Page 18 of Beth: A Regency Romance Novell

“I believe we have found it, Zeus,” Marcus murmured. As clouds drifted away to reveal a star-studded sky, the name on the brass plate over the pair of gates was easy to discern: Whittemore House. While the name meant nothing to him, his confidence grew as he rode Zeus down the avenue of oaks. They emerged from the overgrown gardens. Ahead, an ancient gray stone mansion loomed with a tower at one end. There were several old houses nestling among gardens close to the river, but this one seemed to fit the description he was given. Waning moonlight slanted onto the roof revealing the missing slates. As he approached, the house appeared to be in as sorry a state as the gardens. Smoke spiraled into the sky from two of the chimneys, but there was no sign of activity within as he rode past the front entrance and on to the stables at the rear.

A black carriage stood in the coach house, the horses stabled. Marcus dismounted and walked over to inspect them. One of the horses had f

our white feet. With a long, drawn-in breath, he patted the pistol in his pocket. Was he about to interrupt a romantic liaison? He doubted it, for no lady would relish this kind of treatment. To be whisked away in secret to a place like this was hardly romantic in his view. But should he be wrong, he still intended to speak to Beth. His hands curled into fists. And he would have a few words with Ramsey. But that would follow a different line of questioning.

He left Zeus in one of the stalls, then crossed to the front porch where lamplight threw out a faint glow.

Marcus rapped on the brass knocker. The sound echoed within, but after several minutes no one appeared. He took hold of the latch and cursed. The door was locked. A glance through the narrow windowpane beside the door revealed a dimly lit great hall. A lamp turned low on a table sent light over a suit of armor strewn across the floor in pieces.

Marcus spun around and went in search of an open window. All were locked the rooms in darkness. What that might mean sent a shaft of unease through him. Some act of violence had sent that armor tumbling. He abandoned any measure of civility. Returning to the garden, he found a small stone statue of the goddess Diana in among the weeds and returned to thrust it through a long window. The glass shattered. He kicked the shards away with his boot and stepped inside. No one came to investigate the noise as he strode across the stone floor. Were the servants all in bed?

A woman’s evening cloak hung alongside a gentleman’s coat. A reticule sat on the table. He tried the doors leading off the hall. All were locked. As no light or noise rose from the servants’ quarters, Marcus retreated to the main staircase. He mounted the uncarpeted treads, while loud creaks accompanied him to the upper landing.

Here at last were some signs of occupancy. Marcus strode through the drawing room door without ceremony. It was empty and appeared to have been recently vacated. A fire burned in the grate, and a set of open doors at the far end revealed the remains of a meal on the dining table.

Fearing the worst, Marcus left the room. As the rest of the doors on this floor were also locked, he took the stairs. On the floor above, candles guttered in the wall sconces. He was halfway down the passage, when a man’s angry voice split the quiet air. “I’ll make you sorry when I get my hands on you.”

Ramsey. Marcus pulled his pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and proceeded cautiously toward the noise. He edged around the corner. Ramsey, a candle held high, stalked through the room, talking, apparently to himself.

“I’ll find you!” he yelled, so distraught he failed to take note of Marcus who stood observing him.

Ramsey pulled open a cupboard door, then staggered back. “Nooo.” Terror distorting his features, he dropped the candlestick. It rolled around on the floor, the wick still alight, as he stumbled toward the door. He pulled up sharply when he encountered Marcus blocking his exit.

Marcus aimed the gun at his chest. “Pick up that candle before you start a fire.”

Ramsey silently scooped up the silver candlestick. The candle flickered but stayed alight.

“Where is Miss Harrismith?” Marcus asked.

Ramsey shook his head his mouth working. “Did Harrow send you?” he finally asked.

“Surely you’re not surprised? Where is the duke’s sister-in-law? If you have hurt her…”

The baron gulped audibly. “Nyeland. We met in Vienna as I remember. Work for the government, don’t you? Some shadowy business no doubt.” He eyed the gun dispassionately. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“If you’ve laid a hand on Beth, I’ll make you sorry you were born. Where is she?”

“Are you on intimate terms with the lady?” Ramsey made an attempt at a lewd wink, but his eyes were scared, and his lips trembled.

Marcus scowled at him. “Don’t tempt me. I am fighting a strong desire to take you apart. Where is the young lady?”

Ramsey shrugged. He waved his arm holding the candlestick and sent light rocking across the walls and ceiling. “I don’t know. I found a body in that cupboard. I always thought this place was haunted. I just want to get out of here.”

Keeping Ramsey in his sights, fearful of what he might find, Marcus stepped into the room. A glance in the cupboard made him hot with relief. Not Beth, but a skeleton with a gray wig askew dressed in a green gown, a cameo pinned to the lace collar.

“Do you know who that is?”

Ramsey groaned. “It might be an aunt.”

“The lady who left you this house?”

He shuddered. “No, her sister.”

“Did you murder her?”

He raked his hands through his hair. “I bloody well didn’t. Why would I?”

“I believe you’re capable of it.”

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