Page 7

Chapter Seven

Daniel hadn’t lied. He hadn’t entertained another woman, not in thought nor deed, since they had exchanged vows. He hadn’t touched a woman since that night two years ago when he cupped Elsa’s nape beneath the oak tree, and they’d almost kissed in the rain.

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as he let the truth settle between them. If she’d married Lord Denby, he would have taken a mistress—but never a wife, not when she owned his heart.

Elsa lifted her chin, her breath quick and shallow, her darkened blue eyes deep and endless—pulling him under like a tide too strong to resist. “I’ve waited so long to touch you, to taste you. Don’t make me wait another second.”

Their mouths met in a collision of heat and longing, years of restraint shattering in an instant. He groaned against her lips, tangling his fingers in her hair, his other hand sliding to her waist, desperate to hold her, to anchor himself in the storm of need threatening to consume him.

Nothing else existed. Not the lies, not the distrust, not the case that had led them here. Just this—the way she melted into him, the way her body softened against his.

He kissed her deeper, sliding his tongue into her mouth, his blood roaring with the knowledge that, despite everything, she still wanted him. Badly. So badly they wouldn’t stop until he was buried inside her, possessing her completely.

The thought hardened his already throbbing cock.

She was temptation itself, and he burned for her.

She broke away, her voice a hushed, desperate plea: “Tell me this is real.” Her hands traced the line of his jaw, trembling as she pulled him back to her, her lips urgently seeking his again.

Oh, this was real.

Lust was a fire in his veins.

His solid member was about to burst out of his trousers.

The desire to fill her, to thrust to the hilt, to have her tight channel hug the entire length of him, drove him insane.

You’re mine!

Do you hear me?

Mine!

“Dalton?” Rothley called, his rotten timing ruining the moment. “Are you still hiding amongst the tropical palms?” The marquess stepped into the hothouse, forcing him to drag his lips from Elsa’s.

Daniel smiled slowly as he drank her in: the flush of her cheeks, the sparkle of desire in her eyes, her plump lips, moist and swollen from his fervent kisses.

Their breathless pants betrayed their location. He released her, battling the primal urge to sweep her into his arms, visit her old bedchamber and make love until morning.

“Is the coast clear?” Daniel called, giving the impression they were hiding on purpose. He cupped Elsa’s cheek, brushed the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and whispered, “I won’t wait six months to kiss you again.”

Had he consummated their union, he would never have left Henley. Even now, knowing their lives were at stake, he considered selling his investments, packing a valise and running away with her to Geneva.

But who would care for Clara?

What if the killer followed them to Switzerland?

What if nowhere was safe?

“Yes,” Rothley replied. “We escorted the brainless fools to the main gate. I confiscated the key to the house.” He paused, giving an amused snort. “Ah. I see you’re in no hurry to leave the verdure. I’ll wait outside while you finish examining the fronds.”

“There’s no need to leave,” Elsa said, stepping out from behind the exotic foliage. “Did the men say who they were working for?”

“A land agent from London who claimed he was acting on behalf of the owner, although the description is rather vague.” Rothley gave a knowing grin when Daniel emerged, discreetly adjusting himself in his trousers. “He recruited them at The Speckled Hen, an inn on the Bath Road near the turnpike.”

Daniel knew it well. “We’ll pay them a visit tomorrow. They must have a means of contacting the agent.” He wouldn’t leave The Speckled Hen without the name of the mysterious fellow.

“They were paid to patrol the estate and prevent anyone from entering the house, by force if necessary.”

The evidence in the journal must be damning for someone to go to such extremes. “We have a few days’ grace before the agent receives news that you’re the new owner of Edenberry,” he said.

Rothley gave an apologetic shrug. “I know it’s not what we agreed, but the devil needs to know you have friends in high places.”

Daniel planned to keep their search a secret for as long as possible. But Rothley had fired the starting pistol, and the race to find the journal had begun.

“I just pray the answers we seek are in my father’s diary.” Elsa sounded a little deflated. “If we knew what was at stake—or why killing Mr Carver seemed the easier option—it might help us find the culprit.”

“I trust you found nothing notable in here,” Rothley said.

On the contrary, he’d discovered his wife’s mouth was remarkable.

The same searing hunger, raw and inescapable, gripped him as it always had.

“Nothing to indicate where Father hid his book.” Elsa told Rothley about her father cutting a rose and placing it on the memorial stone. “He often avoided visiting the obelisk because the memories were too painful.”

“Is the obelisk far?” Rothley asked.

Elsa pointed into the darkness. “It’s a five-minute walk through the grounds. It was my mother’s rose garden. She spent hours reading, lost in tales of ruined abbeys and hidden pasts. The Romance of the Forest was her favourite.”

“Who doesn’t love Ann Radcliffe?” Rothley mused. “I’ve always admired her ability to explore the darker recesses of the human mind.”

“My mother always said no one understands a woman’s fight for survival better than Mrs Radcliffe.”

How ironic that Elsa would suffer a fate similar to that of a Gothic heroine—one filled with death, deception, and betrayal. In his attempt to protect her, he had stolen her independence and robbed her of the chance to prove her worth.

“What now, Elsa?” he said, keen to make amends.

He wanted her to regain her adventurous spirit. Strength and courage were once the fabric of her being, as clear as the defiance in her eyes and the determined set of her chin.

“We will follow your lead,” he added.

She nibbled her bottom lip as she thought.

He tried to focus on their next task, not his own need to slide his tongue over the seam of those luscious lips. Perhaps she should lead the entire investigation. Since kissing her, his mind was as useless as a chocolate teapot.

“My father did say something odd when we visited the memorial stone.” A curious frown marred her brow. “It might be nothing, but he knelt before the obelisk and said, ‘In death, the heart lays bare its deepest secrets, truths the living dare not speak’.”

They were not the heartfelt words one said to a loved one. Surely her father remembered how the light caught his wife’s hair or her smile upon smelling the first open buds of spring.

“Is that all he said?” Daniel asked.

Had he been in a similar position, he might have described the first time he saw Elsa thundering across the fields on his black stallion. The flush of freedom on her cheeks, the joy in her eyes, the unshackled spirit he had sworn never to tame.

“He spoke about my mother’s love of reading and said books contain the knowledge needed to combat the devil. They’re the key to magnifying society’s problems.”

“Knowledge is power,” he agreed.

Rothley couldn’t shake his obsession with the macabre. “ I’m not an avid reader of fiction, but isn’t there a character in The Romance of the Forest who finds a hidden manuscript buried with a skeleton?”

Elsa shrugged. “I believe so, but I’ve not read that particular novel. My mother accidentally dropped it in the pond and died before purchasing another copy. My father said a lost book is like a buried past—one way or another, it will be found.”

Daniel met Rothley’s gaze. He knew what his friend was thinking. As someone who despised secrets, Rothley was desperate for answers, too.

“Could it have been a covert message?” Daniel wondered why her father hadn’t confided in her and spoken plainly. “Where is the pond?”

“Close to the memorial stone.”

“Then let’s fetch a lantern and a spade.”

Elsa faced him. “A spade? The pond isn’t that deep. With your long reach, you should be able to grab the book with your hands.”

“The spade isn’t for the pond, Elsa.” He kept his voice low and scanned their gloomy surroundings, but his aim was to soften the impending blow. “I suspect your father buried his journal close to the obelisk. I’m sorry, but we need to dig near your mother’s memorial.”

Rothley quickly excused himself and went to fetch provisions.

Shock had Elsa clutching her chest, unable to respond. As the reality of the situation sank in, she sighed and said, “I suppose there’s nothing more to do. We’ve looked everywhere else.”

“We can’t leave here without exploring every possibility.” Without the journal, they would live in a state of limbo. Unable to move forward. Forever looking back. “I’m confident our luck will change if we find the book.”

“None of this makes sense. I doubt my father was clever enough to think so strategically. He lacked your prudence for investing and almost bankrupted the estate.”

Magnus had told a similar tale of years spent trying to fix his father’s mistakes.

Daniel reached for her, sliding his arm around her waist, relieved she didn’t flinch or pull away. Their passionate kiss was the first step on a long road to recovery. Yet he feared the villain would be lurking around every shady corner, keen to hinder their progress.

“We’ll begin with the pond,” he said, leading her out of the hothouse, the chill in the air making them both shiver.

Rothley appeared with two lit lanterns, one hanging on a metal crook. “Is there a gardener’s tool shed nearby?”

“No, but there’s a trowel in the hothouse,” she said, fetching the implement and a pair of soil-stained canvas gloves.

Holding their lanterns aloft, Elsa led them to the secluded glade surrounded by fruit trees. At its heart stood the marble obelisk, the ornate pond and her mother’s beloved oak bench.

Elsa gestured to the trimmed box hedge bordering the weeded rose beds. “You had your gardener work here, too?”

“I wasn’t sure when we’d return to Chippenham, and I didn’t want your mother’s memorial garden left neglected.”

Her eyes softened. She stroked the back rail of the bench as if her mother sat there. “This is exactly how I remember it, apart from the warmth of the midday sun.”

“I’ll introduce you to Albert tomorrow. You can give him a list of tasks you’d like completed. He’ll show you around the orangery at Thorncroft,” he said, knowing it would take more than a thriving rose bush to make her feel at home there.

Elsa held his gaze and smiled, a quiet ‘thank you’ in her eyes.

Rothley coughed to gain their attention, suggesting they focus on retrieving the novel from the pond before they froze to death.

Daniel plunged the iron crook into the soil and hung the lantern. He placed his footman’s coat on the bench and noted Elsa’s gaze lingering on his forearm as he rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Her eyes journeyed over the dark hair and curve of his muscle. Perhaps she was unaware of the quiet desire in her stare. He wasn’t. The power of her attention sent blood racing to his loins.

Dipping his fingers into the bitter water did little to settle his pulse. “Brrr! It’s cold enough to freeze a man’s bones. I forgot to ask—are there fish in here?”

“Not anymore, but mind the young frogs.”

The pond was small, barely four-foot square. He crouched and slipped his hand farther into the frigid water. Trailing weeds coiled around his fingers, a slick film of slime coating every digit.

“You’ll find a pile of halfpennies at the bottom.” Elsa peered into the pool’s murky depths. “My mother used to tell me old Danish stories of hidden magic and sacred waters.” Elsa’s light laugh spoke of fond memories. “ Cast a coin where waters sleep, where old gods stir and secrets keep .”

“You made secret wishes as a child?” he asked, swirling his fingers as he delved deeper until the water lapped his elbow.

“Not just as a child.” She moved to a stone toadstool ornament to take two halfpennies hidden underneath. “I made a wish six months ago. You’re only allowed one a year.”

Six months ago?

Had she wished for an attentive husband? One who danced with her in the moonlight? One whose kisses led to an erotic adventure? If so, he needed to make up for lost time.

She handed Rothley a coin.

He tried to refuse it. “I mean no disrespect, but I’d rather eat my fingers for supper than dance around a pond at night chanting nonsense.”

Elsa thrust the coin into Rothley’s palm. “Science proves we should have faith in things we don’t see or believe.” She placed the other halfpenny on the pond’s stone rim. “What matters is your intention. Be specific about what you wish for. Maybe you’d like the answer to a secret.”

While Daniel rooted around in the water, wetting his shirt up to his shoulder and finally touching the sludgy bottom, Rothley glanced heavenward and tossed the coin into the pond.

Had he asked for proof Justin was alive? Had he begged for the return of a love he’d lost years ago?

Daniel was thinking about his own wish—to earn his wife’s forgiveness and trust—when stones shifted beneath his touch. His fingertips grazed something else. Something soft. A book.

Elsa rushed to help him as he lifted it out of the water with care. “You found it!” She was on her knees, catching the saturated pages that were nothing but a mass of pulp. The weak string couldn’t hold the weight, and the paper broke free from the brown leather board.

“Even if we dry it out, the ink will have leached away.” Elsa placed the clumpy mass on the ground beside her. “It’s fair to assume this isn’t a clue to anything.”

Daniel studied the decaying board. The faded ex-libris inside was barely intact, but he could make out a faint outline of an image.

“Was this your mother’s book?” He handed Elsa the board, though her eyes moved to where his sodden shirt clung to his bicep. “You said her ex-libris was an open tome and quill.”

“It was the open tome in the books I borrowed, but some had an older design, a fox beneath an oak tree.” She looked at the ex-libris. “This might be that design. It’s hard to tell.”

Someone had covered the plate with varnish, enough to offer weak protection from the elements, though the image was hard to distinguish. If it wasn’t a clue, why would her father not fish it out when her mother first lost it?

“You said your father knelt before the memorial stone,” Rothley interjected, gripping the trowel, ready to dig. “Can you show me where?”

Elsa pushed to her feet and approached the obelisk. “I’d never seen my father kneel before. He said memorials were for the living, not the dead. A place one came to seek answers.”

Daniel stood and dried his arm on his trousers, cursing his stupidity. Their estrangement might have been avoided if he’d spoken to Elsa initially.

“Sink the crook into the ground and see if you hit something solid.” Daniel removed the lantern and handed Rothley the metal rod. “It will prevent us from digging up the entire area.”

“Try here,” Elsa said, watching Rothley plunge the rod into the grass and the damp earth below .

On the fifth attempt, a faint thunk had them all gasping.

Rothley fell to his knees, digging a neat patch of grass and moving the turf aside before driving the trowel deeper. “There’s something here. Something metal. A box.”

Seconds later, Rothley held the box in his dirty hands. The metal was dark with age, its surface mottled and corroded.

Elsa brushed loose soil off the lid. “The hinges are rusty. Use the trowel to prise the box open.”

A simple twist of the trowel popped the lid. Wrapped tightly in layers of muslin and oilskin cloth, the small blue book was perfectly preserved.

“That’s the book my father had in the hothouse. The one he hid in his pocket. Though now I think about it, he did a poor job of disguising the action.”

Heart pounding, he suggested taking it back to the house. “We’ll examine it in the privacy of the library.” The creak of a branch and the timely hoot of an owl added to the tension. “Anyone could be watching us out here.”

Daniel silently cursed as they hurried back to the house.

He had spent months lying through his teeth. Months poring over records and shadowing Jacob Tyler’s business associates. Months sleeping alone, aching for the warmth of his wife’s body beside him.

He deserved Elsa’s spite.

He’d ruined everything.

One conversation had brought the answers they needed. Or so he thought until they reached the library and Elsa opened her father’s book under the lantern’s light.

The excitement in her eyes died. “I don’t understand.” Her frown deepened as she skimmed through the leaves. “ Why would he bury a book with blank pages? Why would the killer blackmail Magnus for this?”

“May I see it?” Daniel failed to hide the sudden surge of panic. The book was the only lead they had. A quick scan of the first page confirmed it wasn’t blank. “There’s a list of ten novels written on the opening page. Along with the cryptic words take the quill, leave the fox .”

While Rothley ground his teeth in annoyance, Elsa shrugged. “Excluding The Romance of the Forest , they were my mother’s favourite books. The Italian was amongst the volumes stolen from The Grange.”

“Are the other nine novels here?” Rothley said.

Elsa glanced at the shelf she had searched earlier. “I think so. I recall seeing Vathek and the first volume of The Fateful Revenge .”

“We need to locate them and take them to Thorncroft,” Daniel said, confident they would find them in the library. Jacob Tyler wished to ensure the reason for this list would be revealed.

Rothley was already scanning the books on the lower shelves. He found the complete volume of The Old English Baron and placed it on the desk. “There’s an identical copy on the shelf.”

“We’ll take the one that has her mother’s new ex-libris inside,” Daniel said before climbing the ladder while Elsa recited the list.

The books weren’t buried beneath the floorboards but hidden in plain sight. There were two copies of Frankenstein , only one with the tome and quill plate.

Within half an hour, they’d collected all nine books.

“What now?” Rothley said .

“We return to Thorncroft, get some sleep, and tackle the puzzle tomorrow. Rutland has a fondness for riddles.”

Sleep would elude him again tonight. How could he rest, knowing his wife was alone in bed mere feet away? With the trust gone, desire was the only thing holding their marriage together. Yet they both lost control at the first sign of intimacy.

Daniel grabbed the leather satchel from the chair and stuffed it with the Gothic tales. “Let’s find your coachman before the trespassers return.”

Rothley gave an amused snort. “If I know Kincaid, he’s given the thugs a good beating and is swigging brandy to numb the pain of a broken knuckle.”

Kincaid wasn’t nursing a broken knuckle but was in the mews, sitting atop the carriage box and sipping from a hip flask. “We’ll have nae more trouble tonight, m’lord. Those yellow-bellied louts ran like the devil was at their heels.”

“Tell me you got answers before they fled,” Rothley said.

“Aye, they swear the owner of the house hired them to keep intruders out. Another man was watching the house, but he vanished a week ago as if the mist had swallowed him whole.”

“That will be the runner I hired.” Daniel hadn’t received his regular update from Tanner, nor had he run into him the last three nights they’d spent searching the rooms at Edenberry. “I expected to find him patrolling the grounds. I’ll make enquiries in town tomorrow.”

“Perhaps he encountered the hired lackeys and—” Rothley stopped abruptly when his coachman muttered a curse.

Kincaid grabbed the reins as the horses began stamping restlessly, their heads jerking in sudden fear. He called to them in Gaelic, but the sharp crack of a gunshot pierced the night, drowning out the sound.

Daniel instinctively reached for Elsa, but he was too late.

Her shrill cry rent the air as the bullet struck her. She jerked back in pain, her knees buckling when she clutched her arm and saw blood coating her palm.

“Elsa!” Daniel caught her, sweeping her into his arms, his voice raw with panic as he called to Rothley. “Help me get her into the carriage! Hurry. Before the bastard reloads and fires again.”

But the sound of retreating footsteps suggested the felon had taken flight.

“I can catch him,” Rothley said, slipping a blade from his boot.

“No! We leave now.” He looked at Elsa, terror striking his heart as her face turned ghostly pale. “We can’t afford to waste another second.”

The fear that had crushed him six months ago held him in its sharp talons. He could lose her—the only woman who mattered, the woman he’d vowed to protect.

“Hold on, Elsa.” His pulse was a furious drum in his ears. “We’ll be home soon. Please hold on.”