Page 97 of The Mistletoe Countess
The very thought of anyone having a secret meeting with her husband turned Grace’s stomach inside out—and made her want to play Beethoven’sTempestsonata quite loudly and with so little restraint Lady Moriah would pale in horror. “I think we should forgo an immediate confrontation with your mother to investigate these ruins.”
“I can’t imagine why they’d be important.”
“Is it a place where unsavory people might hide?” She wrapped her arms around his so that there was barely any space between them. “Like the men who chased me?”
His body stiffened at her words. “It’s an excellent place for something like that, I’m afraid.” He groaned and pressed his face into her neck. “I should have investigated the ruins before I left for London. I put you in danger—”
“I am fine, as you see.” She pressed a kiss to his frown before slipping back from him. “But we have time to search them now.”
“But Piper is coming to discuss finances with me.” He paused and slipped a finger under her chin. “Withusover dinner.”
“That’s hours away.” She stood up. “Oh, my dear sleuth, you have so much to learn.” His grin crooked at her fun-loving reprimand. “If something curious is happening at the ruins at just the time so many other curious things are happening to us, then I do believe it’s worth our direct investigation. I’m developing quite the portrait of Lady Celia in my mind, and I feel certain she’s at the heart of this mystery.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Frederick glanced over at Grace as they guided their horses through the forest to the ruins. Introducing her to this tangled part of his past gripped him with cautionary claws. How many times had he met Celia here when they’d first begun their affair? The recollections were stained with past sins.
The tower of the ruins rose above the tree line. Oh how those past decisions haunted the present in unexpected ways.God forgive him. Frederick glanced at his bride. And God had—offering him a new and most undeserved beginning.
“This was the first house your ancestors built on the property?” Grace squinted as if to see through the final veil of trees separating them from the ruin.
“About three hundred years ago.” Ah, he knew how to tease her. “And there are a great many stories surrounding this place, including hidden tunnels and lost treasures of Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“Oh my!” She nearly turned in her saddle with her gasp. “A new place to research.”
Yes, Grace’s light could shine on this place and fade the old memories as she’d done in so many of the other parts of his life. “It’s certainly your sort of place.”
The three-story stone home emerged in the clearing, a narrow, partially crumbled, box-shaped structure.
“Is that a chapel?”
He followed her gesture to an ivy-covered church a short distance from the house—still intact with its frosted windows and small bell tower.
Almost magical, if he guessed at Grace’s thoughts. “Yes, my grandparents were married there.”
Grace’s smile bloomed large enough to add a sparkle to her eyes. “Then I love it even more.”
Oh, how could he touch her heart as quickly and freely as she touched his with the simplest of words? Frederick dismounted.
“It’s rumored that tunnels were dug beneath the chapel in hopes of freeing Queen Mary during her imprisonment from—”
“Queen Elizabeth.” Her eyes twinkled. “British history is so much more interesting than American history.”
“Well it’s quite a bit older too.” He rounded his horse to stand by hers.
“And to your knowledge, no one has been here since Celia?” She peered down at him, a rebel ginger lock slipping from beneath her riding cap. “Except for the people in the red car, of course.” Her teeth skimmed over her bottom lip as she fought with a smile and reached for him to help her dismount. “You remember? On the day of the storm when we first, well, found one another.”
One of the best days of his life. His hands slid about her waist, bringing her against him. “I remember.”
Her eyes darkened with awareness as her body glided over his to the ground. No wonder people referred to maritalbliss.His thoughts paused on the notion. Dear Lord, he was beginning to sound like Grace in his head.
She hooked her arms around his neck and nudged his nose with hers, a caress he was beginning to realize she particularly enjoyed. “Ialmostwish for thunderstorms so you can kiss me into distraction.”
Without another hesitation, he took her lips in a lingering embrace before braiding his fingers through hers. “I am the Watson to your Sherlock.” He gestured toward the ruins. “Do what you do best.”
“Words to my heart.”
They began on the second floor and worked their way down to the first. Frederick pointed out several sets of dusty footprints in the former gallery of the home, and Grace found a cloth stained with something that appeared to be blood.
