19
A
nne was bidding everyone good night when
Graci
e burst into the red drawing room like a gunshot.
"Oh, Lord, ma'am, I am sorry I didna warm the sheets, but I saw him with my own eyes tonight. I saw him, and my heart started beating so hard, I almost couldna find my way home."
Gray with fright, the girl reached up to straighten her mobcap. There were leaves and heather twigs on her skirt. Anne stared at her from the sofa, aware that Patrick had also just entered the room and was busy lowering lamps in the background. Was it her imagination, or did his hair look suspiciously damp?
"Calm down, Graci
e," she said. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Tell us what you saw, girl," Nellwyn said, sitting forward.
Graci
e took a breath. "The ghost of Lord Kingaim, my lady, that's what."
"Lord Kingaim?" Flora said in a disbelieving voice. "In the lodge?"
Graci
e shook her head. "No, miss. Floating in his ghostly rowboat on the loch, he was."
Anne gl
anced up at Patrick from the corn
er of her eye. "What were you doin
g at the loch at this hour, Graci
e?"
"I wasna at the loch, my lady."
"Then how—"
"I was on the hill overlooking the loch." Gracie downed the glass of sherry Nellwyn gave her. "I was walking the dogs wi' Allan, and they took off after a fox. Or perhaps it was a badger. Of course it could—"
"The ghost,
Graci
e," Nellwyn said.
"Oh, well, I chased them dogs all the way to the hill because Allan lost his shoe, and I was the only one capable of walking." She paused, her eyes misting. "And there he was on the loch, lying dead in the boat wi' a ghostly glow all around him, just like the night last year when we found his body. Only this time, his eyes were red, at least one of them was, and I could have sworn he had a big fang like a banshee."
"Oh," Flora said, looking faint.
Sir Wallace frowned. "How could you tell who he was from the hill?"
"Who else would it be?" Graci
e retorted.
"There's an easy way to find out," he said grimly. "Let us go down to the loch."
Graci
e collapsed back against the door. "He's gone now. He was gone by the time Allan dragged his helpless self up the hill to see why I was screaming."
"Where did the ghost go?" Anne asked.
"To his grave, I expect
,"
Gra
ci
e said. "Isn't that where the undead come from?"
"He'll be back." Patrick's baritone voice broke the silence as he lowered the last lamp; his shadow took on a sinister shape from the dying rose-gold light against the draperies.
Flora put her hand to her throat. "How do you know he'll come back?"
"If his soul is troubled, he might continue his haunting indefinitely," he said.
Sir Wallace frowned. "Stop scaring my daughter, Sutherland. She actu
ally believes in all that super
natural rubbish."
"As well she should," Patrick said, smiling to himself as if he were
privy to the secrets of the uni
verse. "For who of us really knows what awaits us beyond this life? Who of us—"
"—is going to bed?" Anne stood up from the sofa. "It is almost eleven and I am getting up early to begin preparing for the party."
Patrick stepped in front of her, his manner faintly mocking. "Her ladyship does not wish to take tea before bed?"
Anne looked at him. Her ladyship wished to know what the troublemaker had been doing at the loch, but that would have to wait. "It is too late for tea, Sutherland."
He smiled slowly. "Very good, madam."
S
ir Wallace caught up with Anne in the hallway as she prepared to retire. His face was grave in the
darkness. "Did that chit upset you with her silly nonsense, my dear?"
"No. I do not believe in ghosts
,"
she said.
"You look pale, Anne," he murmured. "I fear you are more upset than you will admit. Perhaps I should see you to your room."
"It's all right, honestly."
"Indulge me, Anne," he said. "If only out of respect to David, let me at least pretend to watch over you tonight."
"I do not believe in ghosts, Wallace," she said again.
"Nor do I," he said thoughtfully, guiding her toward the stairs. "Which is why I am wondering if we have a poacher, or even a prankster in our midst. The estate has been without a man's supervision for too long."
She continued up the staircase, annoyed by the way his fingers settled on the curve of her hip. "Your room is in the opposite wing, Wallace."
"Yes," he said, sounding put out. "Your butler had Flora and I removed from the rest of the house."
"I'm sure he was thinking only of your comfort."
"Was he?" Wallace could not suppress the cynicism in his voice.
She firmly removed his hand as they reached her door. "Ah, here we are, and I am safely delivered. Not a specter in sight."
"I want to see you safely inside the room, Anne."
"That is unnecessary." She gave him a discouraging nudge, but he nudged back, forcing them both inside her darkened room.
"If there are poachers or pranksters about, I will not sleep myself without knowing you are safe in your bed." He closed the door. "Is this lock reliable? It does not look so."
She vented a sigh. "Why don't you go outside and test it yourself?"
He turned suddenly and stared at her across the room. "Do not turn me away. Not until I tell you the depth of my feelings."
She closed her eyes. "Oh, no."
He came toward her, oblivious to the dismay in her voice. "Do you have feelings for me, Anne?"
She opened her eyes. "Indeed, I do."
There was a faint rustling from behind the closet door that had connected her room to David's; he had stored his excess books and painting materials there.
"I have kind feelings for you, Wallace," she said. "Friendly feelings."
"Kindly feelings are not exactly what I hoped to inspire in you."
She walked backward into the closet door. "I was afraid of that."
"You're all alone in the world, Anne."
She moistened her Ups. "Not exactly alone—I have many close friends and Nellwyn." She raised her voice. "I have
Nellw
yn."
"I meant you do not have a man, in the truest sense of the word."
The closet door began to rattle. Anne wondered if she were shaking against it from apprehension without realizing it. She frowned suspiciously.
"You arouse me, Anne."
She stared at Wallace. The door behind her rattled again, and this time she knew she had not caused it. Nor had she emitted the particular noise that sounded like a deep growl from within. "You mustn't say things like that, Wallace. It is improper."
He went down on his knee. "I worship at your feet. I am feverish for you. Let me kiss the hem of your gown."
"Goodness," she exclaimed, pulling her dress out of his reach. "Get hold of yourself this instant."
He threw his arms around her legs. "Anne, I am—"
He looked up in astonishment as Anne lurched forward, imbalanced by the sudden opening of the closet door from the other side. Patrick stuck his head out, raised his brow, and squeezed around Anne, grasping her arm to reel her away from Wallace.
He straightened the tails of his coat.
"I
could not find the mouse you complained about, my lady," he said blandly.
Her lips tightened. "Mouse?"
He glanced at Sir Wallace, who had hastily collected himself from the floor. "Or was it a rat?" He peered behind the wardrobe. "I shall have to examine the walls for a hole."
"You might have announced your presence," Sir Wallace said. "You gave her ladyship a scare, popping out like that."
"I am so sorry," Patrick said insincerely. "Did I interrupt a tender moment?"
She drummed her fingers on the dressing table.
"You may conduct your search for mouseholes in the morning, Sutherland. If it is not raining, I intend to arise early for market, and you are accompanying me. If it does rain, we have plenty of work in the house."
"Verra well." He turned from the wall and extended his arm to Sir Wallace. "After you, sir."
Sir Wallace appeared to be in a quandary. There was no socially acceptable way he could explain remaining in Anne's room, and Patrick was perfectly aware of this. He winked slyly over his shoulder at Anne.
"Mouse, indeed," she said under her breath.
Sir Wallace walked reluctantly to the door. "I shall ride with you to market, Anne."
"It will be quite a tedious affair," she said.
He nodded stiffly. "But I shall. A young woman needs protection these days when she ventures abroad."
"Even when she ventures into her own bedroom," Patrick added.
Sir Wallace opened his mouth to respond, then apparently thought the better of it. "Good night, Anne," he said, backing into the hall.
Patrick slammed the door in his face. "Good night, rat."
There was a short moment of silence. Anne gasped, darting forward to the closed door. Then Sir Wallace started to pound from the other side, his voice a restrained roar.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Sutherland? Open this door immediately!"
Patrick threw the bolt home and blocked Anne by
outstretching his arm. "I am testing the safety of the lock, sir. Didn't I hear you mention something about making sure her lock was secure?"
"Only if you were eavesdropping, you scoundrel," Sir Wallace said, his voice rising.
Anne attempted to move Patrick from the door; it was a useless effort. "Calm down, Wallace. Nellwyn will hear you."
"Open this door, Sutherland," Sir Wallace said sternly.
"I cannot do that, sir." Patrick made a pretense of banging at the bolt. "My word, you were right. It appears to be stuck."
"Let me try it," Anne said tightly.
"Go ahead." He held his hand against the bolt, frustrating her attempts. "I need to talk to you," he said quietly. "About Uncle Edgar."
"You might have tried a less dramatic approach," she whispered.
"How was I to know I'd be interrupting a walrus' worship service at your feet?"
"You are incorrigible," she said. "You
were
eavesdropping."
"What is happening in there, Anne?" Sir Wallace asked.
"Sutherland is right," she said in a strained voice. "The bolt appears to be frozen in place."
She turned slowly to find Patrick imprisoning her against the door. "I shall take care of the matter, sir," he said loudly, bending his neck to nuzzle Anne's neck. "It might take an hour or two, though. I seem to be meeting some resistance."
Anne stiffened, pushing forward to escape, but his body wedged her against the door. "Listen to the rain, Anne," he murmured, kissing her nape. "What does it remind you of?"
"Water. Mud." She flattened her shoulder blades against the door panels. "Mildew."
He blew lightly against her ear. "It reminds me of making love in our ruined castle in the summer rain. Have you forgotten?"
"What castle?"
"You were naked, and I knew I ought to make you go home," he murmured. "There were raindrops running down your breasts and buttocks—the tower was riddled with holes. I have never seen anything more erotic than your wet body in my life."
Sir Wallace pounded at the other side of the door. "Shall I send a houseboy up with tools?"
Patrick smiled at Anne. "There's no need, sir. I believe I am we
ll-equipped to handle the situa
tion."
She groaned helplessly. "You are so bad, Patrick," she whispered. "Do you think he's an idiot?"
"What did you say, Anne?" Sir Wallace demanded. "I cannot hear you through the door."
"She was wondering if you were an idiot, sir," Patrick answered.
Anne gasped, trying to shove him away from her. "You beast," she whispered. "You are going to get me into so much trouble."
Sir Wallace raised his voice. "If you are talking to me, Anne, I cannot understand you."
Patrick tossed her over his shoulder without
warning, his arm secured behind her knees. "She said I'm the best, sir."
"The best what?" Sir Wallace asked, sounding aggrieved.
Anne pummeled her fists on Patrick's shoulders as he bore her to bed, dumping her in the middle. "Oh, you—help!"
There was a silence from behind the door. Then Sir Wallace cleared his throat, clearly confused. "Help? Is that what you said? All right. I'll fetch help, but don't expect me to find a decent locksmith at this hour."