His Wicked Charm Read online

  “What about this renewal?” Con asked. “Did your father or brother ever mention that? What did they renew? What was this ‘bond’ Dearborn mentioned?”

  “I don’t know.” Uneasily she went on, “But clearly we must do something soon. Midsummer is only two weeks away.”

  “Ten days, to be exact,” Con said grimly. “That doesn’t leave us much time.”

  “What if we can’t find it before then?” Vesta’s unease was turning into panic. “What will we do?”

  “Aunt Vesta, stay calm,” Lilah said firmly. “You are assuming that Mr. Dearborn is right. There’s no reason to believe that some magical sanctuary is going to explode—or whatever it was he was predicting. It sounds like superstitious nonsense to me.”

  “Oh, Lilah, your stubborn resistance to the Truth will be the ruin of you,” Vesta moaned. “Of all of us.”

  Lilah had a strong desire to shake her aunt. Before she could speak, Con said soothingly, “Mrs. LeClaire, Lilah has a good point. We all know Dearborn wouldn’t hesitate to lie to get what he wants. What if he invented this story about the dire consequences that would befall us unless we gave him the key? Don’t you think that the, um, presence you sense beneath the ground is more benign than that?”

  Con’s words had the desired effect on Vesta. She looked much struck. “Dear boy, of course. There’s no wickedness there. It’s a force for good.”

  “You see? No need to be worried. We must simply continue to work as hard as we can to find the key.” Con took Vesta’s hand and patted it. “This has been a dreadful experience for you. Perhaps you should go upstairs and rest a bit.”

  Vesta beamed at him. “Lilah, this boy is a treasure. You must keep him. He’s right. The dark emanations Niles emits have sadly depleted my energy.”

  As Aunt Vesta went up the stairs, Con grabbed Lilah’s arm and whisked her into the sitting room. She frowned at him. “Must you encourage her foolish notions?”

  “Where’s the harm? You told me yourself your aunt believes what she wants to. And it will be easier to talk about it without her here.”

  Lilah had to admit that. “I hope you don’t believe what Mr. Dearborn said.”

  “You mean, that we’re all going to disappear on Midsummer Day? Barrow House will be destroyed? It seems unlikely.”

  Thank heavens Con was being sensible. “Do you think his keys really were stolen?”

  “His anger certainly seemed sincere. Still, I’m more inclined to believe he made up the story.”

  “But why would he pretend they were stolen?”

  “To trick you into letting him have your key. He hoped you’d show it to him or give away where it’s hidden. Or that he might coerce you into handing your key over to him by accusing you of theft. When he realized we knew next to nothing, he made up a tale about impending doom to frighten you into giving it to him—only he could save us all from destruction, et cetera.”

  “But what if he was telling the truth about the keys being stolen? What if Mr. Dearborn didn’t order that kidnapping and there’s somebody else involved here?”

  “And that someone is responsible for both the kidnapping attempt and the theft of Dearborn’s keys?” Con looked thoughtful. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

  “But who would have wanted those keys?” Lilah asked. “What good would they do anyone else? How would anyone even know about them?”

  “I suppose his son could have robbed him.”

  “Peter?” Lilah asked skeptically. “I can’t imagine him going against his father. He’s always been cowed by him. Anyway, what would be the point?”

  “Perhaps he finally decided to rebel. Or he thinks he could get you and Sabrina to join him. After all, that trio would have someone from each of the three families. Maybe that’s important, or at least they believe it’s important.”

  “But his father won’t consider it because we are appallingly female,” Lilah finished. “So Peter is defying him.” She paused, thinking. “Truthfully, I do seem the likeliest suspect. Or you. But neither one of us stole them.” She looked over at him warily. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “Alas, no. It would certainly make all this easier if I had. Do you suppose each person had a key to the same lock? Or that it took three keys together to get in?”

  “It seems more likely one would need all of them. Why else would he have been holding Sabrina’s key, as well?”

  “True. If there was a club of only three people and they had a secret meeting room—I presume that must be what this sanctuary he mentioned was—then it makes sense that they might set it up in a way that took three keys to open. I’ve seen locks that required two keys to open. I suppose you could make one that needs three. Or have three separate locks.”

  “Wonderful. Now we have three keys to find.” Lilah sighed.

  “It certainly makes our quest more challenging. Especially now that we have a time limit.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t believe that we had to find the key by Midsummer Day or we’d all be destroyed.”

  “I don’t,” Con replied. “But personally, I’d rather not put it to the test.”

  * * *

  CON PACED HIS ROOM. It was one o’clock, and he had yet to get into bed. It was pointless; he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He had downed a whiskey; he’d tried to read; he’d listed all the Roman emperors in his head—in order; he’d had another drink. Even when he set his mind to the puzzle of the keys, that brought him right back to Lilah and the danger she was under. Nothing could distract him from his thoughts of Lilah.

  Just looking at his bed brought up memories of making love with Lilah yesterday, and passion surged in him all over again. Passion, which, of course, he was not going to give in to. He would not think about those long shapely legs and the way they had felt locked around him. Nor the rose-tipped breasts that fitted so perfectly in his palm. The way she moved beneath him, shy but eager.

  Blast it. This was getting him nowhere. He gave up, lit a candle and, not bothering to pull on his boots again, went down to the library. The library was stocked primarily with books on philosophy, religion and history, but he was intrigued by one entitled The Ancient Mysteries of Somerset. He suspected it belonged to Aunt Vesta.

  He settled down in one of the chairs and spent the next hour reading about symbols, legends, barrows and ancient tracks—the Fae Path, sadly, was not mentioned. Most of it was about Glastonbury Tor, but in one chapter, Barrow Tor was mentioned as a “holy” site, though no reason was given for it.

  Picking up the candle, he headed for the oldest part of the house, which he and Lilah had not yet explored. It was this section, the one that sagged drunkenly under its own weight, that intrigued him the most. And since they were going to spend the next day more pragmatically searching her father’s room, this seemed a likely time to get a look at the old wing.

  At the end of the hall, he turned left and opened the door, stepping into what could only be the Great Hall of the original home. Dark and massive, the room rose to the full height of the house. His candle cast only a small circle of light in the vast black void.

  A dark figure waited in the shadows, giving him a start before he realized it was only a suit of armor. One wall held a stone fireplace, deep and wide enough to roast an ox.

  He crossed the hall and opened a door, revealing another corridor. The rooms were dark and empty, giving the place a funereal air. Con climbed a set of winding stone steps to the next floor and found a similar corridor of rooms with uneven floors and a drunkenly tilted fireplace.

  Alex would love this place. They would have to invite the newlyweds here as soon as they returned from their honeymoon. Belatedly, he realized that he was thinking of Barrow House as his and Lilah’s, the invitation theirs, not his. That was an unsettling thought.

  Con left the hall and went up to the top floor. Here was
the long gallery, added on years later. This floor, at least, had light, for windows lined the wall. But the pale glow of the moon only served to make the dust and cobwebs more visible, the emptiness more tangible.

  Portraits of dead Holcutts hung on the long wall opposite the windows, gazing out from the shadows. Everything was coated with a layer of dust, and a deathly silence hung in the air. Con started forward quietly, as if not to disturb anyone.

  Something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned toward the window. It looked out on the wide swath of grass separating the house from the untended maze. In the silvery moonlight, a white figure moved across the grass.

  Lilah. The old glass distorted his view, but he was certain it was she...once again roaming about outside at midnight. What the devil was she doing? The suspicion that she was meeting someone flared in him anew, but he could not imagine who it could be. It was also difficult to believe that Lilah was carrying on any sort of deception at all.

  As he watched, she stopped in front of the entrance to the maze. He waited for someone to join her, for her to go inside, for something to happen, but she only stood, still as a statue. Finally, she turned and started back toward the house.

  Con whirled around and hurried back down the stairs. Blast it, he was going to find out what was going on. His candle flickered wildly, creating dancing shadows on the walls around him. Two flights of steps—why had he had to climb all the way to the top floor? He ached to run, but that would be suicidal on these narrow, uneven steps.

  When he reached the hallway, he broke into a run. And that was his mistake. The rush of air blew out his candle, plunging him into the utter gloom of the Great Hall. He stopped, then started forward more slowly, one hand stretched out in front of him. The door into the other wing was directly across the room; as long as he walked in a straight line, he couldn’t miss it.

  He made it across without running into anything, but it had cost him precious time. He trotted down the long hall. Thanks to the lamp he’d left burning in the library, the hall was illuminated enough to see his way. Con turned and went to the back door, coming out of the house onto the terrace. He looked toward the maze, but there was no sign of Lilah. Had she been that fast? He stood for a moment, listening. There was nothing but silence.

  It occurred to him that he was acting the fool, running around all over the house, trying to find a woman who obviously did not want to be found. Lilah had a right to her secrets. If she wanted to ramble around the grounds at midnight, it had nothing to do with him. Turning, he went back into the house.

  The hall was quiet, as was the corridor above. Lilah’s door was closed, no sign of light beneath it. Determined to put the whole thing out of his mind, he began to undress. Just as he was about to blow out the candle and get into bed, he heard something. Had that been the click of a latch? Turning, he opened the door. But the hall remained still and dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LILAH CAME DOWN to breakfast in a cheerful mood, eager to get started. Unnaturally silent, Con fiddled with his spoon, watching her with an assessing gaze. Lilah shifted, faintly uneasy.

  “I saw you last night,” Con said abruptly.

  “Of course you did. We spent the evening together.” Whatever was the matter with him?

  “I’m talking about later. I looked out and saw you standing at the entrance to the maze.” His eyes were focused intently on her face.

  Lilah went cold. “That’s impossible. I haven’t been near the maze—other than when you and I went the other day.”

  “Lilah...I saw you. There you were, in your nightgown, staring into the maze. Then you turned to come back in.”

  She could feel, literally feel, the blood draining from her face. “You’re mad. I wasn’t. It was a...a trick of the moonlight. Why didn’t you come out and ask me what I was doing?”

  “I tried, but you were gone by the time I got out there.”

  “So you saw a figure flitting about outside, and then it vanished.” She felt on surer ground. “Con, you were dreaming.”

  “It was not a dream. Unless I dreamed sitting in the library, reading The Ancient Mysteries of Somerset, as well.”

  “No wonder you had a bizarre dream if you fell asleep reading that.”

  “It was not a dream.” Con finished his words with a rap of his spoon against the table.

  “If there was actually someone there, it must have been my aunt—she was probably out talking to the goddess of the moon. Or maybe it was one of the maids sneaking out to meet a man.” Lilah pushed back her chair and popped up. She no longer had an appetite. “I was in bed asleep. All night.”

  Con frowned at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Very well. Let’s talk of something else. Are you ready to look into your father’s room?”

  “What? Oh. Yes. I—I must, um, put on other shoes. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Lilah fled from the room. It wasn’t true. Con was mistaken. Or maybe he was playing a joke on her; he had an odd sense of humor. She’d been asleep. She ran up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she startled one of the chambermaids.

  Dropping down onto the hassock, she whipped off one of her soft-soled slippers. The sole of her foot was dirty. Her heart began to hammer. No, it couldn’t be...

  She glanced around the room, panic fizzing inside her. “My nightgown. Where’s my nightgown?”

  The maid stared. “I think your lady’s maid took it to the laundry room.”

  Lilah shoved her foot back into the slipper and flew out of the room and down the back staircase. In the laundry room, the maid at the washtub gaped at her. No doubt she thought Lilah was even madder than the upstairs chambermaid did.

  “I—I’m just looking for—there.” She pounced on her nightgown, lying atop a basket.

  It was no wonder Cuddington had taken it to the laundry. Blades of grass clung to the dirty hem. Lilah stared at it blindly; she couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t be. This could not be happening again. Not after all these years. She was past that. Her life was neat. Calm. Orderly.

  She dropped the gown and walked away, clenching her trembling hands in her skirts. What was she to do? Lilah fought down the panic in her chest. It was an aberration. Just a momentary relapse, brought on by being in the old surroundings. She had been tired last night, and there had been that tumultuous scene with Mr. Dearborn. That moment—no, that life-altering event—with Con at Carmoor.

  It was no wonder she had let her guard down. Nor was there any reason to panic. She was no longer a child. She was in command of herself, and, now that she was aware of it, she would control it. Just as she would control that strange, wayward hunger for Con Moreland. She refused to be ruled by her clearly unhealthy instincts.

  Hurrying back upstairs, she found Con loitering in the hall outside her chamber. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” Con glanced down the hallway from which she’d come, then at her feet. Lilah realized that she hadn’t changed her shoes. She tried to think of some excuse, some reason. For a wild moment, she even thought of blurting it all out to him.

  But she managed to restrain herself. She had already revealed far too much to Con. She decided to simply ignore the inconsistencies. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Con swept his arm out for her to precede him. “We need to find two things, you know. The key and the door it opens.”

  “To this sanctuary?” Thank goodness, Con had decided to ignore the situation, as well. There was something to be said for a man who was accustomed to eccentric behavior. “I can’t imagine where that could be—an old building on the estate? In town? It sounds religious, but I can’t imagine it being at a church.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think a church—unless perhaps there is some old abandoned ruin of one somewhere near.” He raised his eyebrows in question.

  Lilah shook her head. “I’ve neve
r heard of one.”

  “I think religious-sounding phrases are common in secret societies—it gives them weight. Dignity. All it has to be is a room, a hut, just a place where they conducted their...whatever it was they did.”

  “What do secret societies do?” Lilah asked.

  “I’ve never belonged to one. Aunt Vesta would think me a poor example of manhood. But from what I’ve heard, it seems mostly to involve solemn oaths, passwords and secret handshakes. Wearing silly hats.”

  “That sounds like exactly your sort of activity. I’m surprised you haven’t joined one.” But Lilah smiled as she said it.

  Inside her father’s bedchamber, Lilah pulled open the draperies, letting in a flood of sunlight. “His sitting room is through this door.”

  Con trailed after her into the small enclosed room and went over to a large portrait of a young woman. “Is this your mother?”

  “Yes. Her name was Eva.”

  “She was beautiful.” He glanced back. “You look very much like her.”

  “Thank you.” Lilah felt herself blushing and turned away. “Why don’t you go through his desk? I’ll, um, look in this cabinet.” It would be better to work at some distance from Con. Standing close to him was exactly how she’d gotten in trouble the other day.

  She tried to concentrate on her task, but after a moment, she realized that she had stopped working and was watching Con instead. He had run his hands through his thick dark hair, leaving it sticking out everywhere in a way that was somehow endearing. Her fingers itched to reach out and brush it back into place. She remembered the feel of his hair between her fingers, soft as silk. She thought of his lips, reddened from kissing her, the hard line of his collarbone, the taut skin stretched across it.

  And this was exactly what she needed to avoid. Lilah walked over to the window, staring out until her pulse settled down. Surely she could manage to control her lust. Con was not the only handsome man in the world. His was not the only man’s touch she would ever feel; someday she would marry. She tried to think of another man’s hand sliding over her naked skin, and the only feeling it evoked was repulsion.