Never to Part (10 page)

Seized by an urge to follow, Daphne cautiously edged around the structure. She trailed her fingers across the cold stone as if the contact would protect her. The rustling faded into silence when she reached the front corner. Daphne’s confidence ebbed.

“Brave heart,” she murmured. “‘Tis only the dead who keep you company.” Squaring her shoulders Daphne braced her courage for the walk to the door.

Just as she started to go around the corner of the mausoleum a gigantic black shadow engulfed hers. Something brushed her shoulder. She opened her mouth to scream but a gloved hand clamped ruthlessly across her mouth. A steely arm jerked her up and back against solid flesh and held her fast.

Certain in an instant who held her, Daphne went very still.

“Nod if you will remain silent if I release you.”

She did so.

The hand and arm fell away. Daphne grabbed hold of the arm as it withdrew from her waist to keep from falling. The moment she was steady on her feet she released it as if scalded. She backed away only to collide with the cold stone of the mausoleum.

Lifting her chin with quiet determination, Daphne met the gaze of Baron Dremore. With the play of shadows she could not see his face clearly but a cold fury emanated from the man.

“May I presume you are unescorted, Miss Stratton?” he inquired with arrogant sarcasm. Richard took two deliberate steps closer. He halted a hands-width from Daphne.

She did not need light to imagine his full sensuous lips, his aristocratic nose, and the curl of his gold mane just above his collar.

Richard reached for her shoulder.

Surprise made Daphne form an
oh
of surprise. She saw his gaze flicked downward to her chest. Then Richard lifted his hand and traced the line of Daphne’s jaw. When he paused, his fingers near her chin, she found fear and surprise coalesce into interest and then confusion. She lowered her gaze and saw a flicker of motion near the hem of her skirt. To her amazement leaves swirled about them. Her senses prickled, and then two auras appeared dimly behind the baron.

“Kiss her fool,” urged Ricman.

“He’ll lose the moment if he does not act,” Lady Laurel fretted. “Do something.”

“Thou knowest we can’t touch living beings,” he protested and cast about for a possible tool. Picking up a rock beside a tombstone, Ricman sighed, “Sorry old chap.”

“Thou mustn’t render him unconscious,” fussed Laurel. “Wait—he’s—” She stepped between her husband and the baron just as Ricman lunged forward with the stone. He and the stone passed harmlessly through her but it landed heavily against Dremore’s back
.

Suddenly Richard half jerked half stumbled forward and fell against Daphne. He grabbed hold of her and clutched her to his chest as he staggered forward.

“What on earth?” squealed Daphne into the folds of his cravat. Somehow she was certain whomever or whatever was connected to the auras were responsible. But Dremore’s solidness and the warmth beneath her hands braced against his chest sent a thrill through her. Richard’s scent mingled with bay rum, leather, linen, and starch stole what little breath she had left.

“I am sorry,” he apologized without easing his hold on her. “Something struck me in the back.”

“Are you all right?” Daphne asked, breathless at his continuing proximity. It drove everything from her mind but him.

“That worketh the trick,” Ricman told his wife. He embraced her. “Let’s go back to the inn. They’ll be a while.”

“Keep thy mind on why we are here,” Laurel said but eased the reprimand with a tender kiss. She looked over his shoulder at the other two and saw the glint in Daphne’s eyes. “I so wish she’d put paid to being rational and sensible.”

Daphne drew in a ragged breath and prayed for strength to resist the temptation to pull Richard’s blond head to hers and kiss those firm enticing lips. “Shouldn’t you—shouldn’t you investigate what hit you?” Her resolve grew stronger. Daphne pressed back against his hold.

A startled look crossed Richard’s features. He released her and made to step back.

For no cause Daphne could see, the baron began to flail his arms and then fell. “Really, my lord,” she said grimly. With a shake of her head she held out her hand to help him up.

“That,” Richard snapped and motioned to a large rock beside him, “was what hit me in the back.”

“Of course,” Daphne said. “It threw itself against your back. Was it angry because you trod on it?” she asked archly.

“Did you see it lying here earlier?” Richard asked as he rose in one lithe move without taking her hand.

“No.”

“Keep your voice down,” Richard warned her. “Just what you are doing here?”

“What are you doing here, my lord?” she parroted tartly.

“This was built by the first Lord Dremore. I have an interest in my ancestors’ work.”

“At this time of night? Wait. Your ancestor built it? He isn’t buried here?” Daphne stared at the baron.

“No, Lord Ricman is not here.”

The auras appeared again behind Richard. They winked away.

Lady Laurel sitting atop a nearby tombstone threw up her hands. “Halt thy bickering,” she commanded. Finding them uncooperative she motioned to her husband.

He rolled his eyes and tugged at the mausoleum door. With a low creak it slowly eased partially open.

Daphne jumped at the sound and landed against Richard’s chest. Reason demanded she back away but every nerve pressed her to remain in the fold of his arms. “Was that the door?” she whispered.

“The door was fast locked when I tried it moments ago.” Richard eased her back and then crept to the edge of the front column. He peered into the darkness. “Bloody hell,” he swore lowly. “‘Tis open. But by whose hand?”

“The same person who
hit
you with the rock,” Daphne quipped even as she wondered about the auras.

Pursing his lips, Richard picked up the lantern and stalked to the open door. He turned to face her. “The cost of admission, Miss Stratton, is an explanation.”

Daphne faced the baron thankful that the moon had gone behind a cloud and that the night’s gloom shielded her features. “Your mother recited a verse, in part— ‘Till both lay in Morpheus arms in Bidle’age.’”

Richard stiffened. “Being a proper young miss you crept out of your host’s house in the middle of the night to visit a cemetery. To what end?”

The scorn in his voice brought a surge of heat to her cheeks but Daphne did not flinch. “I do no harm in this.”

“Be the gallant—invite her to enter lad—it’s to thy benefit as well as hers,” Lord Ricman whispered in Dremore’s ear.

Richard shook his head. He raised a hand to his ear as if to brush away something. Then he gave a flourish as if to motion Daphne to precede him into the vault.

She hesitated.

“A change of heart, Miss Stratton?”

“
These two are impossible,” Lord Ricman swore to his wife. “He could not be one of my descendants.”

“You’ve only to think about his Blanchard stubbornness to know he is,” Lady Laurel hissed. “Go on, Daphne,” she urged. “Do something,” she urged her husband
.

Lord Ricman strode inside and beckoned at Daphne

A dim light winked invitingly inside the mausoleum.

With a false smile, Daphne sauntered into it ahead of the baron only to find the light gone. She was dismayed by this and the fact that the distance between the inner wall and the double wide sarcophagus in the centre would not permit two people to walk abreast. As she headed around the tomb the door squeaked. She whirled to face it.

“Don’t want anyone to see the light and come to investigate,” Richard offered in explanation as he tugged at it. The door closed, he flipped up the lantern’s guard. Soft golden light flickered across the interior. Dust motes danced in its beams.

“Make fast the door,” Lady Laurel ordered.

“’Tis done,” Lord Ricman told her gleefully turning from the door.

“A beautiful likeness of us both,” she told him as she walked through Daphne and around the double wide stone coffin in the centre of the interior.

Daphne shuddered and backed away from a huge spider web draped between the wall and one of the moulded figures atop the stone coffin. On the other side of the web she saw that the baron had circled in the opposite direction.

“Unafraid of spectres or ghosts but taken aback by a tiny spider?” Richard asked and then grinned.

A lump formed in Daphne’s throat. He looked like a mischievous little boy. She longed to go to him and push back that unruly strand of blond hair from his forehead that always fell forward. Longed to forget what had happened; the angry words they had exchanged. But more than a spider stood in her way. She turned her back to him to conceal her regret.

“Why do you visit this mausoleum if your ancestors aren’t here?” Daphne studied the cast figures, searched for any clue to fit “Gemini’s reflected dryad.”

“As you said, they aren’t entombed here.”

“Exactly, my lord. What do you hope to accomplish?” The warmth from the lantern as well as a frisson of excitement warned Daphne of his approach.

“What do you hope to bring about?” Richard said softly. “Perhaps you wish the door open so that someone will discover us here.” His voice hardened. “Alone.”

Daphne whirled to face him stirring centuries of dust. The acid words on her lips were lost in a coughing bout. When she managed to still the cough she saw the tall lean figure of the baron casually leaning against the sarcophagus watching her with open amusement.

“You are an insufferable man.”

His grin went taut.

She slapped at his arm.

Richard caught her wrist in a light but firm grip. He straightened from his languorous pose, his features tense. “Short
suffering
, more like. For what do you search?”

“Curiosity is my only offence, my lord.” Daphne stared at his gloved hand on her wrist. Through the layer of fabric and leather separating their skin his strength, his heat threatened to melt her resistance. Chagrin bolted to the surface. “I am truly sorry if I caused your mother any discomfort,” Daphne said. “If I could undo—” She shrugged, misery apparent.

“Perhaps you would care to explain my ‘offence?’”

His steely tone and grim eyes momentarily gave Daphne hope he cared about her opinion. That would be more like the man she had thought him to be rather than the one forced upon her by the world’s truth. “If you wish.”

“They’ll be at arguing again,” Lord Ricman groaned from his perch atop his lady wife’s effigy.

“Hush,” Lady Laurel urged
.

Richard brought Daphne’s wrist down and drew her closer. “You dare to say I offend?”

“My behaviour that night was an innocent blunder,” Daphne retorted. “Your dear mother wrote and told me strong spirits had been added to the punch I drank. I don’t understand how or why that set of . . . of minxes encouraged me—”

“You want me to believe friends of my family told you to mimic my mother?”

His disbelief poured over Daphne like ice water. She blinked; tried not to acknowledge how much his scorn hurt. “Lord Dremore, why would I wish to offend your mother? She was all kindness to me. What gain was there for me in offending her?”

Her short-found relief when Richard released her wrist disappeared as he planted his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders. He lowered his head; put his lips but a whisper from hers.

“See, he is thy kin,” Lady Laurel told her husband. “If he does this right, harmony will prevail at last.”

“He’s a slow top not to have kissed her before this
.”

“Indeed “Indeed it makes no sense, Miss Stratton. Speak you the truth?”

Daphne gave a slight nod. She could not remove her eyes from his beckoning lips. When she saw his tongue flick across them, she unconsciously did the same and raised her gaze to his.

Sparks flared in his eyes.

She closed hers. Waited breathlessly. A lone finger brushed the nap of her neck. Then fingers plucked a pin from her hair. A strand fell free. She sensed him finger it.

Daphne desperately wished she dared reach up and touch his golden curls. Before she could, soft pressure moved across her lips loosening a lightning bolt in her blood. His lips lingered, beckoned a swirl of pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Its lack a moment later left her bereft. Opening her eyes she stared into Richard’s gaze and saw conflict as well as desire.

Unable to bear possible rejection, Daphne ducked under his arm and ran to the door. She grasped the handle and tugged with all her might. It held fast.

“You locked it,” she accused. “You lied.”

“It is not locked,” Richard said scornfully. “If you would have me believe you, trust me in this.” He strode towards her.

Daphne stepped away from the door.

Richard tugged on the handle and swore under his breath when it would not give. He jerked on the door again. “It must be stuck,” he muttered.

“Perhaps it was relocked by your
spectre
,” Daphne offered with reflexive acidity.

“I did not lock it. Do you see a means for me to do so?”

“Dear God, I pray you find a way to open it before morning. What shall we do it we are discovered here?”

Dremore stilled; looked intently at her. “Thinking to become a baroness?”

“Never,” Daphne choked out. She strode to the other end of the chamber and stood so that the sarcophagus blocked her view of this tormenting man. She studied it and the two figures atop but could see nothing that resembled in any way a Gemini or a dryad. Rubbing her forehead she wished her idea of finding the Dremore fortune to perdition.

A touch on her elbow startled Daphne.

“I apologize, Miss Stratton.” Richard dropped his hand. He grimaced. “I am not usually such a clodpole. Perhaps we could cry truce.” When she didn’t reply he shrugged.

“
Harmony guides the way to Gemini’s reflected dryad; To gain the path to unearthing the mystery
,” he quoted from the verse.