“It’s all right,” she whispered to herself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” Yet there was a feeling, right in the middle of her heart, that told her something wasn’t quite right.
Ignoring it, Angelica kept going, following the shadow through twists and turns until she arrived at a tall wooden door.
She blinked.
The space was empty.
She glanced around, searching for someone who’d hidden in the darkness. Nothing caught her attention. Not one single movement. And then she heard it – a hoarse cry for help, so thin and desperate it curdled her blood. She stared at the door. The sound was coming from the opposite side, accompanied by…
Angelica’s heart thumped.
It sounded like scratching.
With a shudder, she took a step forward.
Someone was there. Someone who needed her help.
She reached for the bolt with frozen fingers and unlocked the door. It flew open, yanked from her grasp on a blast of cold air as wind and rain whipped her face. Angelica searched the darkness, but no one was there. And yet she knew she’d seen something…heard a distinct voice crying for help.
It made no sense.
Unless she’d imagined it all.
Maybe she’d failed to close her bedchamber door properly. She blinked, still staring through the rain, unable to understand. In the distance, she glimpsed the outline of the pavilion she could see from her bedchamber window.
Her heart lurched as she recalled Mrs. Essex’s words from earlier.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Angelica spun around with a jolt. Lord Sterling’s glare was harder than granite as he yanked her away from the door and shut it.
He crossed his arms and leaned forward just enough to meet her gaze at eye level. “Why are you here?”
“I, um…” It was difficult to gather her wits when he looked at her with such menace.
“Yes?” He took a step forward, forcing her back, until she met the uneven stone wall behind her.
“I thought I saw someone come this way.”
“Nobody comes this way,” he told her harshly. “Not anymore.”
“I—” He grabbed her unceremoniously by the arm and proceeded to escort her back the way she’d come. “My lord. Please. You’re hurting me.”
“Did Mrs. Essex not tell you specifically not to venture into this part of the house?” He practically dragged her up the stairs, heedless of her plea for him to loosen his grip.
“I—”
“You are forbidden from opening that door. Is that clear?”
Her toes caught the top step, causing her to stumble. “Yes. Yes, I promise.” She didn’t understand his reasoning much less the rest of this night’s events, but she would adhere to his wishes. It was the least she could do as his guest.
“And for God’s sake,” he added as he deposited her outside her bedchamber door a while later, “put on a robe and some slippers if you really must leave your room at night. Otherwise, you risk catching a chill.”
“Of course. I didn’t think.”
“Clearly not.” The rugged planes of his face were emphasized in the darkness. His mouth was just a harsh line. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night.” Angelica wasn’t sure if he heard her since he was already walking away.
Unable to make sense of what had transpired, Angelica climbed back into her bed. Her mind was a muddle. It all seemed so real but how could that possibly be? She snuggled deeper under the blankets and yawned. Tomorrow she’d look for some answers, because one thing was certain: there simply had to be a logical explanation.
Randolph burst into his bedchamber with such violence he almost managed to unhinge the door. Struggling for breath, he crossed the floor and poured a large measure of brandy, downed it, and poured himself another. God help him, it had been two years! Two bloody years and all it took for rage and guilt to grip him once more was seeing Lady Angelica standing in that cursed doorway.
He’d thought he was past this. He’d thought he’d managed to put Katrina to rest. Yet here she was, haunting him from beyond the grave by reminding him of the fool he’d once been and of how he’d failed to save her.
Christ!
His fingers tightened around the glass. Blood rushed through his veins. A sharp stabbing pain ripped through his skull. The glass shattered with a dissatisfying crunch that brought a sting to the palm of his hand.
Damn.
Randolph reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. The white piece of linen was soon covered in blotches of red. He sighed and lowered himself to the armchair that stood before the fire. He’d removed himself to this part of the building after Katrina’s death, because he couldn’t stand being anywhere near the spot where she’d perished, her cries for help blocked out by the howling wind.
His chest rose with uneasy movements. And now there was Lady Angelica. As his heartbeats settled into a steadier rhythm and the anger roiling inside him abated, he recalled how she’d looked when he’d found her. His body tensed in response to what his brain was only now letting him realize. She’d been delectable, clad in only her nightgown, the fabric so fine it revealed her shapely curves and the hem so short he’d caught a glimpse of her ankles.
Perhaps if she’d not been in a state of confusion and he’d not gotten so angry, he could have used the situation to his advantage. He could have kissed her, if she’d let him.
Would she have?
He wasn’t entirely sure.
Her criticism of Colchester Hall made him wonder if she’d ever want to accept an offer of marriage from him. Of course, the biggest problem was she was now the only woman who interested him remotely. Her bluntness intrigued him. It superseded her perplexing desire to explore his home at night, wandering into places that didn’t concern her. Especially since he had a feeling she would respect his wishes from now on. But personality and character, those were things that couldn’t be changed, and although it had only been one day – or really just one evening – he could not deny the pleasure he’d found in her company.
She’d been more than just blunt, he acknowledge with a slow smile. She’d been fun and entertaining – a breath of fresh air he so desperately needed.
Chapter 3
Angelica stared out of her bedchamber window the following morning at the spot directly below, where Lord Sterling’s wife had allegedly perished. She touched her fingertips to the windowpane, pressing gently against the glass while wondering how such a thing could have happened.
When she’d woken, roughly half an hour earlier, her first instinct had been to dismiss last night’s occurrence as a dream. Or a nightmare. Perhaps Lord Sterling had found her walking in her sleep. According to her mother, she’d done so as a child. She nodded. That had to be it. She must have fallen asleep reading “The Death Bride,” only to dream up a ghost story of her own.
Considering Colchester Hall’s history, it wasn’t so odd. In fact, the manor served as the perfect backdrop for any terrifying tale. Satisfied with this explanation, Angelica blew out a breath and allowed herself to relax. She’d head downstairs for breakfast, and if she found Lucy there, she’d invite her for a walk now that the rain had stopped.