Page 74 of This Haunted Heart

“What did this letter say?” He stared down his nose at me, one brow arched.

“I told him I was leaving him for a better man.” I grimaced. “I told him my new lover had more wealth and a bigger cock and not to come looking for me at Nightingale House in the heart of Blackwood County. I told him he wasn’t wanted here.”

Lochlan’s lips twitched. “You just had to bring his cock into it.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “What exactly were you planning? In a jealous rage, he’d come and save you from the pirate Finley, then you’d ride off into the sunset with him and hope he didn’t put your arm back in a sling?”

“Actually no,” I said as below us Utrecht battled to calm his gelding. His light cloak was knocked from his broad shoulders, and he lost his top hat in the struggle. “I was hoping he’d come and pick a fight with Finley. Then while those two serpents had it out, I’d sneak away from the both of them . . . into the sunset with myself and my cash.”

“What a dreadful idea,” Lochlan grumbled.

I shot him a glare. “You didn’t leave me a lot of choices, you pirate . . . He’s not one of your workers. How’d he even get on the grounds?”

“I unlocked the gates after my sister visited,” he confessed, and my stomach flipped. “The groundskeeper Willoughby lives outside the fence, nearby. He’s getting on in years, and making him fuss with those big gates is too much. His young crew only assists him a couple of times a week, but he pops in daily to keep an eye on things. Besides, you were no longer interested in getting away, and I never wanted to be your jailer forever.”

Utrecht tied his horse to a hitching post near the lion statues. He picked his hat up off the gravel and dusted it down. His brows were dark brown and heavy. They drew together in a scowl. He sat his hat back over his hair and sauntered toward the entrance.

Lochlan turned to leave. I caught him, gripping the back of his waistcoat. “Let’s not answer the door,” I suggested. When he returned to my side, I hooked my arm through his to keep him there. “Let him get bored and go away.”

We waited and waited. There was pounding at the door, some cursing and shouting, then a jeered challenge followed by a string of oaths.

“The ghosts won’t let him in, will they?” I asked

“I don’t think so,” Lochlan said, expression pensive. “A real charmer, this one is.” His lip curled at the corner in a half smile.

“I have terrible taste in men,” I said meaningfully.

Lochlan chuckled. “Touché.”

Shattered glass echoed from down below

“What was that?” I gasped.

“Thatwas the sound of a rock being hurled through my window,” he ground out, pulling his arm from mine.

“I don’t want you to get hurt! Loch—”

“We tried it your way,” he said sternly. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Wait! What exactly is your way?” Nerves had my stomach in knots. I reached for him, but he pulled out of my grasp.

“If he’s lucky, I’ll just put both of his arms in slings, then see him out. Here in the middle of the weavers’ woods and in a house full of ghosts, I could do much worse to a man like him.”

“Loch!” I dogged his heels. “I didn’t mean to—”

He stopped at the door and shot me a stern look. “Stay here. You’ve done enough, Rynn.”

His words sent another dart through my chest, more fuel for the monster on my back to torture me with. He left, closing the door behind him with a decisive snap.

I paced the room impatiently, sloshing through puddles and wet footprints, splashing the hem of my skirt. Dirty water began to drip down the walls again.

“Could you please do something more useful?” I grumped at the spirit.

It was then I decided thatIwould go and do something more useful. I wouldn’t stand there another minute, waiting to see what became of Lochlan. Opening the door carefully, I slipped into the hall. At the top of the stairs, muffledvoices reached me from below and I leaned in. My heart thumped against the cage of my ribs, and my palms went clammy.

Determined footsteps came next, then more muffled voices quickly followed by shouted threats and broken furniture, the hollow thud of heavy things being thrown about.

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