Silent Deception (2 page)

The strong wind brought a becoming shade of pink to her pale complexion. Wrapped in a woolen blanket he’d pilfered from Kitty, she studied her surroundings deep in thought. Certainly of age, why wasn’t Miss Goodridge married yet? She exuded confidence and maturity missing in many ladies. Coming out here to claim Trekellis as her own was a daring undertaking for a young woman. After all, the manor had stood empty for decades after Bartholomew Walker’s suicide. Gideon shook his head, wondering anew how her arrival affected his investigations. ’Twas best he kept it a secret. The girl needn’t know. For now.

Her gasp shook him from his reverie. Following her gaze, he smiled. Trekellis Manor stood proud at the top of a cliff, facing out toward the sea. The roaring of waves crashing into solid rock reached them.

“Welcome to Trekellis Manor, Miss Goodridge.”

His heart jumped at the way her face glowed with pride and something akin to curiosity. She must have been told of Walker’s death, yet she wasn’t scared or hesitant, but rather eager to discover her inheritance.

But what if rumors were true, and the house was indeed haunted?

Pah!

Gideon didn’t believe in ghosts. The building was solid, his recent foray inside had proved as much. She could easily refurbish it to its former glory. All it needed was a good clean.

But staring at the house, the shadows behind its narrow, high windows, he couldn’t shake off a sudden prickling of danger.

Chapter Two

Minnie couldn’t tear her gaze away, entranced by the Gothic turrets flanking the entrance to the estate. As the cart rattled through them, a shudder ran down her spine. The narrow three story buildings stood forbidding, the tiny windows covered in dirt and dust, rusty locks and chains on the narrow doors. Hedges grew tall against the walls, ivy covered the lower half of the towers, left to grow unchecked.

Inside the grounds, what obviously used to be a lawn swayed in the breeze, overgrown, with wildflowers dotting the knee high grass. Moss covered the untended gravel track beneath the wheels of the cart.

Then she glanced ahead and held her breath. The manor loomed proud, with tall double doors in the center of the wing facing her, marking the main entrance.

The cart ground to a halt just outside the worn stone steps leading to the oak doors. Cracks had split the faded wood.

Sadness washed over her. Why were people–Father one of them–so superstitious about a building? Not once had he mentioned Trekellis in her presence; even when she nursed him during his long illness.

“Here, miss. Let me help you.” Mr. Drake held out his hand.

As she rose, the horses lurched forward. Minnie lost her balance, her arms flailing through the air. “No!”

She toppled sideways, certain she’d land unceremoniously on the ground. But a pair of strong hands encircled her middle and instead of falling, she was pulled safely against a lean, hard body. Her face inches from his, she stared up, his dark eyes unfathomable.

Safe? Perhaps not.

Unable to pull her gaze–her body–away, her heart pounding in her ears, she swallowed hard. “Ups-a-daisy.” Heat rose in her cheeks.

A smile curved his well formed lips. “Indeed.” He raised an eyebrow, not relinquishing his hold. “Are you quite all right, Miss Goodridge?”

Despite wearing a thick, woolen cloak over her sensible dress and corset, her nipples stiffened as her breasts pushed against his broad chest. A dusky scent of sandalwood infused her senses. His eyes hadn’t left hers, the powerful gaze rendering her his prisoner. For an instant, she thought he’d kiss her. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, gently loosening his hold. As he released her, embarrassment suffused her.

“Y…yes, I am. Thank you.” She glanced past him to the top step where Jim dropped her portmanteau.

The young man rushed past her, as if stung. Glaring at the horses, he said, “Told you the place was haunted, miss.” He nodded briskly to Mr. Drake, then jumped onto the cart and steered it away from the house.

Minnie shook her head, brushing the dust off her cloak. “Unbelievable.”

“Aye.” Mr. Drake nodded. “Come.” He touched her elbow and led her to the double doors.

Fumbling for the key in her reticule, she let out a triumphant shout. “Ha!” Her hand trembling, she inserted it into the rusty lock, and it released a grating sound as she turned it. “It must be years since someone visited.”

Mr. Drake remained silent.

With a flourish, she pushed back the heavy doors. A dark, gaping hole opened before her.

Mine.
A place she could call her own. A home. No longer required to live according to Aunt Eleanor’s whims. Relief flooded her as Minnie realized she had finally gained her independence.

Her heart beat wildly as she stepped over the threshold.

A wave of dust settled on her skin. She blinked. A wide hall lay in front of her, the wooden staircase in the centre leading to darkness above.

“Why, it’s so gloomy.” Her heart plummeted and she cast a quick glance at her companion.

Mr. Drake stood behind her, his closeness comforting. Feeling the heat emanating from his body, she found the courage to look around. Up high, a chandelier swayed softly in the breeze wafting in behind them. Dust clouds hovered over the mahogany bannister. To the side, a small table was covered in a thick layer.

Minnie placed her gloved forefinger on the long-ago burnished surface and drew a line. The thick fluff on her glove proved the neglect. She brushed it off, careful it wouldn’t tickle her nose.

A sense of excited anticipation coursed through her, replacing her moment of trepidation. She’d return Trekellis Manor to its former glory. She’d show those superstitious villagers.

Glancing at Mr. Drake’s narrowed gaze, she nodded. She’d show him, too.

“I’m not sure this is a place you should stay on your own, Miss Goodridge.” Had he changed his mind? His jaw was set as his eyes darted across the hall. “A parlor might take weeks to clean. You’d need to organize a bedroom for yourself, remove years of dirt. The kitchen is likely filthy.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Faced with his skepticism, her determination emerged stronger than before, and she strode toward the stairs. “I’m going to start upstairs. That way I can see if a bedroom is in a suitable state for me.” Without waiting for his response, she put a tentative foot on the first step and cautiously made her way to the first floor.

“I’m coming with you.” A hint of stubborn determination in his voice, he followed her swiftly.

Minnie smiled over her shoulder. “I’m glad.” Whilst she wasn’t concerned about ghosts, his solid steps behind her reassured her. Even though they’d only just met, Minnie thought she could trust him. At the first door from the landing, she stopped, her hand on the door knob. “Right, what do we have here?” Hearing her own voice gave her courage.

A gentleman’s bedroom, the walls covered in faded mahogany. A giant oak desk stood by the window; above a fireplace hung the portrait of a man in his fifties with a fierce glare, as if piercing through her. Her great uncle, Bartholomew Walker? Most likely.

Minnie shuddered at Walker’s gaze, which appeared more threatening in the hazy light coming through the half closed curtains. As if the dead man was watching her. Not a man to be crossed. Beside her, Mr. Drake stared at the portrait, deep in thought.

“Let’s move on,” she whispered. “I’m not going to stay in here.”

Mr. Drake nodded. “Yes, you should leave this room until later.”

“I agree.” Minnie shrugged off the sense of unease that had suddenly attacked her. What did she expect? Her great uncle had shot himself after being accused of having murdered his wife. She moved away from his room, vowing to clear it out altogether.

The next four doors led to what must have been guest bedrooms. Tidy rooms, curtains half drawn, the beds made up neatly beneath a layer of dust, and lacking any personal items. Cobwebs covered lampshades and corners. They’d be easy to clean. She could always choose one of those rooms as hers.

She stopped outside the last door in the corridor. What hid behind this one? With a whoosh, she opened it and stared into a darkened room, only a thin sliver of afternoon light shining between the heavy, closed curtains. The outlines of several precious pieces of furniture seemed to indicate family use.

“Allow me.” Mr. Drake–clearly entertaining the same thought–stepped past her, rounded the large four-poster bed and pushed the curtains to the side, revealing high, narrow windows. He coughed when a cloud of dust billowed through the air.

Minnie smiled nervously, her hand covering her mouth as her gaze wandered through the room. It was delightful, despite its faded appearance. “Perhaps you could let in some air?”

He obliged by throwing open two tall windows, the hinges creaking. A gust of wind led the dust clouds a merry dance. Mr. Drake waved a hand in front of him and looked around. “The gale does the work for you, it would seem.” He grinned.

Minnie walked to a chaise longue to her left, opposite the bed. Being in the same room as a man, a room with a large, luxurious looking bed, suddenly warmed her face. She patted her hand on the soft red velvet of the chaise longue and sat, ignoring the fluffy puffs of dust. Surprisingly comfortable.

This would become her bedroom. The pale pink wallpaper, once with elaborately ornate but now faded gold thread, the crochet bedcover and the delicate drawers and table indicated a lady’s room.

How befitting. A sense of homecoming took hold of her.

***

Gideon averted his gaze and instead stared out of the window. Stunned, he beckoned Miss Goodridge over.

“You should see this. I can now fully understand why the original proprietors built the manor right here.” He leaned out to enjoy the view over the cliffs toward the sea, letting the wind clear his mind whirling from the unexpected developments. Miss Goodridge appeared beside him, and he stepped back, savoring the alluring scent of lavender on her skin as she stood beside him.

Since when did he like lavender?

“Beautiful,” she whispered, a hand still on her lips, admiring the scenery.

Looking over her shoulder, he could only agree. A broad stretch of lawn–what used to be lawn–stretched out from the house toward the precipice; the wild sea beyond rose and sank, crashing into the bottom of the cliff in a loud roar.

His gaze returned to her, her shapely neck exposed, breasts rising and falling as she breathed in deeply the salty sea air.

Step back!

“Yes,” he said, uncertain whether he spoke of the landscape or her. He shook his head slightly. What was wrong with him? In helping the girl, he’d have regular access to the manor. That was what counted. Not her enticing beauty or courage.

He was in Trekellis to explore his grandfather’s past, not become involved with a woman. It was fortunate the lady didn’t know his real background.

Miss Minerva–God, the name suited her well–Goodridge was brave. And perhaps a tad desperate, given the urge with which she forced her way to Trekellis Manor. She intrigued him.

Turning, she bumped into him. Her hands landed briefly on his chest. Again. A beguiling blush graced her cheeks. He could get used to this.

Gideon stepped back.

Miss Goodridge gestured into the room. “This is going to be my room. I guess I have some tidying up to do before nightfall.”

“Aye, and you’ll need help. Do you have any dust cloths?”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean to…”

He grinned. “Certainly, Miss Goodridge. It’s too late in the day to find someone in the village to help get this room fit for habitation tonight, and I’ve no other plans for the afternoon. Some of these cupboards must hold old linens that aren’t entirely moth-eaten.” Of course, he knew where to find them from his illicit visit the previous day, but he couldn’t possibly tell her. “Once we’ve managed to make this room, erm, respectable for a young lady, we can explore downstairs.”

Miss Goodridge’s face closed, a suspicious gleam in her amber gaze. “
We
? Why would you wish to explore
my
house?” Her chin thrust forward, she crossed her arms.

He ignored her change in demeanor, but it took all Gideon’s willpower not to look at her breasts pushed up by her action, the pale complexion tantalizing. “Because you’re a young lady all by yourself and you need a protector.”

A delicate eyebrow rose. “And you presume I’d take the first male who doesn’t run away when he discovers where I’m heading to fill that role? By the way, why aren’t you worried like those villagers?”

Gideon laughed. “Because I’m not local, and I’ve always loved a riddle.” ’Twas too early to reveal his personal interest. She’d chase him out before he could say
grandfather
. “This house is one big enigma.”

The suspicious look slowly softened and her stance relaxed. “If you mean what you say, perhaps you can search for the linens and dusting cloths while I begin to remove the old, dusty covers. They’ll be as new after a proper laundering.”

“Of course. I’ll have a look.” He turned toward the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “Those villagers might yet be right, and the place is haunted.”