Regina Scott (13 page)

He could think of no man he’d met who’d be worthy of her. Frustration pushed his tongue. “And are there so many Allbridges in the churchyard?”

She glanced up at him, tears beading her cinnamon-colored lashes. “Just one.”

For a moment, guilt kept back anything he might have said, and he could only look into her dark eyes as a tear slid down her cheek. He reached out and stroked it away, and her eyes widened. There was nothing for it. He gathered her against him, holding her gently, meaning only to comfort her. Yet the pounding of his heart told him it at least thought otherwise.

So did Dolly, it seemed, for she lumbered to her feet, a growl reverberating out of her throat. He felt it through his boots. He released Gwen immediately.

She obviously knew her dog better, for she was staring toward the open door of the withdrawing room, and so was the mastiff.

“Someone’s out there,” Gwen whispered.

G
wen saw nothing moving outside the door, yet she was certain Dolly knew otherwise. Trevor must have thought so, too, for he reached for his cane and swung himself to his feet.

“Stay here,” he hissed to Gwen.

She refused. Blackcliff was her home; no one threatened it. She bent and removed the leash from Dolly’s collar.

“Go,” she said, standing and pointing to the door.

Dolly went, paws pounding over the floor, bark rattling the sconces on the wall. Trevor and Gwen hurried after, Trevor leaning on his cane.

Dolly bound down the corridor, each leap carrying her yards. Rearing up on her back paws, she braced her front paws on the door to the servants’ stair. Her demanding barks boomed against the paneling. Gwen rushed up to her and slipped the leash
back onto her collar, even as Mrs. Bentley came puffing from the other end of the house.

“What’s happened?” the housekeeper cried as Gwen ordered Dolly down off the door.

“Dolly’s cornered someone,” Trevor replied, and Gwen could hear the excitement in his voice. It seemed he loved the chase as much as Dolly did. He reached for the door and threw it open. Gwen tensed.

But inside, on the landing, the shepherd statue sat serenely.

Gooseflesh pricked her arms, and Mrs. Bentley sucked in a breath. Trevor loped past the statue for the outside door.

“Unlatched,” he reported. He opened it and gazed out along the graveled path leading to the outbuilding that held the laundry, then glanced back at his housekeeper. “Has anyone worked in the laundry recently?”

“Not since Thursday, Sir Trevor,” she said, eyes too wide for Gwen’s comfort.

“Then it seems our mysterious visitor has been here.” He shut the door and locked it, then turned to the statue. “Mrs. Bentley, forgive me for asking, but could you carry that statue back to the withdrawing room? I want a better look at it.”

The housekeeper swallowed but nodded.

Their progress down the corridor was much slower than their journey up. Mrs. Bentley was lugging the statue and holding it so far away from her
generous chest that Gwen thought she’d surely over-balance.

But Gwen had her hands full with Dolly. The mastiff kept glancing back the way they had come and whining, and Gwen gripped the leash tightly lest the dog decide to bolt for the stairs again. Sir Trevor moved slowest of all, leaning heavily on his borrowed cane. Gwen could only hope he had done himself no permanent injury.

He sank onto the chair as soon as they reached it and swung his feet up onto the embroidered foot-stool he had been using. He could not quite hide his grimace.

“If you’d put the statue on the table here, Mrs. Bentley,” he said.

Gwen ordered Dolly to stay, then helped the housekeeper place the statue beside Trevor. Mrs. Bentley scurried back as if she couldn’t wait to get away from it, but Trevor narrowed his eyes as if taking in even the grain of the fine white marble.

“What’s so special about this that our visitor continues to return to it?” he mused aloud. His gaze jumped to meet Gwen’s. “Cord said it was from France. Do you know anything else about it?”

Gwen shrugged. “Not really. And I don’t remember it moving about before you arrived, despite what Mr. Cord said. It’s been part of the house as long as I can remember. See? The base is built from the same wood as all the paneling.”

He nodded.

“It’s very like the statue of the Lord in St. Martin’s,” Mrs. Bentley put in, stepping a little closer to the table as if linking the statue to godly things eased her concerns. “That came from some foreign place.”

“Italy, I think,” Gwen agreed. “Though I imagine the colonel might have been able to purchase it in France, as Mr. Cord said.”

“So a costly piece,” Trevor said, one finger rubbing his square chin. “Yet our villain never steals it. He merely moves it about.”

“Perhaps he means to steal it but keeps getting interrupted,” Gwen offered. She bent to pat Dolly’s head, and the mastiff’s tail thumped once against the ruby carpet.

“Nothing stood between him and freedom this time,” Trevor pointed out. “He could easily have carried it out the door with him.”

“Oh, not so, sir,” Mrs. Bentley protested, hands fluttering before her white apron. “I wouldn’t want to run carrying that thing!”

Trevor nodded. “So we are looking for a small man or a woman.”

Despite herself, Gwen bristled. “This is ridiculous! No man or woman in the village would steal from Blackcliff Hall!”

“Then you think they move the statue for some other purpose?” he asked with a frown.

In truth, she wasn’t sure what to think. The statue
couldn’t move on its own, but she could find no reason for anyone to move it.

“It’s a puzzle to be sure,” Mrs. Bentley said with a sigh.

Trevor raised his head as if she’d said something insightful. “Mrs. Bentley, send Dorie out to Rob and have him carry this up to my bedchamber. Leave it beside the bed. I’ll study it more later.”

Her round face puckered. “Are you certain, sir? I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same room with it.”

Trevor reached out to touch her plump hand. “It’s only a piece of stone, Mrs. Bentley. It can’t hurt us.”

With a last doubtful look at the little shepherd, the housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and left.

Gwen knew she should leave. She had no reason to stay. The interviews were over, and Dolly had done her job. She’d be wanted at home to cook her father dinner before he started his rounds. She patted her thigh, and Dolly climbed obligingly to her feet.

“One moment, Gwen,” Trevor said, leaning on his cane as if he meant to rise.

“Please don’t get up,” she said. “You shouldn’t have been dashing about to begin with.”

He eyed her a moment, then a smile teased his lips. “Doctor’s orders, eh?”

She smiled back. “If you like. I’ll ask Mrs. Bentley for some more cold compresses before I go.”

“And perhaps you could answer me a question, as well.”

“Certainly.”

He studied her, for all the world as if she were that statue beside him. “Just how badly,” he said, “do you wish me to stay?”

Gwen blinked. A dozen answers sprang to mind, all of them unsuitable for a young lady to say to a gentleman. “I’ve told you how important Blackcliff is to the village, sir.”

“Indeed. The last lifeblood it seems. You’ve gone to great lengths to prove to me how well I’ll like it here. Are you setting me a mystery to sweeten the pie?”

A mystery? She’d been right—some part of him relished this challenge with the statue. “I have no part in this, Trevor. Or do you think I’m the one moving the statue?”

“The idea had crossed my mind.”

For some reason, the accusation hurt. “Do you truly think me so devious?”

“Not devious,” he replied. “But determined.”

Was that any better, in his mind?
Lord, give me the words to explain.

“May I remind you,” she said, “that I was here when Dolly heard the noise?”

“Which you could have arranged beforehand. She’s well trained—perhaps she even barks on cue.”

“Oh, certainly,” Gwen said, temper rising. “And the cue would have been me falling into the arms of a handsome gentleman. That’s about the only thing I did before she barked.”

Was that a blush rising on his cheeks? She’d thought for one moment, when he’d pulled her close, that he had meant to kiss her. Had she been right? But if he had feelings for her, why not stay? He did not seem the type to dally with a woman.

“But you admit you’d do anything to make me stay,” he said.

“I admit I wanted you to stay,” Gwen replied, “but this presumptuous attitude is not endearing you to me, sir.” She gathered the leash close, fully intending to march out the door while she had a shred of dignity left to her.

As if he saw her intentions, he swung himself to his feet and blocked her way. “And you knew nothing about me before I arrived?”

Gwen put her hands on her hips. “What has that to do with anything?”

“Answer the question, please.”

Oh, but he could be maddening! “We knew nothing about you, not even your name! And I don’t see how that signifies. I had nothing to do with that statue moving, today or in the past. And I am quite put out that you would think otherwise.” She angled her nose in the air and tried to avoid his gaze.

He was quiet a moment, then he sighed. “Forgive me, Gwen. I should know there’s no guile in you. You have been nothing but kindness itself to me since the day I arrived.”

Well, that was better. Gwen lowered her nose and
cast him a glance. He certainly looked contrite with his head hanging. “I have done my best,” she said.

“I know.” He glanced up at her with an admiring smile. “And your best, my dear, is considerably more than most.”

Charm curled around him, as welcoming as the aroma of fresh-baked bread. “You can stop the praises now. You are forgiven.”

“And gracious, as well.” He took her hand and bowed over it. His touch sent a tremor through her, and she pulled away to rub at her tingling fingers.

“Besides, it seems you had no way of knowing my predilection for solving puzzles.”

But she should have guessed. “That’s how you won your patent, wasn’t it? You solved a puzzle for someone important.” She sank back onto the chair, allowing him to do the same. Dolly sat on her haunches beside her.

“Who was it?” Gwen asked. “A member of Parliament? The Prime Minister?”

His mouth quirked in one corner. “Better. A royal duke.”

“Oh!” Gwen grinned at him. “No wonder he spoke to the Prince Regent on your behalf.”

His smile fled, and the light died in his eyes, leaving them flat. “Guilt will do odd things to a man, even a royal duke. Forgive me for detaining you, Gwen. You were right—all this dashing about has tired me. I think I’ll use this excellent cane and
toddle on upstairs to my room. Would you ask Mrs. Bentley to bring my supper to me there?”

Gwen nodded and rose once more, but she wasn’t fooled. Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam wasn’t tired. He wanted to study that statue, to find the person who was moving it. She could only hope that he truly had decided she was innocent.

And that maybe, maybe, this puzzle would give him a reason to stay for a while longer.

Someone was prowling the corridors of Blackcliff unbidden. Trevor couldn’t help the current of anticipation that flowed through him like a spring rain. However much he had tried to pretend he was a gentleman and above such things, he still thrilled to every puzzle set before him. He liked matching wits with the enemy and coming out the winner. Even when the enemy was a woman.

He couldn’t suspect Gwen for long, worst luck. She would have been a worthy opponent with her boundless energy and endless plans. He’d have truly enjoyed trying to solve any puzzle she set before him.

He’d have liked as much to have her at his side, working with him to figure out who was plaguing Blackcliff. She loved this house, this village, with a passion he could only envy. But he very much feared that danger stalked the footsteps of the little shepherd, so this puzzle was one he intended to solve alone.

The key was the statue. He stared at it, alone in his bedchamber with dinner over and Mrs. Bentley off to bed. Rob had carried the shepherd upstairs and left it on the side table next to Trevor’s bed.

The white marble stood out against the crimson bed hangings and the dusky paneling. The nose was chipped where Trevor had collided with the statue on the stairs. The base had been scuffed, but that could easily have been from the times it had been moved about. He still could see no signs of hidden compartments or secret lettering. But he thought he knew a way to get the statue to tell him the truth. Trevor would make their prowler come to him.

He lay the statue on the bed beside him and settled himself to rest.

The fire died in the grate, the red slowly darkening until the glow reminded him of Gwen’s hair. She had no idea how lovely she was, how creamy her skin, how deep her eyes. She never hid behind words or teased with her beauty as some of the ladies of London were known to do.

A shame she was so tethered to the village. He could see her at a ball in town, hair dressed, gowned in finest silk. How they would stare when she walked in on his arm.

His arm? He reined in his thoughts. Gwen Allbridge wasn’t the woman for him. Much as he admired her looks, much as her character warmed him, his plans called for another type of woman entirely.

He had never been truly accepted in Society. Oh, his father’s influence and funding had paid for his education alongside the sons of gentlemen, but there had never been any question about what he was. The stares, the jeers, had cut like chisels, sculpting him into the man he was today. For his children to be spared the humiliation, for his peers to finally see him as one of them, he needed a wealthy wife of impeccable breeding.

His good friend Chase Dearborn, Earl of Allyndale, had offered his sister just this summer. Phoebe Dearborn certainly fit the bill—she was a beauty from a highly respectable family and an heiress in her own right. She was also spoiled and headstrong, and she thought of him as a brother. The announcement of her formal engagement to Algernon Whitaker had only made Trevor breathe a sigh of relief. And no other woman had made him feel the way Gwen did—strong, intelligent, honorable.

His room descended into darkness. Blackcliff Hall settled itself around him. Rain pattered against his window. The sounds, he had to admit, were soothing, homey. A shame Blackcliff didn’t come with its own income. He could almost see himself living here.

I go to prepare a place for you.
How odd that this verse came to mind. He must be more tired than he thought. No one had ever prepared a place for him. What he had, he owed to his father’s guilt and his
own determination. Now he just had to see what he could make of them.

The footfall was so muffled by the carpet he barely heard it, yet it set his muscles to tensing. A shadow crept closer to the bed. Trevor adjusted his breathing—in, out, slow and steady, like a man blissfully unaware of the danger looming beside him. A hand reached out for the statue.