kissed him? His fingertips went to his lips, the memory of her mouth branded on his skin. Would her blood taste just as sweet?

He couldn’t deny he’d instantly been attracted to the woman; her rosy cheeks, her sparkling eyes, the very essence of vitality. So very different from the women he’d encountered. But after that kiss…hell, what had he been thinking? The moment he’d touched her, he knew he had to have her, to taste her. He would not allow his attraction to cloud his judgment. He sighed and raked his hands through his hair. He needed a drink, something much stronger than tea.

He started to turn when a shiver caressed his skin. A warning. Was it a spying neighbor? A lazy gardener reclining behind the blooms? He marched toward the doors leading out to the garden. With a force that matched his mood, he pushed the doors wide causing them to bang against the outer stone walls of the house. Wind rustled through the bushes, the leaves whispering words of warning. He had the sudden urge to kill someone.

He rounded a patch of pink roses and stilled. His body stiff, his mind centered, he waited. The intruder would show himself sooner or later. A soft rustle caught his attention. His nostrils flared, searching for a scent…innocence. Grayson narrowed his eyes on the patch of yellow roses.

“Blast it,” a soft, child-like voice snapped, stunning Grayson.

The rose bush shook and the soft cry resounded once again. Brows drawn together, Grayson started down the path, his boots crunching over gravel. A brown sparrow darted from the plants, while white butterflies hovered in the air. Apparently, they were not leery of an abandoned estate rumored to be haunted. Neither was the small intruder huddled under the rose bush. She moved her head and dark hair glinted.

Hanna?

He took a step back in surprise. He couldn’t have been more shocked if someone had given him a map to Emma’s murderer.

“Who in God’s name taught you to curse?” he asked.

She jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Meg,” she mumbled. “Although she doesn’t know and I would be much obliged if you didn’t tell her.”

He frowned. Rather odd for a Vicar’s daughter to curse. Was that what intrigued him so? A woman as sweet as any country lass, yet underneath full of surprises. He blinked, shattering thoughts of Meg when he should be focused on Hanna. “What, pray tell, are you bloody well doing in my garden?”

A branch lowered and two large, green eyes stared up at him. His heart clenched and for a moment he thought he stared at Emma.

“S—sorry, Sir,” Hanna whispered.

“Come out of there,” Grayson demanded, his voice sharper than he’d intended.

“I—I can’t. I’m stuck.”

“Stuck? Bloody...” Grayson sighed and knelt down. He reached for a branch and felt a sharp stab to his thumb. “
Merde
.”

The girl’s eyes widened even further. He hesitated. Did she recognize the word? He lowered his chin to his chest to hide the suspicion he knew lurked in his eyes.

As carefully as he could, he lifted his boot and crushed the rose bush to the ground, the branches snapping and popping in protest. With the child uncovered, he could see her sleeve and hair tangled in the thorns. Christ, he wasn’t delicate enough to assist. He glanced at the house, thinking to call his housekeeper.

“Sir, please, it hurts.” The vines pulled Hanna’s head to an odd angle and he didn’t miss the tears glimmering in her eyes.

“How in hell did you get into this mess?”

“It was Annabel’s fault.” The child sniffed.

“Annabel?”

“My friend. Well, use to be my friend.”

“I see.” Grayson removed a branch, as gently as he could, from the child’s sleeve. Freed, she brought her arm close, cradling the injured limb to her chest. His nostrils flared as the scent of blood pierced the air. Although he knew some who had no reservations drinking blood from a child, he found the scent unappealing, like unripe apples.

“You’re bleeding.” He took the handkerchief from his pocket and dangled it in front of her wide, green eyes.

“She dared me to come up here, she did.” She took the material and pressed it to the scratch on her arm. “Said there were ghosts.”

Grayson sighed. “Perhaps there are, but I doubt the kind you are looking for.” He untangled a branch from her hair.

“Ow!” She stood, rubbing her crown. “What do you mean?”

Grayson shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Well, you can tell your friend you were brave enough to approach Pease Manor.”

The child looked at the ground and kicked at a loose stone, much like he’d seen Meg do when disconcerted. Was it a family trait? “I had to bring a rose back to prove I’d done it.”

“I see.” Grayson scanned the garden. “Well then, any particular color?”

She shook her head. “Although yellow is my favorite.”

Grayson stiffened, his mind going to Emma. Hanna took a step back, her hands clenched in front of her as if sensing the desperation that coursed through him. He was frightening a child. What kind of demon had he become?

“It doesn’t have to be yellow, any will do.”

“No,” Grayson said softly. “Yellow it will be.” He snapped the blossom from its stem and held out the flower. Did her upturned nose seem familiar? The Almond shape of her eyes? Dear God, at this point every child looked like Emma. Perhaps he was merely hopeful, perhaps insane.

With a soft smile she took the bloom. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I am sorry to hear about your mother.”

Her eyes widened, surprised by the conversation. “’Tis all right.”

“How did she die?”

Hanna looked at the ground. “’Twas years ago, she died while birthing my brother.”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. Did her comment sound too practiced? It would be easy enough to trick a child into the truth. “And your brother?”

She rubbed her nose and glanced at the roses. “He died too.”

“How long have you lived here?”

She tilted her chin and stared directly at him. “Two years.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And were you born here?”

“No.”

He quirked a brow. “Where were you born?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow, imitating him. “Where were you born?”

“France. You?”

“Ireland.”

So that bit of news he’d uncovered was true. “Your father was Irish?”

“Yes.”

“His name?”

“Clancy.”

“Why did you not stay with him?”

Her arms fell and she hesitated, unsure for the first time. Something they hadn’t practiced, or did she merely not know?

“Don’t know. Grandpapa and Meg came and brought me home after Mama died.”

Truth was, her response came natural, her reactions even more so. “I see,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. “And where is your aunt?”

She scratched her head and shrugged. “With Beth, I think. The Constable came this morn and took her away.”

Grayson’s hands clenched, anger flaring. The blasted man hadn’t mentioned his intention to question the ladies. If there was going to be an inquisition and possible admittance, he’d sure as hell be there. “To Lady Brockwell’s home?”

“I suppose. Lord Brockwell is missing.”

“Missing?”

She nodded. “His…body.”

Merde.
Grayson’s unease flared. Why would the body disappear, unless there was something he’d not noticed, too consumed with thoughts of Meg. Obviously someone was trying to hide something.

“Come.” He settled his hand on her shoulder and directed her toward the open doors. Inside, he rang the bell. Nelson came to the doors immediately. The butler didn’t have the decency to look surprised at seeing the child. No doubt he’d been peeking out the windows.

“Nelson, this is Hanna. Please have Mrs. Miller take her to the kitchens and get her some hot chocolate and biscuits.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hanna followed the man into the hall. He should have been out the door, searching for answers, yet Grayson found himself pausing, watching the child, searching for a hint, some tiny bit of hope. As if sensing his attention, she glanced over her shoulder, and he was ten once more as a crying Emma was being led away by their Mum.

“
Your brother will be fine, my love.”

His father leaned over Grayson’s bed. “What you’re going through is normal. It’s a rite of passage.” Grayson wanted to be afraid, yet how could he when his father looked so proud?

“
I, too, went through this pain. It will be over soon. There is nothing to fear.”

Grayson wanted to respond, to ask more questions, but rippling pain tore through his body. Everything faded as red burst behind his eyelids. A scream erupted from his throat.

“My lord.”

Grayson jerked back into the present. If Hanna was Emma’s child, she would change soon. They would condemn her cries, they would not understand. He could grab the girl and take her back to London now. Not a soul would stop him. Grayson might not have seen the child since she was born, but surely William would be able to identify his own daughter.

Nelson cleared his throat. “Is there anything else, my lord?”

Merde
, he had to be sure before he did something so drastic. “No, when Miss Hanna is finished, see that she is escorted home. I’ll be going out.”

Nelson bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

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