Page 5

Chapter Five

Thorncroft

Chippenham, Wiltshire

Thorncroft rose from the darkness, its silhouette stark against the night sky, its stone facade and shuttered windows a grim reminder of its former master. No light shone from within; no warmth seeped from its eerie depths.

Green fields and majestic yews created an air of mysterious beauty during daylight hours.At night, the wind howled through the trees and roared through the corridors like Daniel’s father’s gruff complaints. Gerald Dalton wielded his anger as a blacksmith did his hammer—always ready to strike and shape the world to his will.

Daniel breathed through the heaviness in his chest.

He looked at Clara seated opposite—close enough to the window to maintain the gap between her and Rutland’s solid thigh—and recalled her confession on the day their father died.

Please, Daniel! I would rather live anywhere than Thorncroft.

I pray I never set eyes on the place again.

As the vehicle climbed the sweeping gravel drive, he willed Clara to look at him. They had spoken briefly at The Nag’s Head Inn, where she had assured him she was strong enough to face her demons—if it meant helping Elsa.

Clara met his gaze and gave a weak smile. “Mrs McGregor will be furious with you. You should have sent word of our arrival. She will have nothing in the larder to cater to his lordship’s refined tastes.”

Rutland cleared his throat. “Don’t let my elegant demeanour fool you, Miss Dalton. I’m happy with cheese and a hunk of bread. If all else fails, I can catch a rabbit.”

“We can eat supper at a coaching inn if necessary,” Daniel said, though the thugs hired to search for the journal might be staying locally. “Mrs McGregor can send the staff into Chippenham for supplies tomorrow.”

“We’ve learnt to live modestly while staying in London.” Elsa glanced at the space between them, giving a satisfied sigh. She said nothing about dozing off during the journey, only to wake with her head on his shoulder and her fingers grazing his thigh. “We’re happy to make do.”

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Elsa clutched her hands tightly in her lap and peered at the grand oak door as if it were the gateway to hell.

Thorncroft was her home now. Yet she had not crossed the threshold or slept a night in the stately bed. She was the mistress of the house yet acted like a visitor. It came as no surprise. Once they’d solved their problems, he doubted she would remain here. Geneva was a more appealing option.

When they alighted, Daniel drew Elsa aside. He had another confession to make—one that would only unsettle her further. “The staff believe we’ve been living together in London.” Elsa wasn’t the only person he had deceived. “They believe you defied your father’s wishes because you were in love with me.”

How ironic.

The opposite was true.

“I see.” She pressed her hand to the base of her throat and swallowed deeply. “What do we tell them? We can’t say our marriage is a sham. We can’t explain the story behind the two shillings. I presume they think Mr Carver resigned and works elsewhere.”

“Yes. Until last night, no one but Magnus and I knew the truth.” He cupped her elbow, urging her closer. “Can you pretend you’re in love with me, Elsa? Can we at least give the appearance of being happily married until we’ve found the journal and Carver’s murderer?”

Her uneasy wince said she would rather wrestle with the devil.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you want to allay their suspicions.”

The servants had spent years suffering his father’s temper. He refused to let them endure similar tensions again.

“Surely they will see through our facade.”

“No, they won’t.” He reached for her hand, clasping her fingers, relieved she didn’t pull away. “No matter what you think of me, however strained our relationship, an attraction exists between us.”

“It does?” Her lips parted under the weight of his gaze. Her body still called to him in those vulnerable moments when her mind scrambled for control.

“We desire each other, Elsa.” There! He’d said it aloud. The secret neither of them had dared to utter hung in the air between them. “It’s evident in every irate glance and raised voice. It sparks to life every time we touch.” To prove the point, he cupped her cheek, relishing the sudden hitch of her breath. “It’s like the fading embers of a fire that should be roaring, but it’s not dead.”

She closed her eyes as if relishing the warmth of his hand, a brief moment where the world felt right again. “No, it’s not dead.”

He sensed her hesitation. “But?”

“I have lived a lie these last six months.” Elsa glanced at Clara and Rutland, who decided it was better to knock on the front door than eavesdrop. “I’m not sure I have the strength to pretend.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend.”

He might have said more, but the front door swung open, and Mrs McGregor fell over herself with excitement.

“Miss Dalton! I cannae believe yer home at last.” The white-haired housekeeper gripped Clara’s shoulders, absorbing every detail before drawing her into an embrace. “I feared I’d meet my maker before setting eyes on ye again.”

Clara hugged Mrs McGregor. “You did receive my parcels?”

Daniel’s heart skipped a beat. “Parcels?” He stepped beneath the portico, still loosely gripping his wife’s hand. “How long have you been corresponding?”

Clara shot him a defensive look. “We’re not corresponding. I sent Mrs McGregor new gloves for her Christmas box.”

“And the most delicate lace doily from a luxury mercer in Covent Garden,” Mrs McGregor added. “I carry the embroidered handkerchief from Windsor in my pocket.” She hugged Clara again. “Ye always were a thoughtful lass.”

Daniel smiled to himself. It was good to see his housekeeper looking happy, healthy, and not exhausted from his father’s constant demands. “Might we come inside, Mrs McGregor?”

“Good Lord above. I beg yer pardon, sir. Where are my manners?” She ushered them into the grand hall, her grin broadening when she saw Elsa. “Mrs Dalton. ’Tis a pleasure to welcome you home to Thorncroft.”

Elsa released Daniel’s hand and touched Mrs McGregor gently on the upper arm. “During our many conversations in the woods, who knew we’d be living under the same roof one day?”

Mrs McGregor chuckled. “Aye. As far as I recall, we talked more than we foraged. I was over the moon when ye married the master and have been counting the days until yer return.”

Elsa chose that moment to pretend she loved him. She hugged his arm, her fingers sliding over his bicep. “Mr Dalton had important business in London, but we’re happy to be home.”

Every stroke of Elsa’s fingers hardened his cock. He would feel the ache of loneliness when she released him. But if he hoped to salvage anything from the wreckage of their marriage, earning her trust came before seduction.

Rutland stepped forward. “I see you’ve still got that bonnie twinkle in your eyes, Mrs McGregor.”

While Clara tutted, the housekeeper blushed. “Away with ye. Ye always were a charming devil. I suppose ye want yer favourite room and think ye deserve some privileges. ”

Rutland laughed. “As we failed to give you prior warning of our arrival, I will happily take any room available.”

Mrs McGregor gave a playful chuckle. “As it happens, I had prior warning. The blue room is ready and waiting. I’ve even put yer favourite book of poems on the nightstand.”

Clara jerked. “The blue room? Overlooking my reading arbour?”

“Overlooking the beautiful views of the grounds,” Rutland corrected. “Mrs McGregor knows I miss living in the country.”

While they discussed the advantages of a south-facing window, Daniel’s only concern was who had informed Mrs McGregor of their impending arrival.

“You were expecting us?”

“Aye,” Mrs McGregor said, frowning. “’Twas fortunate the marquess arrived early. We hadnae enough food to feed three strapping gentlemen. Thankfully, his lordship brought provisions. Mrs Bilson has been preparing a feast for the last three hours.”

Rothley loathed being kept in the dark. He hated lies and dishonest tales. So what in Lucifer’s name had he told Mrs McGregor?

“Where is Rothley?”

“In the dining room. Wilson is in bed with a fever and the marquess insisted on organising the footmen. He said ye’d be grateful for a hearty meal after such a tiring journey.”

Mrs McGregor tugged the bell pull and summoned a footman to take their outdoor apparel. They visited the downstairs cloakroom, using the fresh pitcher of water and towels to wash road dust off their hands and faces.

They entered the dining room to find Rothley inspecting the cutlery and nodding in approval at the freshly polished silver. “It should gleam like stars in the night sky.”

The footman nodded, hanging on every word.

Rothley met Daniel’s gaze, the air of disappointment still evident in his dark wolf-like eyes. “I thought it best to arrive early. Heaven forbid there’s nothing on the menu but wood pigeon.”

“Your chef serves pigeon,” Daniel countered.

“Yes, with truffles and foie gras. I had Molière prepare a hamper of ingredients to assist your cook.”

Like a ma?tre d’h?tel, Rothley reeled off a list of exquisite dishes Daniel’s cook was busy preparing. What he wanted to say was, why didn’t you tell me you were married ?

Indeed, Rothley persuaded Rutland to pour the ladies an aperitif from an expensive bottle of Chambéry vermouth, then said, “Dalton, may I speak to you alone in the garden?”

“Of course.”

They walked in silence, striding through the main drawing room and out onto the terrace. The sharp chill in the air heightened the tension, but Daniel was the first to reveal his frustration.

“The servants think Elsa has been living with me in London. Tell me you’ve not ruined a clever plan by harassing my staff for information.”

Rothley kept his voice low. “I’m not an imbecile. The fact you felt you couldn’t trust me with the truth says this is a dangerous situation.”

“Before last night, no one knew the truth,” he whispered. “I trust you like a brother, but you would have insisted on finding a swift solution. One wrong step and my wife will face the gallows. ”

“The gallows?” Rothley’s stern expression faltered. “Please tell me this is your idea of a sick joke?”

“I only wish it were.”

Rothley scrubbed a hand over his face before resting it firmly on Daniel’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t have borne this burden alone. After everything that happened with Justin, honesty between us is crucial.”

Justin—the Countess of Berridge’s brother and their close friend from Cambridge—had been found murdered in the woods ten years ago. Rothley refused to accept the body as their friend and had been searching for him ever since. The gossips only fuelled the scandal, whispering that Rothley himself had killed Justin and that his relentless search was merely a ploy to deflect suspicion.

“I’ve spent months searching for evidence,” Daniel said. There were times he had hardly slept, times he had laughed when he wanted to cry, times he’d been silent when he wanted to rage at the injustice. “Perhaps Elsa confronting me is a blessing. Things couldn’t continue as they were. I’ve been unfair to her.”

“Unfair but not unfaithful.”

“No. I’ve hurt her, but I could never hurt her that way.”

Rothley glanced at the open French doors as if looking for eavesdroppers. “Walk with me in the garden. Explain why you’ve been saddled with a wife and why you still feel the need to protect her. You know I will help you in any way I can.”

Daniel exhaled, his breath a white mist in the frigid air. He watched it vanish into the ether, wishing his troubles would evaporate as easily.

“I desire my wife,” he confessed as they descended the stone steps. It’s what had made their estrangement so hard to bear. “I’ve wanted her since I watched her ride my Arabian five years ago when she was nineteen. Although I knew she was duty-bound to marry Lord Denby, we maintained a secret friendship.”

“Denby?” Rothley spat. “The man is a weasel.”

Daniel told Rothley everything as they walked in the verdure.

“You buried Carver’s body?” he exclaimed, aghast. “Without summoning a justice of the peace? Had you lost your mind? What in God’s name did?—”

“I couldn’t risk Elsa getting the blame.” Daniel stopped and faced Rothley. “She didn’t kill Carver. She doesn’t have a wicked bone in her body. You should have seen her face when I told her the truth.”

Rothley cursed under his breath. “The jury will hear the evidence and find her guilty. It doesn’t help that she lists axe throwing amongst her accomplishments. We need to find that damn journal, then we’ll have a list of suspects.”

Rothley made it sound simple.

“I plan to visit Edenberry with Elsa tomorrow night under cover of darkness. I’ll have Rutland watch Clara, but I need you to act as a lookout and scout the area.”

Beneath his aristocratic aplomb, Rothley hid a fierce need to protect those he cared about. Like the leader of a wolf pack, he could play the predator when called upon. Everyone knew he had a lethal bite.

“If Denby hired a thug to watch the house, I’ll find the devil.”

“What makes you think it’s Denby?”

Daniel had followed the lord for weeks. The man was a pompous bore. He didn’t drink or gamble or frequent brothels. He took his mother to church on Sundays and held her Pomeranian on his lap in a private pew.

Rothley scoffed. “I’ve never believed his holier-than-thou persona. Perhaps he knew Carver had asked Elsa to elope. A rat like Denby would have bribed the staff for information. An accomplice could have followed her into the woods and staged the scene.”

Magnus had suspected a traitor amongst the servants but found no proof. It was another reason he shut the house and paid them a year’s wages. They had all left a contact address. It wouldn’t be difficult to trace them. Many lived locally.

“Denby has no conscience and uses others to do his dirty work.” It was said he’d betrayed his own cousin. The reformers were seized in the Spitalfields tavern before they could speak. “But we need proof. We need to find that damned diary.”

Without the journal they would never find peace. They would spend their lives on tenterhooks waiting for an attack.

A thought turned his blood cold. What if the villain was waiting for them to make the first move? What if they weren’t outwitting him but falling into his devious trap?

Elsa stood alone on the terrace, hands braced against the cool stone balustrade, staring out over the garden as the manicured lawns vanished into the night.

It was a scene set for romance—the moon cast a silver glow; stars shimmered in an inky sky. The air was sweet with wildflowers and cut grass. All she needed was the warmth of her husband’s hands to chase away the chill, and life would be perfect .

Except life would never be perfect again.

How could she live at Thorncroft when the woods watched her like a silent stalker? When her happy place was blighted by the pain of forgotten memories?

How could she pretend to love her husband when every time he touched her, she saw herself naked in another man’s bed?

What had Mr Carver done to her?

Sadly, she would never know. The thought would haunt her dreams and taint her waking hours. The urge to scrub herself until her skin?—

“There you are.” Daniel’s velvet voice was like a tender caress against her cold skin. “Our guests are in the drawing room. Clara thought you’d enjoy a glass of sherry by the fire.”

She didn’t need to look at her husband to know he moved closer. The space between them came alive, pulsing with the ache of desire he had mentioned hours earlier.

“It’s been a long day. I might retire soon.” Her nerves were as fragile as a spider’s web: delicate threads ready to snap. “It’s peaceful out here. And I’m finding it hard to breathe.”

“We’ve all overeaten.” His soft chuckle stirred the hairs at her nape. “Rothley brought chocolate truffles to have with our digestifs. The man thinks of everything.”

She wrapped her arms around her abdomen, hugging herself. “Perhaps you should return to the drawing room before Clara claims yours.”

His brief pause did nothing to settle her racing pulse.

For goodness’ sake, go before I become a blubbering wreck.

“Mrs McGregor saw me leave.” He appeared beside her, his muscular body filling his coat, his tousled coal-black hair curling at the nape of his neck. “We have roles to play. A loving husband should relish time alone with his wife.”

Yet you left me alone for months, Daniel.

It might have been years had she not forced herself upon him. All she had wanted was a chance to love him and feel loved in return.

“I’m not strong enough to act the doting wife tonight.”

He cupped her elbow, forcing her to face him. “You don’t need to say anything. Just dance with me, Elsa. Did we not waltz beneath the stars once before?”

He remembered.

She had relived the dance so many times it made her dizzy: the thrill of his hand clasping hers, the heat of his palm on her back, the stolen moment in the garden that still lingered like a dream.

“As I recall, you begged me to be your tutor,” he said, unaware she held every moment they had shared locked in her heart. “You feared provincial balls would not prepare you for life in London.”

“You were quick to offer your services.”

“Perhaps you need to remember why.”

He’d acted like the perfect gentleman—not a rogue who’d encouraged her to escape the house at night. He held her properly, correcting her posture, but she remembered the flare of excitement in his gaze and every hitch in his breath.

“When a man courts a woman, dancing is a way to demonstrate how he feels. Dancing builds intimacy. It awakens the senses and breaks down barriers.”

“We’re married, not courting.”

They had barely spent time alone together since exchanging vows. The romance had died. Neglect had worn her down. Her heart had slowly withered until all she felt was intense sorrow.

“Allow me to make amends,” he said, sounding sincere.

“You don’t need to make amends. You sacrificed your own happiness to marry me. I understand everything now.” She looked at the dark mass of trees in the distance, home to a wicked secret. “I’ll never be whole again. Part of me will always be lost out there in the woods.”

Undeterred, he drew her closer. “You have every reason to distrust my word, but I’ll strive to bring you the answers you seek. Help me by making small concessions.” He sighed. “Please, Elsa.”

The sadness in his voice forced her to nod. If she didn’t find a way forward, she was in danger of drowning in a pool of self-pity. And it was obvious he was hurting, too.

“What will a dance on the terrace achieve?”

He stepped back and bowed. “Shall we find out?”

She looked at his proffered hand. A ripple of excitement raced through her when their fingers touched. Even the slightest contact felt divine. “I may step on your toes.”

“Have you danced with a man since our last waltz?”

“No.”

A slow smile curled his lips. “Then it won’t take long to remember the rhythm. We were so attuned with each other, it will be like we’ve never spent a day apart.”

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, but she smiled, too. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, the muscle solid beneath her palm.

His hand on her back made her heart stutter. She almost sobbed when he twined his fingers with hers.

Daniel hummed as they moved, his tone warm and intimate as the rhythm carried them, just as it did years ago when she would have sold her soul to marry him. The cool night air whispered around them as he kept a respectable distance and they glided around the dimly lit terrace with ease.

He was right in one respect.

Every second held in his arms helped to unravel the tangled knot of emotions. After spending so many months hating him and cursing him to Hades, she had forgotten how badly she craved his touch. The rush of longing was often so fierce it stole her sanity.

She met his gaze, seeing the handsome man she wanted to devour. The husband she wanted to love. The dear friend she had lost six months ago. The man who’d foolishly thought leaving her would save her, not knowing she’d been slowly dying inside.

How will you ever trust him? came the voice of reason.

How would he trust her?

They were no longer the same people. Fate had seen to that.

The dream was gone.

Her knees buckled but he caught her, firming his hand on the small of her back as he pulled her tight to his body.

“Keep dancing,” he said, twirling her around in time to the imagined music, his breath quickening, his thighs brushing hers, his gaze dipping to where her breasts were squashed against his chest.

Desire unfurled deep in her belly.

The world outside the dance faded into the ether.

It was just them, fused together as one, their bodies so close the cavernous distance that had grown between them felt non-existent.

A silent tear slid down her cheek, the beauty of the moment so overwhelming it hurt. What would life be like if they’d married for love?

Daniel stopped dancing but didn’t release her. “You have every right to feel sad, but it kills me to see you like this.” He wiped the droplet away, though more tears fell. “We cannot fix what’s broken. The damage is done. There is only one way forward.”

Fear squeezed the air from her lungs.

Was this where he suggested a legal separation?

“What is that?”

“We must decide if we want to begin again.”

She swallowed, the lump in her throat easing somewhat. “You mean whether we can rekindle our friendship?”

“Whether we can be more than friends. You don’t need to decide now. But permit me to give you something to ponder.” Daniel captured her chin, his gaze tender as he bent his head slowly, giving her time to retreat.

She didn’t.

“Don’t be afraid.” He brushed his mouth over hers, soft and slow. A chaste kiss, so simple it sparked a desperate hope that this might be a beautiful beginning, not a tragic end.

She felt the subtle shift in the pressure of his lips, a silent invitation to something more. But he released her, doing what he promised, not pressing his advances.

While her lips tingled and her heart pounded, he smiled and captured her hand. “It’s cold. Don’t stay out here too long.” The brush of his mouth over her knuckles was almost her undoing. “Good night, Elsa.”

And then he was gone.