Heartless (23 page)

Tucked in the back of the book was a folded sheet of vellum. Leandra set the book aside, foreboding sliding over her skin as she opened the sheet.

A little boy with coal-black hair stood over the body of a woman whose beauty was apparent even in such an amateur painting. The boy’s face displayed his shock as he stared down at the pool of crimson beneath the woman’s head. They were on a landing and Leandra, in dawning horror, recognized the landing, the second floor landing in the very castle she now called home. She recalled taxing the servants about a stain there. Blood. Could it be?

The drawing was dated 1796.

She felt prickles on the back of her neck as she stared at the picture. The previous duchess died that year. Only a few weeks in the castle had provided that bit of information to the new duchess, though the staff remained mum about how she died.

The child looked amazingly like Derringer.

It couldn’t be true. Could it? Leandra stared at the vellum in her hand, studied the image minutely, searched her mind for every tiny thread of gossip she’d overheard, and shuddered at her own Gothic conclusions.

It wasn’t possible, she told herself.

Leandra replaced the book on the shelf but held onto the drawing. Her own conclusions terrified her, casting her husband into a whole new light. She needed to keep the image with her, at least until she could shed some light on the mystery she’d fallen into.

The title of another book caught her eye. Or, rather, the lack of title caught her eye. A small, leather bound book peeked from between two larger books, all but hidden from view. Leandra herself would have missed it had she not been perusing the shelves so carefully. She removed it gently and turned it over in her hand. It appeared to be a journal of some sort. Whose, she wasn’t sure. It was of medium thickness and looked to be fairly old.

Opening the front cover, the mystery of ownership was solved. The name “Penelope Marie Watts” was written in a careful copperplate and underneath the name it said “From her father on her tenth birthday, 23 December 1782.” She flipped to the last entry in the journal and found it was dated 2 March 1785. The entry ended in such an abrupt manner that Leandra was convinced there was another journal somewhere. But where?

Her gaze ran over the shelves until it lit upon a spot on the third shelf from the very top. There appeared to be an empty space between two books. She scanned the room and her sparkling eyes fastened on one of the desks. With many grunts and several muttered curses, Leandra managed to drag the heavy desk over to the shelf.

“Damn,” she grumbled as she stood on the desk and reached toward the space. She was about three feet too short.

“Need some help?” asked a deeply amused voice from the doorway.

Heat crept over Leandra’s skin. She scrambled down from her precarious perch on the desk. “Your pardon, Lord Greville. Was there something you required?”

Greville’s eyes gleamed with amusement and all for her. “If we are going to be friends,
your grace
, I suggest you get used to calling me Levi.”

“It is hardly proper on such little acquaintance, as you well know.”

“You are married to Hart. You will have to get used to impropriety.”

Leandra couldn’t help but smile at that, though a tinge of unease colored her mirth. “Very well,
Levi
, is there something you need?”

“Is there something up there you need?” he asked, pointing to the shelf she’d been reaching toward. “If you break your neck while I’m on watch, Hart will have my head on a platter. Tell me which book you require and I will fetch it for you.”

She thought about it for a moment and decided that she would much rather ask this gentleman to retrieve the book for her than a servant who might gossip about her find.

Leandra pointed at the seemingly empty space between the books and said, “I think there is a much smaller book between them. Like this one.” She held up the journal in her hand.

Greville nodded once, stepped up on the desk—Leandra was amazed that it supported his weight—and felt around in the space between the books above his head. He pulled his hand out with a triumphant grin and climbed down, handing her the journal with a magnificent bow.

Leandra curtsied and laughed, reaching for the book. Greville held it just out of her grasp and cocked his head to one side, brows raised.

“What is this?” he asked with apparent bad manners.

Leandra frowned. “It is none of your concern, sir,” she told him haughtily.

Greville just grinned at her. She finally smiled and said, “It is nothing more than an old journal. I thought it might be interesting.”

The earl considered her round, serious face for a moment, nodded, and handed over the book. He bowed. “Please forgive me for teasing you so. I had to know what it was that attracted Hart, you see. He needs more than just a pretty face.”

She started at his candor, blushed at his offhand compliment, then replied, “He had need of a wife to get his inheritance. He was not attracted to me in the least.”

Greville gave her an enigmatic look and offered his arm to escort her from the room. “As you get to know your husband better, Leandra, you will find that there is not a force on Earth that can make Hart do anything he does not wish. I am willing to bet that you were not the first lady he came across and considering all you told Aurora and me last night, by far not the most eligible.”

17

Leandra decided to forgo her visit to the nursery in favor of a morning ride while the weather was still chill and blustery. She  enjoyed being out of doors when there was a nip in the air and the threat of rain. It seemed to act as a sort of outlet for her calmly pent-up emotions.

She retreated to her dressing room and had Liza dress her hair more securely and fetch her a riding habit and a warm cloak. After tying a dashing shako with a curling white feather on her dark brown tresses and donning her habit of chocolate brown, Leandra stepped out into the Great Hall and took up her riding crop. Stark smiled indulgently and opened the door for her.

Lucifer’s Lady was soon saddled and stomping impatiently in her desire to be off. Leandra smiled and patted Lady’s nose.

“Patience, my sweet,” she told the horse in a low whisper. She kissed the velvety muzzle and smiled. “You are too beautiful to send yourself into such fits and starts.”

Amazingly—to every stable hand and groom, if not to Leandra—the horse quieted and stood still as a statue as a groom with a crooked nose and disfiguring squint hefted her into the saddle.

“Thank you, Jeb,” she told the groom. He doffed his hat and gave her a shy smile that appeared to be closer to a leer on his ugly face. Leandra only smiled brighter and lifted her crop in salute.

“Sum’un ought to go wit ‘er,” she heard the head groom say just before she kicked Lady into a smooth gallop.

The huge black mare with the tiny black-cloaked figure soared over the ground as one being. She directed the animal toward the cliffs that were on the east side of the castle wall. Just when it seemed they would plunge over, Lady came to an abrupt halt.

Leandra stared out over the choppy waters. The waves were gray and green with hints of blue and frothy white caps of sea spray. They crashed on the rocky shore below. Seagulls flew about shrieking their displeasure at the approaching storm adding a strange counterpoint to the music of the surf.

This very sight had enchanted Leandra since the first time she had beheld it two weeks ago. She had been waiting for another chance to see it all over again. Lady would not fret; the horse was as much a storm-hungry being as Leandra.

Giving in to the impulse, Leandra tore her hat from her head and flung it far out over the cliff and into the sea below. She watched it fall, a small smile touching her lips as the hat was swallowed in the crashing waves. A brisk breeze ripped the feather from her hat and carried it far out over the water before it was swept into the sea.

The next things to go were the pins from her chignon. They scattered to the ground at Lady’s feet and the wind whipped Leandra’s hair every which way, across her face, down her back, and over her shoulders. She threw her head back and released a joyful cry.

“Isn’t it the most wonderful thing, Lady?” Leandra breathlessly queried the animal beneath her.

Lady nodded her head as if in agreement, then stamped her foot.

“It would be wonderful, would it not? To ride like the wind and pretend that we have no guests and nothing to worry about ever. To revel in the power of God and admire all His magnificence and beauty.”

The horse nodded her great black head again and snorted.

“‘Tis heaven up here, so high above the rest of the world.” She released the reins and threw her hands up in the air. “I feel so free!” she shouted joyously. “I feel like I could fly!”

Both of Lady’s front feet left the ground briefly and Leandra grabbed up the reins to keep from tumbling off, laughing. “Careful, my pet, or you will lose me. And I have no desire to take a tumble off this cliff.”

Lady shook her head and twisted around to nibble at Leandra’s skirts, one great black eye watching her closely. Leandra marveled that the creature could so resemble her master with her black coat and black, expressionless eyes. She gave herself a mental shake and leaned down to pat the horse’s silky neck.

As she resumed her straight-backed position, Leandra caught sight of an object far off in the distance bobbing along in the water. She squinted her eyes, trying to decipher what it was but it was still too far away.

“Come, Lady, let us investigate.”

She urged the horse into a canter toward a cliff path that led down to the shore below. She let her arms fall slack on the reins and Lady picked her way down the rocky path. It was quite a distance and the object Leandra had seen from the cliff top was much closer by the time horse and rider reached the bottom. The wind was not so fierce down here and Leandra’s hair fell in damp strands around her shoulders and down her back. Her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders due to the wind and all the elegance of her deep brown habit was visible.

She should have been cold. But curiosity and excitement fired her blood and she did not feel the cold bite of the wind or the stinging spray of the surf. She was too intent on what she now recognized as a ship.

She could make out the sails and saw that it was moving quickly in her direction. The little bay by which she stood was where her husband docked his boat, she knew. So thinking, she assumed it must be Derringer returning from France.

She suppressed a shiver. He was coming home. 

She hoped he had his cousin with him. When Derringer had spoken of Gabriel St. Clair, pain echoed in his voice. She knew how important it was for him to restore his cousin to his family and recapture some of the innocence they had shared as boys.

As these thoughts ran through Leandra’s mind, Lady stomped and snorted almost as if she knew the ship in the distance. Leandra patted her neck and murmured, “Yes, my beautiful Lady, he is returned.”