The Love Affair of an English Lord (15 page)

Ares consented to this nonsense with a look of utter resignation. Chloe wondered suddenly what she had gotten herself into. What was she to do with a killer dog?

Or a killer.

She glanced up at Sir Edgar's face, attempting to understand what hid behind his mask of unctuous agreeability. Could her well-mannered, accomplished host be capable of murder? Was it possible Dominic had made a mistake? It had been dark in this room the night of the attack.

“What do you make of this, Sir Humphrey?” Edgar asked the other man hovering in the doorway behind Chloe. “It's up to you whether you wish this animal in your house.”

“I have never been able to refuse my wife when it comes to rescuing a stray, Sir Edgar,” Humphrey answered with a good-humored shrug. “I should not be wise to start now.”

Sir Edgar shook his head in defeat. “Then by all means, take the beast. But do not say I did not warn you if it turns on you.”

 

Sir Edgar stood alone with Chloe on the stone entrance steps while the rest of her family climbed into the carriage for the brief drive home.

“Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Lady Chloe. I wish I could have offered you a more entertaining evening.”

She forced herself to meet his regard. He seemed gallant, refined, and yet the seed of distrust, of horror, had been planted in her mind. “I was well entertained, Sir Edgar,” she replied cordially.

Heavens, that was true enough. Thinking of the way Dominic had kissed her in the dark, had caressed her body, brought a searing blush to her skin. No one had
ever
entertained her like that. And now she knew the basis, if not the details, of his story. Her curiosity had been satisfied while other parts of her nature were aroused.

Sir Edgar smiled. “I wonder if Chistlebury will hold either of us here much longer. I begin to miss the art of battle, and you clearly belong in London, Lady Chloe, where you can be admired.”

For a moment Chloe wondered if he was warning her away. “You flatter me, Sir Edgar.” And frightened her even more.

To think that such a distinguished man could be a killer. Or that he'd played a hand in Brandon's death. Was it possible? Had Dominic made a terrible mistake? Yet someone had made a monstrous attempt to murder him, and Sir Edgar stood to gain a great deal from his inheritance. Chloe decided to put her trust in Dominic. She was not about to take any chances.

 

“You sweet little thing,” Aunt Gwendolyn cooed to the massive dog who sat in watchful silence at the mossy steps of Dewhurst Hall. “Look how obedient you are.”

“Look at the size of him,” Uncle Humphrey said in a disgruntled voice. “I don't suppose I'll be having steak chops this week.”

“You ate enough at Sir Edgar's table tonight to last you until Christmas.”

Sir Humphrey ignored the insult, watching as Chloe and Pamela entered the house arm in arm, Ares following in their shadow. He cared deeply for those two young women and was surprised how determined he was to guard them. “I did not take to our new neighbor, Gwennie.”

The usual argument that he expected from his spirited wife did not come. “Nor did I, to be frank,” she said in an undertone. “A man who dislikes dogs cannot be trusted.”

 

Dominic watched the carriage disappear down the drive, craving one last glimpse of Chloe's face. Her taunting smile was an image to keep with him in the darkness. When the shadows began to suffocate him again, he would think of her and how she had brightened his hellish realm. He would remember how it had felt to laugh and be himself, to lower his guard and trust another as he had once done so easily.

In a way he was glad that Ares had gone with her. The damned dog had become a liability. But no more so than Dominic's involvement with the desirable lady who had learned his deepest secrets.

His mood sinking, he returned to his hiding place. In the drive below he could see Edgar staring after the carriage. The perfect host. The perfect soldier. The man who had betrayed his own country and family for gold, who had killed without conscience. It made Dominic's flesh crawl to think of his uncle staring at Chloe.

He stood for a moment inside the passageway. He needed to work on the coded letter—it required a focus he did not seem to be able to muster. It fit somehow into the puzzle of Edgar's treachery, but who had written it? Who was it meant to reach?

He trudged down the steps to the cellar. God, no wonder he could not think clearly in this dank hole. The oppressive gloom muddled his mind. He needed to breathe. He needed the brisk night air.

Almost a half hour later he crawled from the chalk tunnel that had been carved into the down and emerged from a wooden trapdoor on the floor of the abandoned mill. The journey seemed endless tonight, and he was almost drunk with relief as he broke outside into the night.

A twig snapped in the dirt. He reached inside his waistband for his pistol. For the second time that evening he had company.

 

Aunt Gwendolyn's bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house. Chloe had barely sought her bed when the shrieking awakened her. By the time she found her dressing robe and made her way to the door, tripping over Ares, the screams had subsided.

In fact, Aunt Gwendolyn appeared quite calm when Chloe and Uncle Humphrey traced her to the parlor.

“My God, woman,” he said, fumbling to put on his spectacles. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you standing there in your cloak screaming the house down?”

“I saw him, Humphrey,” she said excitedly, dragging him to the window. “I saw him riding through the woods on his horse. I saw the
ghost.
”

Humphrey and Chloe exchanged glances. “It wasn't the ghost, Aunt Gwendolyn,” Chloe said in hesitation. “If you saw anyone at all, it was probably Devon.”

“Devon?” her aunt asked in a puzzled voice.

“Yes, Devon,” Humphrey said irritably. “The rascal was most likely coming to us for help, and you frightened him away with your screaming.”

“It was
not
Devon,” she replied. “I know my naughty devil. This apparition was bigger than Devon, as big as that bad boy might be. Furthermore, he was riding Stratfield's horse.”

Uncle Humphrey shook his head in concern. “Perhaps I should take you away for a month. We could visit our friends in Dorset and have a quiet holiday.”

“No,” she said with such vehemence that Chloe turned around from the window where she had been sneaking a look outside. “Are you completely insensitive, Humphrey? We cannot go away now. Our Chloe has fallen in love.”

Chloe's heart missed a beat. In love? Her first irrational thought was that her aunt had found out about Dominic. Yet that was not possible. Gwendolyn would hardly give her blessing to such a romance. Besides, Chloe didn't love him, did she? Love surely did not describe the acute distress that made her feel like laughing with abandon one moment and weeping in frustration the next. In love. With Dominic. Her brothers would go wild. They would start another war.

She could imagine having to explain her actions.
Yes, I would like the family to meet the man I love. He has been dead for several weeks, but don't let that put you off. It didn't discourage me. Where did we meet? Er, in my trunk of undergarments. Where does he live? Well, in his ancestral home—inside the walls, that is. . . .

“Yes,” Aunt Gwendolyn continued, “I believe Chloe has lost her heart to our own Justin, and a delightful match they make, even if Pamela does not like him. I think this is a union the entire family can approve. Let us not crush it in its infancy.”

Chloe did not know whether to feel relieved or to burst out laughing. “Heavens, above. I am not in love with Justin. I've only known him—” Well, less time than she had known Dominic, but she could not compare the two men, or what each of them made her feel. Dominic was so much more complex, so dark and alluring. Justin was the man her father would have wanted her to choose. Not that long ago she had been considering him a good catch herself.

She took a breath. “I think it's time I tell you the truth, Aunt Gwendolyn. Devon has been coming here secretly to me for help. Yes, I know it was wrong of me to take advantage of your hospitality, but he is, after all, my brother, and—”

“He's my nephew, too,” her aunt broke in rather impatiently. “And I do believe I love the scamp as much as you do, Chloe. I am perfectly aware that Devon has been coming to your room on the sly. Consider it an act of kindness on my part that I have not intervened.”

Chloe felt heat warming her cheeks. “I cannot believe you knew. It seems I'm a disappointment again.”

“I do understand discretion, Chloe, and the meaning of family loyalty. I have a bit of Boscastle in me if you recall.”

“Yes,” Chloe said meekly, noticing her uncle's amused look.

“I am not stupid, Chloe,” Aunt Gwendolyn continued. “Nor are my senses impaired. You and Devon made quite a racket the other night in your room. It sounded as if you were practicing a country dance.”

A country dance. Chloe's face was positively on fire now. Her aunt could only be referring to the night she had discovered Dominic in her dressing closet. The night he had tossed her on the bed and scared her silly. An interlude that had changed Chloe's life forever.

“I'm sorry if I disturbed you,” Chloe said after an awkward pause.

Aunt Gwendolyn's sweet face darkened in a mixture of distress and annoyance. “You and Devon did not disturb me. What disturbs me is this ghost.”

“Do you really think it is Stratfield's ghost you saw, my dear?” her husband asked in a tentative voice. “And why would he be riding in front of our house if it were?”

“I should think the answer is obvious, Humphrey,” she retorted. “The man is begging to be put out of his misery.”

“Aren't we all?” he murmured.

“And I,” she claimed, “obviously did not do a proper job of laying him tonight.” She turned to Chloe and Humphrey in chagrin. “I fear I may have stirred him up instead of settling him. He's coming to me for help, Humphrey, and I cannot fail him.”

 

Dominic watched as the tall blond-haired figure swaggered into the dilapidated mill house. “I almost blew your pretty head off, Adrian,” he said in annoyance. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?”

The unannounced arrival was Adrian Ruxley, Viscount Wolverton, professional mercenary, prodigal son, and heir to a dukedom. With a wry smile, he pulled off his leather riding gloves and squatted down in front of the trapdoor from which Dominic had only recently emerged. His short blond hair accented the hard angles of his sun-bronzed face. His hazel eyes reflected a good-natured concern. “Dominic, my old friend, now you have me truly worried. We arranged to meet at nine tonight in the woods. I do not believe I misunderstood the time. You were unable to make our meeting?”

Dominic glanced up grimly. “My uncle was giving a dinner party.”

“So I noticed. The estate was ablaze with expensive candles. I almost invited myself over just to see Edgar's reaction.” Adrian whistled softly over his shoulder, and the steed he'd ridden moved into the protective shelter of the mill house. “It must have been quite an interesting affair for you to miss our appointment,” he said in a cautious voice.

There was silence. Their friendship had been forged years ago in the same Prussian military academy where they had met Heath Boscastle. The two of them had only recently been reunited since what seemed to be another lifetime. Rejected by his proud, embittered father, who believed Adrian to be the product of his young wife's illicit love affair, Adrian had spent the last eight years of his life in self-exile. Only three months ago he had returned to England at his father's request. No fool, Adrian was intrigued by the promise of a fortune.

Rake, rebel, mercenary, cynic, he was one of the most talked-about men in London—and the only person Dominic trusted with his life.

He put down the pistol he had removed from his waistband. “The truth is that I
forgot
I was supposed to meet you.”

“Well, it isn't the end of the world,” Adrian said mildly. “If you were spying on Edgar, I would not have wanted you to lose some vital information. It's not like the old days when we snubbed each other for anything in skirts.”

“Isn't it?”

Adrian's expressive hazel eyes narrowed in speculation. “You
aren't
serious? You were with a woman? How could you risk everything? I mean, I know how one would be tempted, a month without sex in a stuffy hidey hole, but for God's sake—I
hope
the lady does not know anything.”

“She knows everything.”

“You bloody desperate fool,” Adrian said in amazement. “Well, I pray to God we can buy her off or send her away at least until this is over. Who in heaven's name is she anyway? One of your housemaids?”

“Lady Chloe Boscastle.” Dominic closed his eyes and drew a breath. There were traces of her unforgettable scent on his shirt. God, his entire body pulsed from holding her. All his longing bottled up, ready to explode. He felt like some sort of wild animal, so hungry for his mate that he could howl beneath her window.

“Boscastle? Not Heath Boscastle's line?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Adrian laughed in stunned admiration, his white teeth gleaming. “You are the only man I know who, being presumed dead, could somehow manage to seduce one of the most desirable ladies in London. From the grave of all places. God help you, Dom.”

“It wasn't part of my original plan. I . . . fell into this, so to speak.”

Adrian sobered as if he could read volumes in what his friend left unsaid. “Hard to resist, is she?”

Dominic rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Impossible. Not that I can carry on a satisfying courtship as a corpse, as you so tactfully pointed out.”