Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03] (22 page)

She couldn’t find him. She wandered through several long hallways that never seemed to end, her feet growing cold and dirty and her wet hair chilling her neck and—wait! Was that the front door?

She shuffled quickly across the marble floor of the entrance hall and put her hand to the latch. It didn’t move.

Locked? She was
locked in?

Unable to believe it, she could only mindlessly jiggle the frozen latch. What was Graham thinking to leave her here like this? What sort of daft bucket-head took a woman to a deserted house, stole her clothes and
locked her in?

She could see the line of sunshine come under the door and dance across her bare, dusty toes. She wasn’t going to be able to get out into the sunshine. She wasn’t going to be able to get out at all. Graham, the light-minded idiot, had probably already forgotten where he’d put her! He’d be knocking on the door of Brook House tomorrow, wondering where Sophie was!

Everything was ruined. She could hardly seduce
Society if she was locked in a madman’s house, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be Society’s darling anymore, for it had mostly been wearying and certainly boring. Nothing had turned out the way she’d thought it would. Her magical gown was gone and her face was unpowdered and her hair probably looked like an owl nested in it and she was “just Sophie” all over again!

All her life, she’d attributed her troubles to the fact that she was odd-looking. Plain girls weren’t wanted. Plain girls shouldn’t hope for more. Plain girls should be grateful for what little they had.

Now it seemed that her lack of beauty might not have been at fault at all—not if she could still end up empty-handed and humiliated! Perhaps it wasn’t her exterior that was ugly. Perhaps it was her interior. Perhaps her life was unfortunate because that was precisely what she deserved for being a liar and a thief and a fraud.

She’d thought being beautiful would make life perfect and nothing had come of it but getting her locked up in this great, bloody cold empty house!

She kicked the door, hard. The door didn’t seem to mind but her bare foot protested sharply. Limping and shuffling and shivering and using words she hadn’t realized she knew, she made her way back to “her” chamber, primarily by following her own footprints in the dust.

There she found the tray. She frowned at it. Was this already here when she’d left? She hadn’t noticed it, but perhaps she’d simply been too irate.

Or perhaps Graham was concealed somewhere, watching her, sneaking into the room when her back was turned. She glanced around suspiciously. Then she shook her head. “Hunger is making you odd, my girl.”

The tea was cold, but she put the pot near the fire to warm it and dug into the pears and ham instead. Eating swiftly and neatly, she drank the tea, washed her feet again in the cold bathwater and rearranged her dusty toga until she could actually walk in it. Taking the portion of ham that she hadn’t eaten, she wrapped it neatly in a napkin and, for lack of anywhere better to put it, tucked it into a fold of her robes.

Then she set about searching the house methodically, room by room. If Graham expected her to act like a weak, helpless princess in a tower, he’d chosen the wrong girl to play that part!

GRAHAM WASN
’
T SLEEPING
. After his shameful bit of voyeurism, he’d taken a long walk through the Edencourt fields, trying to calm his mind and form some sort of plan. All that he saw convinced him that marrying Sophie was an impossibility. He’d never get Lilah back now, but that stupendously vapid milkmaid heiress might do as well. At least she wouldn’t kill him in his sleep.

Probably.

Right now Sophie likely wanted to. He seemed to bring that out in women these days, didn’t he? No more Graham the charmer. No more easy laughter and silly, shallow games.

He passed through a small gathering of cottages that had once been sturdy and comfortable enough, the people content at least, if not actually happy. Now they were rubble and rot, most likely deserted to their downward spiral along with the rest of the estate.

When he was a child, it had been a shabby but genteel estate. When he was a young man it had seemed to be growing poorer, but he’d put that down to his own increased sophistication and not to any true decay. Now it was worse than ever and there was no denying that his father had dealt the killing blow.

I think I actually hate you
, Graham thought to that loud, brash man he’d scarcely known.
In fact, I know I do, as surely as I hate every drop of your blood that runs in me
. He’d thought he was so different from them. He’d thought he was above them in understanding and civility and intellect, but he was only a polished-up version of the same man. He’d just as heartlessly bled his people dry for his own amusements, never giving a thought to responsibility or self-denial.

Well, he was paying for that now. Denying himself Sophie was going to make him miserable for the rest of his life. Or perhaps he was too shallow to love properly? Perhaps his yen for Sophie was merely that of a brat who didn’t want a toy until it was denied him.

God, let it be so. Otherwise the rest of his life was looking to be a very long time.

FINALLY, BY THE
neat trick of following the
other
footprints in the dust, Sophie meandered her way into what
had to have been Graham’s bedchamber once upon a time. It was the only room in the house she’d seen, other than her own, that lacked the murderous collection of animal corpses and body parts.

There in a trunk at the base of the bed, she found clothes! Beautiful, wonderful clothes! They must have been Graham’s when he was a growing boy, for they’d never fit him now. Fortunately, they fit Sophie very nicely indeed. Once she found a neckcloth to belt the huge shirt in and stuffed the toes of the boots to make them smaller and stuck her hair up under a discarded cap, she fancied she looked a proper boy indeed!

It was quite a rare feeling, swimming in too large clothing. It almost made her feel dainty! Her heart kindled a surprising spark of forgiveness. That wouldn’t do!

Of course, if she hadn’t been kidnapped, robbed and deserted, she wouldn’t be dressing so ridiculously in the first place!

Angry and embarrassed anew about the whole mess, she made her way back down the stairs and to the entrance hall. Graham had locked this door, but had he locked them all?

Then she realized that her problem wasn’t even that difficult to solve. All the rooms flanking the front door had windows that opened out onto the great terraced steps instead of dropping the usual twelve feet to the ground. With the flick of a latch and a nimble climb, she was out of the house and trotting down the steps.

If they could ride the distance in less than a night, how long could it possibly take to walk back to London?
She had no idea how far a horse could go in one night, but surely with long legs and most of the day left, she could manage it.

Sophie stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. The horse from hell was tied in front of the house like a watchdog. If she took the horse, she could be back in London by nightfall.

After her first two steps, the horse raised its head and snorted at her. She halted. Had that been greeting or warning? She folded her arms and glared at the thing. “I don’t need you, you . . . hellbeast!” She turned on her heel and walked away, around the garden and on down the drive.

She wasn’t afraid of it. That would be silly. She simply didn’t feel like riding again so soon. If she ran into someone on the road and they should happen to ask, that would be her tale.

The horse snorted again behind her.

“Such a lovely day for a walk,” Sophie said brightly to no one at all. “I think I’ll walk a little faster!”

GRAHAM HESITATED OUTSIDE
the room he’d already begun to think of as Sophie’s. He had no choice. He had to tell her his plan to take her back to London and slip her into Brook House under cover of darkness. He only hoped that general alarm had not been raised by the Brook House staff when she hadn’t come home last night.

If he’d been thinking properly, he’d never have brought her here at all. Unfortunately, when she’d
chosen that bounder Wolfe over him, his mind seemed to have slipped a few cogs. He could blame it on lack of sleep and the heavy thoughts on his mind and the full moon shining down on the amazing planes of her face when she’d faced him down and calmly refused him, but the fact remained that he’d done the single most dangerous thing he possibly could have.

He’d given in to his own desires.

Now he had to beg her understanding and her forgiveness and, worst of all, her help in bringing off this ridiculous scheme.
“Tell Brook House that you were at Tessa’s and tell Tessa you were at Brook House, and then we’ll pretend this never happened and we’ll never, ever think on this again, I swear to it.”

Except that he would, of course. Every time he wished his vapid, bosomy milkmaid of a duchess goodnight and went off to his thankfully separate bedchamber, he would wish he would find lean, elegant, tart-tongued Sophie there, bathing naked before the fire, the water turning her hair the color of brandy.

Which, by the by, was no more and no less than what he roundly deserved.

His plan on his reluctant tongue, he tapped on the door. No answer. She was asleep, of course. He’d dragged her across the county last night, remember?

I’ll wager she’s beautiful when she’s sleeping
.

His hand pressed the latch without him actually commanding it to. The door swung open with a slow creak. The room didn’t look quite like it had when he left it. For one thing, the fire was out. For another, the
tray of food was empty. The bed was untouched, but the pile of canvas covers was disarranged.

She’d gone wandering the house in a sheet? Of course she had. This was Sophie, after all. He would not be at all surprised to find her somewhere, sewing herself a gown, shoes, and a carriage to carry her home!

Paying no attention whatsoever to the varying trails through the dusty halls, he began to search the house. At first he was amused. Gradually, he became dismayed. When he found his old bedchamber and the rifled trunk, he became alarmed.

When he found the front window wide open, he became frightened.

Gazing out the window, he could see nothing but Somers’s horse lying sedately in the weeds, sleepily shaking off the occasional fly. The bucolic sight only worried him further.

If Sophie had fled him, why hadn’t she taken the horse?

Because she didn’t leave of her own free will
.

No, that was ridiculous. This house had been deserted for nearly two years. Why would a criminal choose today of all days to randomly stage an assault?

Perhaps it wasn’t random. Perhaps someone knows you’re here
.

No. No one knew they were here. The only person who even knew they were together was—

Wolfe
.

Alarm turned to sickening panic in Graham’s gut. That slimy bastard had stolen her once. What was to prevent him from doing it again?

The thought hadn’t entirely crossed his mind before he vaulted through the window and ran for the horse.

SOPHIE WALKED FURIOUSLY
for half an hour, her thoughts circling around her indignation and humiliation. Then as the exercise loosened her body and soothed her mind, she began to truly look about her for the first time.

The house of Edencourt had been grimy and shabby, but she’d dismissed that as having been full of men for too many years, without a woman’s standards of housekeeping. The grounds around the house were a tangle, overgrown and wild, but she’d not paid much attention, for what else would one expect from owners who spent too much time chasing pleasure in London?

Then she came across the first group of cottages, a semicircle grouped around a small mill on the riverbank. The thatched roof buildings were small and square, obviously built of local stone many generations ago, much like the cottages near Acton. Unlike those, these had sagging roofs of moldy straw and desiccated gardens full of trash and rubble. And here she’d thought Graham was being shallow and greedy, marrying for money!

The need here was obvious. In fact, the cottages looked so grim that Sophie hesitated walking through the area. Should she go around? But they looked deserted. Surely no one lived in such disreputable homes?

Instinctively moving more quietly, and more quickly,
Sophie took the path straight through the settlement. She didn’t want to leave the road in an area she didn’t know.

Scarcely three steps into the clearing, she heard a sound like wood scraping on stone. Glancing warily about her, she hurried her steps. When she reached the center of the clearing, she saw a flash of movement to one side, a flutter of dark fabric that vanished behind one of the cottages. Icy threat seemed to climb the back of her neck. Though she wore Graham’s clothing, she had no doubt that she appeared entirely female . . . and alone.

What to do? Stop and take a stand, grabbing whatever weapon came handy? Continue through the tiny hamlet and on down the deserted road beyond, to be followed easily enough? Or would the threat linger here in its home, allowing her to pass on?

The fact that turning to fight was her first thought would have surprised her if she’d given it a moment’s consideration. Her entire concentration lay in the corners of her eyes, the blind spot behind her head, the vulnerability of her empty hands.

Unable to continue with such a feeling of menace at her back, she stopped to circle slowly, turning constantly to better watch behind her. Her spiral path took her near a pile of rubble, stones and broken planks and rusting iron bits. She knelt swiftly to grab up a bit of chain in one hand and a splintery length of wood in another. Shoddy weapons indeed, for the chain nearly crumbled to dust in her fingers and the dry-rotted board would likely shatter at the first blow—but perhaps
it would be enough to startle someone into letting her be.

There was no one there, though the sense of menace blackened and grew. Could she be wrong? Had it been nothing but the creak of the breeze on an ancient shutter and the flutter of an abandoned bit of rag? Graham was always telling her she had too much imagination. Was she creating a dramatic pursuit when it was truly nothing but a boring walk?