The Viscount's Dangerous Liaison: Regency romantic mystery (Dangerous Deceptions Book 3) Page 8

  He hauled all five books off the shelves and laid them out. ‘Too much to hope there will be an index – and they are arranged by Hundred.’ He flicked through the first volume, turned to the second. ‘Ah, here’s Holt, we must be close. Yes, Hempbourne Marish.’

  Laura came to read over his shoulder and pointed. ‘There’s the church.’

  They read in silence then looked at each other. ‘No tomb,’ Theo said. ‘He lists every tiny monument, half the gravestones, each and every carved stone – but not that great tomb. Even if it had been overgrown, he couldn’t have missed it, it is right by the porch.’

  ‘Which means we are right – there is a mystery. Someone put up that tomb after 1790. Or, to be on the safe side, let’s say 1785, if Mr Humbleton toured the area a few years before publication.’

  ‘Who was the Rector at that time? The churchwardens? The Squire, come to that? The local people must have known what was going on, but it is hardly a church that people from surrounding parishes would have made an effort to visit.’

  ‘The Reverend Gilpin was Rector before Mr Finch and he died eight years ago, I think,’ Laura said. ‘I don’t know when he was appointed.’

  ‘Last night, Mrs Gilpin remarked on the tomb, saying she always thought it strange, so either she is being disingenuous or it predates her husband’s installation to the living.’

  ‘That will be easy enough to find out once Mr Thwaite recovers consciousness. I had best go and see how he does and relieve Pitkin.’ She paused at the door and looked back. ‘This is exciting, don’t you think? I love a mystery.’

  ‘So do I.’ Theo smiled back at her enthusiasm. ‘And I enjoy having someone to share the chase with.’

  Something inside her did a little flip. The same something that she was aware of when she was looking at him, when she fought not to reach out and touch him. Oh dear, and all he wants is to be the perfect gentleman and enjoy having a companion in this quest to solve a mystery. She told herself firmly that it was simply having someone to talk to, someone who did not dismiss her as a foolish female not worth bothering with, that felt so good.

  When she entered the chamber Pitkin was sitting by the curate’s bedside, alert and, to her surprise, chatting away.

  ‘Has he recovered consciousness?’ She went to the other side of the bed and took the limp wrist in her fingers. The pulse was strong, but there was no response.

  ‘He did for a few minutes and he seemed to react when I spoke to him, so I thought that if I kept talking, it might stimulate him to wake.’

  ‘That was a good idea, Pitkin. I will take over now, thank you.’

  The afternoon passed slowly into evening. A message arrived in the early afternoon from the Rectory, thanking Lord Northam for his kindness and offering to take Mr Thwaite in.

  Theo wrote a polite note back to say that it was probably better if the curate was not disturbed and that he was no trouble to the household as he was still unconscious. ‘Either they have finally found some Christian charity in their souls,’ he remarked acidly, ‘Or they want to get their hands on him.’

  ‘Or they think it will make them look bad in the eyes of their neighbours if they do not offer, which I suspect is the most likely explanation,’ Laura suggested.

  Theo nodded. ‘Yes, that would matter to them, I agree. I am seeing conspiracies and sinister motives where there are none. I think I will ride over to call on Mrs Gilpin. She seems the obvious person to ask about her husband’s predecessors.’

  After he had gone Laura chatted to the unresponsive Thwaite, did some embroidery, tried to make plans for the future and endeavoured not to think about Theo Quenten. Pitkin and Mrs Bishop spent some time at the bedside to relieve her, time she spent fruitlessly studying the rubbings of the tomb.

  When Theo sent a message to say he had accepted an invitation to dine with the widow she decided to have her own meal in the sickroom. Mr Thwaite had begun to waken at more regular intervals and to take more water and broth, but the visits by one of the menservants to assist him with his physical needs left him so exhausted that she did not like to push him to answer questions.

  As evening drew on the household began to settle to its new state of siege, reporting to Laura, she thought with a weary amusement, as though she was the commander of the garrison. The patrols inside and outside were set, the locks and windows secured and those not on duty retired to sleep. She wondered whether they were being overdramatic. No-one had called other than the groom with the note from Theo, no-one had been seen loitering or behaving suspiciously anywhere near the house.

  She told Mrs Bishop she would wait up for Theo. She wanted to let Pitkin rest for his turn at the bedside later and she knew she could not even lie down on the sofa and doze until Theo was home safely. A nagging worry was beginning to gnaw at her. Elderly widows did not normally entertain well into the evening and the clocks had struck eleven already. What if someone had waylaid Theo and, even now, he had the same knife stuck between his ribs that had almost killed poor Will Thwaite?

  Theo is not a slight, peace-loving curate, on foot and unarmed, she reassured herself. He is tough and fit and probably has pistols on his saddle and he is riding a good horse and on the alert.

  It was tiring worrying with nothing to distract her. Thwaite was deep in sleep, the Grange was dark and quiet except for the usual creaks and groans of an old house settling from the warmth of the day into the cool of the night. She dared not light the chamber with anything more than a shielded single candle in a dark lantern in case that disturbed the invalid, so sewing or reading were impossible and her mind was going round and round like a rat in a trap.

  Why that one particular creak should jerk her out of her thoughts she did not know, but Laura sat up, suddenly alert. It had not been so very loud, but it had come from the direction of the kitchen and, now she thought about it, there were no floorboards in there, only flagstones. The only things that might creak were the doors and windows.

  Edward, the footman on guard in the house, had gone upstairs only five minutes before, she had heard his quiet tread on the stairs as he went to check that the doors into all the unoccupied rooms on the upper floors were locked. Theo’s groom was on duty outside, but he could not cover all four sides at once…

  Laura picked up the candle, turned the metal shield so that only a thin ray of light came out and tiptoed to the door, eased it open and stepped out into the hallway.

  It was only her imagination, of course, she told herself, but best to set her mind at rest because otherwise she’d be starting at every little sound. But the kitchen door was open – she could see the glow of the banked fire in the range.

  It came at her suddenly, a large dark mass that loomed out of the shadows, cutting off the glimpse of the fire, flapping great wings of blackness as it swooped.

  Laura screamed, threw the lantern and found herself flying backwards to hit the doorframe behind her with a sickening thump. Stars spun against the blackness and she tried to scream again as she staggered to her feet to block the doorway with her body. Then the hand found her throat.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Gawd, I’m glad to see you, my lord. We thought you’d been attacked too.’ Jed Tucker put down the shotgun he’d raised to cover the horseman riding into the yard out of the darkness.

  ‘Who has been attacked?’ Theo swung down out of the saddle and realised that the house was a blaze of lights on the ground floor. ‘Laura – is she unharmed?’

  ‘She says so, says it’s just bruises.’ As Theo turned and ran towards the house he called after him. ‘She’s got guts, that lass.’

  Mrs Bishop was in the kitchen talking to Edward who had a nasty red lump coming up on his forehead and was clutching a cup of what smelt like hot milk and brandy. ‘There you are!’ She turned on him like an anxious mother with an errant schoolboy. ‘Where have you been, my lord? We thought they’d got you too. I’ve been that worried – ’ There was a shotgun here too, lying on the table.

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nbsp; ‘Dinner with Mrs Gilpin, then my horse went lame on the way back. What happened, damn it?’

  ‘Edward had just gone upstairs to check on the doors and windows. Miss Laura was sitting with Mr Thwaite and she said she heard a sound from the kitchen, so she went to look and this…thing rushed at her, threw her back against the door and went for her throat. But she fought it off – ’

  ‘And screamed blue murder, my lord,’ Edward interjected. ‘And I came running down and your man Jed came in through the front door waving his shotgun and whoever it was got out through the kitchen door before we could hold him. He’d forced the lock to get in.’

  ‘Who is hurt?’ Theo demanded, fighting the instinct to rush about checking on everyone, but Laura most of all.

  ‘I got a thump on the head, but it’s not so bad.’ Edward gestured to the darkening mark. ‘Had worse down the Mermaid on a Saturday night afore now.’

  ‘Mr Thwaite hardly woke,’ Mrs Bishop said. ‘Miss Laura was bruised on her back and her shoulder and she says it… he… had hold of her throat but let go when he heard Edward yelling.’

  ‘Where is she?’ The wave of relief made him queasy, but he managed to keep his voice steady.

  ‘Still with Mr Thwaite. We was waiting for you, my lord, then I was going to nail a board or two across the kitchen door and Terence is taking up the rest of the watch inside,’ Edward said.

  ‘Very well. I’ll send Miss Darke to her bed and sit with the Curate. Goodnight.’

  Theo eased open the sickroom door and, for a moment felt a kick of fear – there was the still, shrouded body of the injured man and no Laura. Then he saw the hunched form at the foot of the bed and realised she had fallen asleep and drooped forwards, her cheek cradled against one hand that lay on the coverlet.

  He checked on Will, who stirred and was able to sit up a little, eyes closed, to take a drink, but he fell back into sleep as soon as Theo laid him down.

  ‘Laura.’

  She stirred at the whisper and swayed upright on her hard chair. Her hair was down in a thick braid and she was dressed in a modest, warm dressing robe, her slippered feet peeping out below the hem. ‘Um?’ She blinked at him, looking young and vulnerable and the sickness came back in a wave.

  She could have been killed.

  ‘Theo. Good. Was worried.’ She peered at him, almost nose to nose in the gloom.

  ‘Ssh. You fell asleep.’ And was nine-tenths so still, he thought. ‘Come on, off to bed and I will sit with Will Thwaite.’

  ‘Where were you?’ She came completely awake suddenly, angrily. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have been here – ’

  ‘I was worried about you,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘About me?’ He had thought she was angry because he had left her and she had been hurt and frightened. But it seemed all she was concerned about was his safety. ‘I was delayed, it was nothing. But you have been hurt.’

  ‘’m all right,’ she murmured, her lids fluttering closed again. ‘Just so sleepy…’

  Shock, Theo thought. He put one hand under her arm and urged her to stand and she did, obediently, then subsided against his chest with a soft sigh and held on. ‘Laura.’

  ‘Nice,’ she murmured, snuggling against him, her body so limp it was pulling him down towards the bed.

  Damn. What now? He could shake her awake, he supposed, but truth be told, he was enjoying the feel of her so close and trusting. It felt right. Too right. Trusting, he reminded himself. Don’t let her down again. There was a chaise against the wall so he got both arms around her and walked her to it, lowered her down and started to disentangle himself.

  ‘No.’ Laura was not even half-awake now, but her grip was definite and he did not want to let go either. She had been attacked, violently, and he had not been there to protect her. Instinct told him not to leave her now.

  Theo sank down on the chaise beside her, trying to work out how to disentangle the two of them. It was like attempting to free a kitten from a ball of yarn. Adorable, he thought. Dangerous. Oh what the hell. He was weary, but not as weary as he had been when he had ridden into the stableyard. Someone had to stay with Will Thwaite and the presence of a curate – even if he was unconscious – was as good a chaperon as one could hope for. Not that one was needed, of course. All he was going to do was hold Laura while she slept. They were both fully clothed, he was awake and alert to the dangers….

  The lips pressed to his were warm and soft and yielding. Everything pressed to him was warm and soft and yielding and smelt of lavender and roses and woman. As dreams went, this was superlative and the nagging feeling that he was about to wake up was exceedingly unwelcome. Theo concentrated on staying asleep.

  ‘Theo,’ the dream woman was murmuring against his mouth. ‘Theo.’

  ‘Er… Excuse me.’ There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. Their male throat.

  Theo opened his eyes, discovered that he was awake, that he was entangled on a couch with Laura Darke, that their clothing was in a state of disarray and that he was in a state of painful arousal. And that a curate was lying eight feet away, head averted, exuding waves of embarrassment.

  He sat up abruptly. Laura slid from his lap to the couch, opened her eyes, and made a sound of protest as Theo shot to his feet and found that at least his flapping shirt tails made a screen for the deplorable state he was in.

  ‘We fell asleep,’ he said, convinced he was gibbering. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’ He reached the far side of the bed and Will Thwaite opened his eyes, studied his doubtless red face, and grinned.

  ‘I am sure you did,’ he agreed, suddenly serious again. ‘Could someone please tell me what is going on?’

  Somehow Theo did not think Will meant that he wanted an explanation of what had been happening on the couch. A rapid glance showed that Laura was already halfway out of the door, her hair loose on her shoulders. He could just glimpse one very pink ear before she made good her escape.

  ‘Someone tried to kill you,’ he said. ‘Do you want to sit up a little and have a drink?’

  ‘Kill me?’ Will said faintly. ‘I had no idea my sermons were that bad. Yes, please. Actually, what I really want is the chamber pot and then a drink and then to know exactly what has happened.’

  ‘You were found yesterday morning in Fellingham churchyard,’ Theo explained a few minutes later as he helped him back into bed and poured a glass of what looked like barley water from the jug on the nightstand. ‘It appears as though you had lain there all night. Someone had clubbed you on the head and then stuck a knife in your back – luckily hitting your shoulder blade and not your heart. We brought you here because I thought it safest and you have been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since. The doctor thinks that, provided there is no infection, you should make a complete recovery. I’ll send for him now you are awake again.’

  Will looked as though he was trying to swallow a large lump of gristle. ‘The Rector?’ he asked after a minute.

  ‘We sent to tell him what had happened and where you were. The Finchs replied with a message asking what they could do to help and offering to take you in at the Rectory. I refused on the grounds that the doctor advised against moving you. No doubt they will make enquiries again today.’

  There was nothing wrong with Will’s intelligence, it seemed. ‘You refused on the grounds that I should not be moved. What was the real reason?’

  ‘That it might have been the Rector who tried to kill you.’

  That did appear to knock the breath out of him. Will stared at Theo. ‘I assumed it was footpads or some starving, desperate vagrant.’

  ‘You were not robbed.’

  ‘I see. Or rather, I do not. And, forgive me, but was that not Miss Darke, just now? I tried not to stare, but…’

  Well, that cat is out of the bag. ‘It was Laura Darke.’ Theo sat down and told the Curate Laura’s tale and the story of the dinner party and the reaction to his remarks about smuggling and the tomb. ‘I
t seems highly coincidental that you are attacked immediately after I tell the neighbourhood gentry that we are investigating Sir Brandon Flyte – who is completely fictitious, by the way.’

  ‘Something happened last night… I cannot quite recollect, it was dark and there was shouting.’

  Theo recounted the story of the intruder. ‘And I find it significant that they attacked Miss Darke who was trying to block this door. They are still out to harm you, that seems clear.’

  ‘I am appalled to hear about Miss Darke – both that she was attacked and that her uncle should behave so. You have my assurance that I will not mention her presence. If there is anything I can do to assist, obviously I will, although how helpful I am going to be at the moment...’ He shifted as he spoke and winced. ‘As for the tomb, I do not understand why I pose a threat to whoever is behind this. I know less than you do now – ’

  There was a tap on the door and Pitkin looked in. ‘Excuse me, my lord, Mr Thwaite. I came to see if I could assist. Mrs Albright thought you would want to rest, my lord.’

  ‘Send up hot water for me, Pitkin, and lay out a change of clothes then come down and see what assistance you can render Mr Thwaite. A wash and a shave might be welcome. Then when I rejoin him, have breakfast brought in and ask Mrs Albright to send to the doctor to tell him our patient has regained consciousness.’

  After breakfast Theo found Laura hunting through some old editions of clerical directories in the library. ‘I can’t find any that cover the period in question,’ she said, not quite meeting his eye. ‘I ought to recall who the last but one rector was, but I was very young when I visited in those days.’

  ‘I apologise,’ he said abruptly, ignoring her words. ‘You were asleep on your feet when I got back last night and so I picked you up to put you on the couch and we became… entangled. It seemed easiest to wait a while and then I fell asleep too. I had no intention of taking liberties – ’