Mine Till Midnight (36 page)

“Heavens,” Amelia said with a disconcerted laugh, “what could have given you the idea that he would want to flirt with me?”

Win smiled and shrugged a little. “He seems rather charmed by you.”

“Pshaw.”

Win’s smile broadened until she looked like her old mischievous self, as she had been in the days before the scarlet fever. “You only say ‘Pshaw’ because you have Mr. Rohan on the string.”

Amelia’s eyes widened, and she looked around as if fearing someone might have overheard them. “Hush, Win! I don’t have anyone on the string. What a horrid expression. I can’t believe—”

“Face the truth,” Win said, enjoying her sister’s discomfort. “You’ve become a femme fatale.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Continue to make jest of me, and I won’t tell you what happened during the visit to Ramsay House.”

“What? Oh, do tell, Amelia. I’ve nearly withered away from boredom.”

Amelia found it difficult to speak casually about the event. She swallowed hard. “I feel like a lunatic, saying it. But … when I was walking with Mr. Dashiell and looking at the house, I saw a face in one of the upstairs windows.”

“Someone was inside?” Win asked in a thready whisper. She reached out and took Amelia’s chilled fingers in hers.

“Not a person. It was … it was Laura.”

“Oh.” The word was a mere wisp of sound.

“I know it’s difficult to believe—”

“No it isn’t. Remember, I saw her face on the magic lantern slide, the night of the fire. And—” Win hesitated, her slim white fingers moving over the back of Amelia’s hand. “Having been close to death once, I find it easy to believe such apparitions could be real.”

The silence was cold and tense. Amelia struggled to be rational, to make sense of impossible things. She spoke with difficulty. “Then you think Laura is haunting Leo?”

“If she is,” Win whispered, “I think it’s out of love.”

“I think he’s going mad from it.” At Win’s silence, the lack of disagreement, Amelia said desperately, “How can we stop it from happening?”

“We can’t. Leo’s the only one who can.”

Annoyed, Amelia jerked her hand away. “Pardon me if I can’t be fatalistic about it. Something has to be done.”

“Then do something,” Win said coolly, “if you’re willing to risk pushing him over the edge.”

Amelia leaped from the settee and glared at her. What in God’s name did Win expect of her?… To stand aside passively while Leo destroyed himself?

Weariness cut through the vibrating anger. She was tired of everything, all of it, tired of thinking and worrying and fearing, and getting nothing for it but the singular ingratitude of her siblings.

“Damn this family,” she said hoarsely, and left before even harsher words could be exchanged.

Forgoing supper, Amelia went to her room and lay on the bed fully clothed. She stared up at the ceiling until the room grew quite dark, the sun was extinguished, the air became still and cool. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the room was filled with impenetrable blackness. There was movement around her, beside her, and she started and put her hand out. She encountered warm human flesh, an arm lightly covered with hair, a strong wrist. “Cam,” she whispered. Relaxing, she felt the smooth gold band at the base of his thumb.

Cam didn’t say a word. He undressed her slowly, one garment at a time, and she accepted his ministrations in a dreamlike silence. The troubled feeling in her chest eased as sensations rose and blossomed.

He found her mouth and licked it open, kissing her fully. She lifted her arms to the dark, gorgeous creature over her, the flowing strength of him covering her. With every breath he took, his chest slid against the stiff tips of her breasts, the light friction eliciting muted cries from her throat.

His mouth broke from hers, exploring her shoulders and chest with hot open kisses, as if he were intent on tasting every part of her. He caressed her stomach with the backs of his fingers, teased his thumb around the rim of her navel … his hands clever and sublimely gentle. He had not entered her yet, but she already felt him at the center of her, the pulse, the pleasure.
You inside me
 … She reached for him blindly, her limbs folding around him.

He resisted with a silken laugh, playing, stretching her limbs out and spreading her wide beneath him. His mouth dragged over her, sucking and teasing, and between her thighs she went absolutely wet. He touched her with his tongue, delving with the tip until he found the sensitive place that throbbed so exquisitely. The muscles in his arms bulged as he slid them beneath her legs, making a cradle of her hips. She struggled a little, not in protest but supplication, shivering with each swirl and glide of his tongue.

Dazed and aching, she felt herself lifted in the darkness, his hands arranging her, closing on her legs. He made her kneel over him, pulling her hips down, pushing them back and forth in a gentle rhythm. His mouth was on her again, and she groaned helplessly as she was rubbed repeatedly across the heat and wetness and the tender flicking tongue. His teasing fingers slid inside her, and she began to pant with ecstasy, sensation wrapping around on itself—

A knock at the door shattered the voluptuous quiet.

“Oh, God,” Amelia whispered, freezing.

The knock repeated, more urgent this time, along with Poppy’s muffled voice.

Cam took his mouth from her, his fingers slowly withdrawing from her clenching flesh.

“Poppy,” Amelia called out weakly, “can’t it wait?”

“No.”

Amelia clambered off Cam, her nerves throbbing viciously at the abrupt halt to their lovemaking. Cam rolled to his stomach and uttered a soft curse, his fingers digging into the bedclothes.

Lurching around the room as if she were on the deck of a tossing ship, Amelia managed to find her robe. She pulled it on and fastened a few random buttons down the front.

She went to the door and opened it a mere two inches. “What is it, Poppy? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know,” Poppy said anxiously, finding it difficult to meet her gaze. “I wouldn’t have—it’s just—I didn’t know what to do. I had a bad dream. A terrible nightmare about Leo, and it seemed so real. I couldn’t go back to sleep until I made certain he was all right. So I went to his room, and … he’s gone.”

Amelia shook her head in exasperation. “Bother Leo. We’ll look for him in the morning. I don’t think any of us should go chasing after him tonight in the dark and cold. He probably went to the village tavern, in which case—”

“I found this in his room.” Poppy held out a slip of paper to her.

Frowning, Amelia read the note.

I’m sorry.

I don’t expect you to understand.

You’ll be better off this way.

There were another few words, scratched out.

I hope someday

And at the bottom, once again,

I’m sorry.

There was no signature. No need for one.

Amelia was surprised by how calm her own voice sounded. “Go to bed, Poppy.”

“But his note—I think it means—”

“I know what it means. Go to bed, dear. Everything will be all right.”

“Are you going to find him?”

“Yes, I’ll find him.”

Amelia’s artificial composure vanished the moment the door closed. Cam was already yanking on his clothes, tugging his boots on, while Amelia lit the bedside lamp. She gave the note to him with trembling fingers. “It’s not an empty gesture.” She found it hard to breathe. “He means to do it. He may have already—”

“Where is he most likely to go?” Cam interrupted. “Somewhere on the estate?”

Amelia thought of Laura’s spectral face in the window. “He’s at Ramsay House,” she said through chattering teeth. “Take me there. Please.”

“Of course. But first you may want to put on some clothes.” Cam gave her a reassuring smile, stroking the side of her face with his hand. “I’ll help you.”

“Any man,” she muttered, “who wanted to marry into the Hathaway family after this should be shut away in an institution.”

“Marriage is an institution,” he said reasonably, retrieving her gown from the floor.

*   *   *

They rode to Ramsay House on Cam’s horse, whose long-stretching canter covered ground at near-frightening speed. It all seemed part of another nightmare, the rushing darkness and gnawing cold, the feeling of hurtling forward beyond her control. But there was Cam’s steadfast form at her back, one arm locking her securely in place. She feared what they would find at Ramsay House. If the worst had already happened, she would have to accept it. But she was not alone. She was with the man who seemed to understand the very warp and weft of her soul.

As they approached the house, they saw a horse grazing disconsolately over patches of grass and gorse. It was a welcome sight. Leo was here, and they wouldn’t have to go scouring through Hampshire to find him.

Helping Amelia to the ground, Cam took her hand in his. She held back, however, as he tried to pull her toward the front door. “Perhaps,” she said tentatively, “you should wait here while I—”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“He may be more responsive if I approach him by myself, just at first—”

“He’s not in his right mind. You’re not going to face him without me.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And you’re my
romni.
”

“What is that?”

“I’ll explain later.” Cam stole a quick kiss and slid his arm around her, guiding her into the house. It was as still as a mausoleum, the chilled air scented of smoke and dust. Exploring the first floor silently, they found no sign of Leo. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Cam made his way from room to room with the sureness of a cat.

There came a sound from overhead, the squeak of shifting floorboards. Amelia felt a quake of nervousness, and at the same time, relief. She hastened toward the stairs. Cam checked her, his hand tightening on her arm. Understanding that he wanted her to go slowly, she forced herself to relax.

They went to the staircase, Cam leading the way, testing each step before allowing Amelia to follow him. Accumulated grit scraped beneath their quiet feet. As they ascended, the air turned colder, and colder still, driving needles into her bones. It was an unholy chill, too bitter and ghastly to have come from a temporal source. A coldness that dried her lips and made her teeth ache. Her hand tightened inside Cam’s, and she kept as close to him as possible without tripping him.

A feeble frosted glow came from a room near the end of an upstairs hallway. Amelia made a sound of distress as she realized where the lamplight was coming from.

“The bee room.”

“Bees don’t fly at night,” Cam murmured, his hand coming to the back of her neck, sliding across her nape. “But if you’d rather wait here—”

“No.” Summoning her courage, Amelia squared her shoulders and went with him down the hall. How like Leo, perverse wretch that he was, to hole up in a place that scared her witless.

They paused at the open doorway, Cam partially blocking Amelia from view.

Peering around his shoulder, she gasped.

It was not Leo, but Christopher Frost, his lean form gilded in lamplight as he stood before an open panel in the wall that contained the bee colony. The bees were subdued but far from quiet, millions of wings beating in a thick, ominous hum. The stench of exposed wood decay and fermented honey hung thick in the air. Shadows pooled on the floor like spilled ink, while the lamplight twisted and writhed at Christopher’s feet.

At the swift intake of Amelia’s breath, he swiveled and pulled something from his pocket. A pistol.

The three of them froze in a dark tableau, while a sting of shock ran over Amelia’s skin.

“Christopher,” she said in bewilderment. “What are you doing here?”

“Get back,” Cam said harshly, trying to shove her behind him. But since she was no more eager to have Cam in front of the pistol than herself, she ducked beneath his arm and came up beside him.

“You’ve come for it, too, I see.” Christopher sounded astonishingly calm, his gaze flicking to Cam’s face and then Amelia’s. The pistol was steady in his hand. He did not lower it.

“Come for what?” Bewildered, Amelia stared at the gaping hole in the wall, a rectangular space at least five feet tall. “Why have you made that opening in the wall?”

“It’s a sliding panel,” Cam said tersely, not taking his gaze from Christopher. “Made to conceal a hiding place.”

Wondering why they both seemed to know something about Ramsay House that she didn’t, Amelia asked blankly, “A hiding place for what?”

“It was designed long ago,” Christopher replied, “as a place for persecuted Catholic priests to conceal themselves.”

Her bewildered mind tried to make sense of things. She had read about such places. Long ago Roman Catholics had been hunted and executed by law in England. Some of them had escaped by hiding in the homes of Catholic sympathizers. She had never suspected, however, that such a place had been incorporated in Ramsay House.

“How did you know about…” Finding it difficult to speak, she gestured stiffly to the cavity in the wall.

“It was referenced in the private journals of the architect, William Bissel. The notes are now in the possession of Rowland Temple.”

And now, Amelia thought, after two centuries, this hiding place had been revealed … with a colony of bees in residence. “Why did Mr. Temple tell you about it? What are you hoping to find?”

Christopher glanced at her with amused contempt. “Are you pretending ignorance, or do you really have no idea?”

“I can guess,” Cam said. “It probably has something to do with a bit of local lore concerning hidden treasure at Ramsay House.” He shrugged a little at their curious glances. “Westcliff mentioned it once in passing.”

“Treasure?
Here?
” Amelia scowled in disgruntlement. “Why has no one mentioned it to me before?”

“It’s nothing but unfounded rumor. And the origins of the supposed treasure aren’t usually mentioned in polite company.” Cam sent Christopher a cold glance. “Put the gun away. We’ve no intention of interfering.”

“Yes we do!” Amelia said irritably. “If there is some kind of treasure at Ramsay House, it belongs to Leo. And why are the origins of it so unmentionable?”