Page 17 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

Levi shook his head. “Spirit or no, I’ll not have an uninvited houseguest residing here.”

Muttering a curse, Warwick hobbled back toward them, his face straining from the effort. “Did you not bet Roxburghe for your wedding date? You cannot perform an exorcism from this distance.”

Grisham swore, then nodded his agreement. “I didn’t expect Mr. Philbert to watch me exorcise him.”

“None of us did,” Mansfield replied and, gasping, jerked his chin toward the gazebo. “Did the shadow float down the steps?”

Levi’s eyes whipped to the dark blob hovering at the base wooden staircase. “It must have seen Roxburghe and Beaufort.”

“We need to run before it vanishes.” Mansfield glanced to his left. “Warwick…”

Warwick waved his arm. “We’ve already established I’m unworthy of possession.”

“If I were a spirit?—”

“Go!” Warwick slashed his cane at Mansfield.

They rushed down the pathway, their shoes scattering pebbles of soft sand into the long green fronds lining the trail, and overtook Roxburghe and Beaufort, who, without explanation, increased their speed, keeping pace with the trio. The quintet exploded through the low-hanging branches of a beech tree and rushed toward the gazebo.

The apparition was gone.

Mansfield reached the steps first, skidding to a halt and spinning in a circle, his eyes scanning the conservatory. “Where did it go?”

Bending over, Beaufort placed his hands on his knees and drew in several shallow breaths before raising his curious gaze to Mansfield. “Where did what go?”

“The shadow.”

“I’ll need a better explanation than that.”

“When we entered the conservatory, we noticed a dark entity floating in the gazebo.” Mansfield placed one foot on the bottom step. “Unfortunately, we were not quick enough to reach the structure before Mr. Philbert vanished.”

Grinding his teeth, Levi strode toward Mansfield. “We did not determine the shadow was the ghost of Mr. Philbert.”

“Nor did we disprove the theory,” Mansfield said, ascending the staircase.

He swore.

Roxburghe chuckled. “An empty gazebo shouldn’t bring that type of language to your lips.”

“It isn’t empty,” said Mansfield.

Those three words caused a flurry of activity. At the same moment, the four men outside the gazebo converged on the staircase. They exploded into the structure, pushing each other to squeeze through the narrow entrance.

Mansfield pointed at a small silver object winking in the darkness at the rear of the gazebo. “It appears to be a knife.”

Roxburghe exhaled a low whistle. “Mr. Philbert was killed with a knife.”

A shiver racing the length of Levi’s spine, he glanced over his shoulder at the pathway, oscillating between the desire to inspect the knife and to rush from the conservatory.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have left Warwick to Mr. Philbert’s malevolent whims,” he said, frozen with indecision.

“We’ll retrieve him,” Roxburghe said, eyeing Grisham as he strode toward the gazebo steps.

Nodding once, Grisham silently followed.

“That’s an unfair assumption.” Mansfield withdrew an off-white handkerchief from his pocket and scooped up the knife. “Mr. Philbert may only have good intentions.”

Growling, Roxburghe turned at the base of the staircase, fury darkening his features. “He didn’t have them for my fiancée.”