Bella and the Beast (33 page)

Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows. Her brother had scattered a few of his belongings on the writing desk, including their father's quill pen and inkpot. A couple of his favorite books sat on the bedside table. Already Cyrus had made this place his home. Bella's heart ached at the notion of uprooting him and his sister yet again.

Her siblings presumably were still in the library, tending to their schoolwork. She would go downstairs and check on them, give them a few more assignments to keep them busy, and order a tea tray to occupy them until after dark.

Once they were settled, she had one very important task to do. The identity of the phantom had been weighing on her mind, and she had a good notion as to who had been trying to frighten her.

Although she intended to depart Aylwin House, the ghost didn't know that. Bella had a strong suspicion there might very well be another haunting planned for this evening.

Maybe it was foolish to bother with revenge since she was leaving tomorrow. Yet she intended to lie in wait, anyway. In her present ill humor, it would give her great satisfaction to give the culprit a taste of his own medicine.

 

Chapter 24

Miles returned from the visit to Lady Milford in a state of unease.

Leaving his mount in the stables, he strode through the rose garden, his boot heels crunching on the gravel path. Dusk was already beginning to spread shadows beneath the trees. He was late, much later than he'd intended.

A carriage had broken its axle and crashed in the street, the mishap occurring right in front of him, and he'd stopped to assist the aging pair inside, the old man dazed and the woman having suffered a bleeding wound to her head. They'd been frightened tourists who knew no one in London, and Miles had waited with them while a doctor had been summoned and a team of workmen had come to haul away the wrecked vehicle. Then he'd arranged for a hackney to convey the old couple to their hotel.

Now, a knot of tension twisted his gut. He had meant to come home much sooner. Many hours had passed since his quarrel with Bella after luncheon, when he had barely allowed her the chance to speak. Then, when she
had
spoken in her own defense, he had refused to believe her. Instead, he had berated her without mercy. In light of those violent rebukes, he feared she might already have packed up her belongings and departed Aylwin House with her siblings.

Miles glanced up at the gray monolith of the east wing, but saw no light or movement in the windows of her bedchamber. It was not yet dark and maybe she was still at work in the blue drawing room.

If
she was here at all.

He yanked open a side door that led into the main body of the house. His footfalls echoed in the long marble passageway. No servant lurked nearby so that he could inquire as to the whereabouts of Miss Jones. Aside from his own swift steps, the place was as silent as a tomb.

That was the way it had always been in this house. Cold, quiet, sepulchral. He remembered such solitude even as a boy. Loneliness had been as familiar to him as a comfortable old boot. Then Bella had taken up residence here and he had found himself listening for her voice in the corridor, watching for her to breeze through the doorway, and feeling a rush of pleasure when she did.

An incipient panic clutched at his chest. He wanted her to remain here under his roof. If she was gone already …

As he neared the entry to the west wing, someone stepped out of the doorway to the archives. It was the bulldog figure of William Banbury-Davis, who was carrying an armload of books as he turned to shut the door behind him.

Giving Miles a curt nod of greeting, the man said in an aggrieved tone, “There you are, Aylwin. I've been looking all over for you. I thought you should know that…” He paused, squinting his eyes in the dimness of the corridor. “I say, is that blood on your cheek?”

Miles lifted his hand to swipe at his face. His fingers came away sticky. Impatient, he took out his handkerchief and wiped them. “I stopped to help with an accident on the street. What is it you wished to say? Be quick about it.”

“When I went to fetch some research books from the library, those two rascally youngsters were in there. Did you give them permission to play with the pieces of your Senet board? That game is a rare Egyptian relic!”

Miles felt a jump in his pulse. Lila and Cyrus were in the library?

He took a step closer to the man. “When?” he demanded. “When exactly did you see them there?”

Banbury-Davis frowned at him. “I don't know. Perhaps … half an hour ago.”

Half an hour. Bella would never have left the house without her brother and sister. And if those two were in the middle of a game, they hadn't been packing, either.

A sense of jubilation tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Brilliant,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

Miles turned to go. Now that he knew Bella was still in residence, he decided to clean up first before he sought her out. He owed her an abject apology and it wouldn't help his case to look like an unkempt vagrant.

“Is that
all
you have to say?” Banbury-Davis snapped. “Don't you care that they might lose some of the pieces to the set?”

Miles felt a jab of irritation. The man had never overcome his resentment toward Bella's father, and Miles wanted him to realize once and for all that such nonsense would no longer be tolerated. “On the contrary, I'm sure they have a great respect for ancient artifacts. After all, they were taught by none other than the esteemed Sir Seymour Jones.”

He left Banbury-Davis glowering in the corridor.

A spring in his step, Miles headed through the arched doorway and into the west wing. It was a great relief to know that he wouldn't have to go haring after Bella all the way to Oxford in order to coax her to return. Yet he still would have to proceed with caution.

He had behaved like an unbridled jackass. He had not listened to her explanations or considered her desperation to find a position, even though he had seen for himself the ramshackle condition of her cottage. She had been left without a stipend to support her siblings. No wonder she had fallen easily into Lady Milford's ploy.

Yet his own pain and anger had goaded him to hurt Bella. He had been furious to think that she had come here under false pretenses. That all of her sparkling smiles and tender kisses had been based on lies.

Entering the ducal bedchamber with its gold and blue décor, he untied his starched cravat. He strode through another doorway and into the dressing room. Here, the walls held floor-to-ceiling mahogany wardrobes that were only sparsely filled since Miles did not require a wide variety of garments for social events. As he shed his charcoal-gray coat and flung it over a chair, he noticed Hasani sitting on a stool in the corner and polishing a pair of black boots.

Miles was glad to see the valet back at work, for he had taken ill the previous day. One of the footmen had filled in for him. Hasani had been an unobtrusive part of Miles's life ever since those long-ago days in Egypt. The servant was always there in the background, dutiful and deferential, anticipating his master's every need. They'd shared an easy camaraderie, for the man had an uncanny sense of when to speak and when Miles preferred silence.

Hasani sprang up, his white robes swaying. His dark eyes widened as he eyed Miles's face. “Your Grace!” he said. “Have you suffered an injury?”

Miles briefly explained about the accident, and then proceeded to the washstand to soap his hands and face. He had no wish for further conversation. His mind was too caught up in contemplating what to say to Bella. Maybe she would refuse to speak to him at all. He had hurt her deeply and he must not expect her to absolve him of guilt at once. It might take time for her to learn to trust him again.

If
he hadn't done irreparable damage to their friendship.

Miles grimaced. He disliked this cloud of disquiet, this sense of being cast adrift into uncharted territory. He was accustomed to resolving problems by ducal decree. Never in his life had he needed to win back the favor of any woman. His carnal relationships had always been shallow and brief, rather like business arrangements.

But what he felt for Bella was deep and steadfast. He didn't know quite how it had happened or what to do about this unrelenting desire to keep her in his life. Especially since he had managed to make such a muddle of things by losing his temper.

As Miles grabbed a linen towel to dry himself, he saw that Hasani had laid out the coat on the clothespress. The man was leaning over it, the tattooed eye visible at the back of his neck as he employed a bristled brush to clean the superfine cloth. Miles had seen him perform that task hundreds of times over the years.

Yet something about the valet's slow, irregular strokes struck him as odd. Perhaps Hasani was still feeling unwell.

The Egyptian glanced up with an enigmatic look. “Will you be working in your study this evening, Your Grace?”

Miles's thoughts returned to Bella and his keen hope for a reconciliation. If he could entice her to his study on a pretext, he would need privacy in order to woo her. He'd give up the dukedom to see her smile at him again. “Yes, I shall be. You may take the night off and rest. Pray see to it that no one disturbs me.”

*   *   *

A short while later, spruced up and refreshed, Miles failed to find Bella working in the blue drawing room. Nor was she in the library with her brother and sister, where the sound of bright laughter had drawn him like a lodestone.

Stepping through the doorway, he spied Lila and Cyrus seated at a round table near the blazing fire. The carved alabaster pieces of the Senet game were spread over the mahogany surface. Their good-natured argument ended abruptly as they caught sight of him.

Lila hopped to her feet and dipped a charming curtsy. She frowned at her brother, who then rose to make his bow. Both gazed rather warily at Miles. “Good evening, Your Grace,” they recited.

When Lila edged in front of the table as if to hide their activities, Miles concealed his amusement behind a stern look. “I heard a rumor that you two had found my Senet game on the shelf.”

“We've been extremely careful with it,” Cyrus hastened to say.

“We aren't reckless children,” Lila added. “No matter what Mr. Banbury-Davis might have told you.”

That earnest tilt of her chin reminded Miles of Bella. Bella, who was more a mother to the twins than a sister. He had an even greater respect for her now, knowing that she had raised them well despite the hardships of living in a foreign country with only one servant and a father who was too often away on an archaeological dig.

“You're perfectly welcome to use the set.” Miles strolled closer to eye the rectangular box with its thirty squares on top, some with carved symbols, and the four sticks and the little carved crowns. “Have you figured out how to play yet?”

“No, but we've been trying out different rules,” Cyrus said eagerly. “I don't suppose
you
might be able to teach us, Your Grace?”

“I'm afraid no one has ever found the instructions for the game. So your endeavor here actually could be a helpful contribution to history.” At their obvious delight, he allowed a grin. “Now, I was looking for your sister. Have you seen her?”

“She joined us at teatime,” Lila said. “Then she bade us wait here until she came to fetch us for dinner.”

“I do wish she would hurry back,” Cyrus added. “I've a mind to go and look for her.”

Miles wanted no such interference. “Actually, there has been a change in plans. Bella and I shall be busy tonight going through your father's papers.” At least he hoped so. He pointed to the brocaded rope that hung from the ceiling near the fireplace. “If you would like to have your dinner served right here, you've only to pull that cord. A servant will come to take your request.”

“Oh, famous!” Lila said. “May I pull it now, please?”

Miles chuckled, remembering how he had liked doing that as a youth. “As you wish.”

She rushed toward the fireplace, and Cyrus dogged her heels. “How does the mechanism work?” he asked over his shoulder. “It must be connected by wires in the walls … down to the kitchen, perhaps?”

“Yes, I'll show you tomorrow morning,” Miles said. “Now, you may stay up for an hour after you've finished your dinner. Then both of you must take yourselves off to bed. Is that clear?”

They nodded. “Tell Bella not to worry about us,” Cyrus said.

“She forgets that we're fifteen already,” Lila added. “We can take care of ourselves!”

“So I see,” Miles said in some amusement. “Well, I must go now and find your sister. If you'll excuse me.”

Anxious to resume his quest, he strode out of the library. The house was dim with only an occasional wall sconce to light the vast passageways. The only other logical place that Bella might have gone was up to her bedchamber. Had she been there ever since leaving her siblings at teatime? His chest tightened. He hoped to God he hadn't driven her to tears over his cruel reproaches.

He hastened up the grand staircase, the echo of his footsteps as hollow as his heart. She didn't deserve to suffer a moment longer. Somehow, he had to make things right between them. Even if he had to get down on his knees and grovel.

Evening had cast deep shadows throughout the east wing. As he headed into the gloom of the upstairs corridor, he cursed himself for not bringing a candle. He could just barely see the way to her bedchamber.

Abruptly, a commotion broke out at the end of the passage.

Disbelieving, he narrowed his eyes. Two figures grappled in the darkness, one a ghostly white form, the other murky and indistinct. He could make no sense of the scene. What the devil…?

Then came a sharp cry. A yelp. And Bella's upraised voice.