Nina Coombs Pykare (34 page)

“It’s all over, Crawford,” Charles said, pitching his voice low, trying to make it persuasive. “Give it up. Please, give it up.”

Would the man respond to him? Would he let Edwina go? Thank God, Charles thought, thank God his baser nature had gotten control and he’d read the note after all. Thank God, he’d been in time to save Edwina from this villain. If he could save her.

Crawford! To think that Crawford had murdered Catherine. The man he’d befriended, made his heir, had murdered his wife. The man he’d trusted. How could he have-

Crawford laughed evilly. “You can’t stop me, Charles. I took Catherine from you and I’ll take this woman, too!” He grinned brashly and raised an eyebrow. “You were never the man for the ladies, I’m afraid. I’ll have this one, too, one way or another. You can’t stop me.”

Charles hesitated, his heart in his throat. If he interfered, what would happen to Edwina? Would Crawford actually break her neck? That seemed impossible—Crawford killing a woman. But the man had killed Catherine. He’d admitted to killing Catherine. So what would keep him from killing again?

Charles tried to think. He had to do something. But what? He wasn’t close enough to reach Crawford. The only one close enough to do anything was the old woman crouched at his feet, whimpering.

While Charles stood there, trying to think what to do, Simpson acted. She grabbed ahold of Crawford’s boot with both hands and jerked hard. Crawford gave a hoarse cry and lurched sideways off balance. In trying to save himself from falling, he loosed his hold on Edwina’s throat. She hit the stones, throwing herself to one side, scrabbling out of Crawford’s reach. Crawford kicked himself free of Simpson and turned with a snarl. “So, Charles, now you know.”

Gasping for breath, Edwina scrambled to her knees and backed away, her eyes on the men.

“Yes,” Charles said. “Now I know. And you will pay. You’ll pay for killing Catherine.”

Edwina’s heart pounded in her throat as Charles rushed in to grapple with Crawford, the two of them fighting back and forth, in and out of the shadows, getting ever closer to the parapet, while she held her breath. Waiting. Hoping. She couldn’t lose Charles now. Not now.

She pushed herself to her feet, looking around for some way to help him. But there was nothing lying about to use as a weapon. What could she do?

Charles must win this battle. He must. Then he wrestled his cousin to the stones. They struggled a little longer, and finally Charles had Crawford pinned down.

In another minute Charles was dragging the villain to his feet, a hand on his collar. “Why?” Charles demanded, pain lacing his voice. “Why did you kill Catherine? Why did you do this to me?”

Crawford shrugged. “You had what I wanted. You had my Catherine.” He laughed and a shiver skittered over Edwina’s flesh. The man was mad. Stark raving mad. She saw it now. Why hadn’t she seen it before? “You kept her from me,” Crawford said in accusation. “She was mine and you wouldn’t let her come to me.”

“She wasn’t yours,” Charles replied, his face livid with anger. “She was never yours. Catherine wouldn’t have gone to you. Not ever. She loved me.”

“So she told me when I tried to take her.” Crawford snickered. “Too bad she had such poor taste. We would have been good together.” He laughed again. Then suddenly. he jerked free of Charles’ grasp and leaped up on the parapet, dancing on the outer edge.

 Charles started after him, but Edwina called out, “Wait! Charles, wait!”

Crawford laughed wildly and gestured to him. “Come on, Charles. Come on up and let me take you with me. You can join your precious Catherine right now. Then you can both haunt the castle!”

They stood there, staring at each other. Charles poised to move, Crawford right on the edge of the parapet. Time seemed suspended. A cloud drifted across the face of the moon, a wild exultant cry sounded through the darkness, and when the moon allowed her to see again, the parapet was empty. Crawford was gone.

Edwina stood there staring at the space where the man had been. She could hardly believe that he’d jumped, deliberately jumped to his death. To take one’s own life was a mortal sin. But so was murder. And he had killed Catherine.

The man must have been crazy. She shuddered—to have done the things he’d done—he had to have been crazy. Then, like a dam breaking, the tears burst from her. All the fear and pain she’d kept bottled up burst from her in great choking sobs.

Charles gave her one perplexed look and then folded her in his arms. Poor thing, she had suffered greatly, seeing the man she loved in such terrible straits. Charles held her while he thought about what had transpired here. For one mad moment he’d almost responded to Crawford’s taunt, almost decided to leave behind all his problems and pains, the knowledge that Edwina was, as he’d feared, Crawford’s love.

At least if he jumped too he’d be sure Crawford paid, paid dearly, for what he’d done to Catherine. He’d be spared Edwina’s suffering.

But common sense had intervened, common sense and the thought of the woman he was holding in his arms, the brave woman who had risked so much for him. He couldn’t leave her, or his daughters, to face the future alone. So he hadn’t joined Crawford. He had chosen life—and the responsibilities that went with it.

He stood there for long minutes and simply held her, held her while she sobbed against his waistcoat, sobbed and sobbed, as though she’d never stop. With sinking heart he grew more and more certain he’d been right. She did love Crawford. But perhaps if he kept patient, if he gave her time to get over her grief.

Finally Edwina raised her head. Charles was looking down at her, concern in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I went to your room, to tell you that I’d decided, really decided, to fight the ghost with all my strength. Like you wanted me to do. And I saw the note.” He hesitated and his face flushed. “I apologize for reading your correspondence. I wasn’t going to do it, but somehow I couldn’t help myself. And when I read it, well, I knew I hadn’t written it. So I came as fast I could. To see if you were in danger.”

Edwina sniffled and used the handkerchief he offered her. “How much did you hear?”

He frowned. “Enough to know that Crawford was responsible for Catherine’s death. And the manifestations of her ghost.”

“So you know there’s no ghost,” she said, with relief.

Charles nodded. “No ghost. If I hadn’t felt responsible for bringing Catherine here, I wouldn’t have let my guilt deceive me into believing in ghosts and curses.”

Edwina waited, but he said no more. No words of love issued from his lips. Her heart fell. She’d been mistaken then, Charles didn’t love her. He’d saved her because he was a good man. But his love belonged still to his dead Catherine. It would always belong to Catherine.

Reluctantly Edwina pulled out of his arms. She tried to ignore the pain in her heart, to think. “Thank you, milord. You’ve been most kind. Now, now that we know there’s no curse, you’ll be able to hire a real governess—someone better educated than me. I’ll leave as soon as you find her.” Her heart in her throat, she waited. Why had she said such a thing? She didn’t want to leave him. Even though he didn’t love her, she didn’t want to leave him. But she had to make the offer, to give him the chance to get someone else.

He looked at her for a long moment, sorrow in his dear eyes. “If you think that’s best, Edwina. But—but I had hoped you’d stay on here. The girls—the girls love you. They need you.”

That was true. “Yes, milord, I know. I love them, too. Surely you know that. But they should have the best.”

 “You are the best.” He frowned. “I don’t quite know how to say this. I want you to stay. Not just for them. For me, too. I—I’d like to offer you marriage.” He hesitated, his eyes going opaque.

Her heart threatened to choke her. Marriage. He wanted to marry her.

“I know it’s too soon now,” he said. “But I’m a patient man. I can wait. I’ll give you time to get over this. I understand your grief over losing Crawford—”

“Grief?” she repeated, staring at him with bewildered eyes. “Grief? For the Viscount Crawford? Me?”

Charles nodded. “Yes, I know you cared deeply for him.”

“But I didn’t!”

Charles took a step backward and stared at her. Why was she lying to him? “Edwina, you walked with the man. You kissed him. You spent the night in his bedchamber.”

She stared at him, those green eyes wide with surprise. “Spent the night? With the viscount? No, no, I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Why, why was she lying? He was willing to forgive her. But this lying bothered him. He gave her a sharp look. “Edwina, please, there’s no point in lying. I saw you returning from his room in the early morning hours. In your nightdress.”

“But I wasn’t in the viscount’s room! I wasn’t. Not ever.” She frowned, and he could tell she was trying to think. “Is that why you were so angry the other morning at breakfast?” she asked finally.

He nodded sheepishly. “Yes, I was jealous. I had no right, but—”

She faced him squarely, her gaze directly on his. “I wasn’t in the viscount’s room. That was the night I followed the ghost.” She motioned to where Simpson lay huddled, whimpering against the wall. “She locked me in an empty room. Till dawn. To scare me away from here.”

Simpson raised her head and nodded briskly. “That I did, Yer Lordship. He—the viscount—he told me to do it, trying to scare her off, he was. Make her leave here.”

“Then,” Charles turned back to Edwina, his face lightening. “You mean—you didn’t love Crawford? Not ever?”

“No, not ever. I—” Edwina felt suddenly shy. “I—love you.”

He stared at her for one long moment, almost as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “Truly? You love me?”

“Yes, Charles. For a long time. Since—since the day we went to the seashore, I think. Perhaps even before that.”

He took her in his arms again, feeling the joy known only to a man whose love is returned. “I love you, my dear. I love you very much. We’ll be married as soon as the banns are called. The girls will be happy.” He smiled. “Almost as happy as I am.”

“Yes, Charles.” This was wonderful, this was beyond all expectation. She swallowed hard. “But what about Lady Leonore?”

“What about her?”

She couldn’t believe he didn’t know. “She—she wishes to marry you. To take Lady Catherine’s place as your wife.”

He stared at her in surprise. “To take Catherine’s place? You must be mistaken, Edwina. Why, Leonore wouldn’t—”

“Think about it,” she suggested. “I believe you’ll see.”

He crushed her to him. “Perhaps it’s so. But it doesn’t matter. I know Leonore’s not happy here. I’ll just insist she return to London.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He chuckled and kissed Edwina, turning her toward the tower door. “We’d better go in, dear. Come along, Mrs. Simpson. It’s time we were all abed.”

Simpson scrambled up from the stone floor, a smile wreathing her grimy face. “Ya mean I ain’t gonna get turned off? I ain’t gonna lose me place here?”

Charles chuckled. “Of course not, Simpson. We’ll need you to keep house for us, and to settle in the new staff, you and Wiggins.”

Simpson cackled. “I knowed it. I knowed it the second I seen her. I told Wiggins. I told him, Miss Pierce, she be the one to make things right here.”

“Yes,” Charles said with a smile, sliding an arm around Edwina’s waist. “She has made things right.”

Copyright © 2012 by Nina Coombs Pykare

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.