Chapter Six
Felix kept her close enough that their shoulders brushed as they moved along the corridor.
They peered into every unlocked room. They halted outside every locked door and listened, their ears pressed to the cold wood, straining to hear any sound from within.
But the house, beyond their own hushed whispers, remained eerily and mockingly silent.
“We need to go to the next floor below. But if we do, the Denworthys will hear and they will know that we are together and they will know that Grace is missing,” Caris said.
“It is very possible that one of them, or all of them, already know,” he replied.
It hadn’t escaped him that the Denworthys could very well have harmed Miss Burnham and could well intend to harm Miss Fortune and himself, as well.
They were avaricious, immoral, and without even a hint of conscience.
They would do anything that served their purpose—which was to prevent the contents of his aunt’s will from being made public.
“We must find Mr. Fitzsimmons at once. He is in danger, as well. There are four people in this house who stand between those three jackals and what they ultimately want, which is the inheritance from my aunt.”
“When you say say ‘stand between them’… do you think that we are in mortal danger from them?”
“I do,” he said softly. “If we can locate Miss Burnham, the three of us and Mr. Fitzsimmons might do better to take our chances on the heath. The rabble out there might want our purses, limited as they are, but in here… within these walls, we face far greater threats.”
She nodded. “Let’s go quickly then. The sooner we find Grace the sooner we can leave this terrible place… I never liked any of them, but I never imagined them capable of something like this.”
Creeping down the darkened stairs, clinging to the banister for support and guidance, they made their way to the next floor below.
It was brighter, the gas sconces more effective with the lighter wall coverings.
Not that it was any less macabre. Panel after panel was the repeated scene of a stag being stabbed with a spear. It was positively gruesome.
*
Felix was in complete agreement. As soon as they could get away from Hayton House, he intended to flee, and he might never return.
He didn’t want to, in truth. But it was his responsibility to see that it remained standing, that it continued to function, and that whatever was housed within it remained firmly locked within its walls.
Moving toward the stairwell, they climbed down to the next level, taking each step cautiously. It wasn’t simply the risk of falling, though that wasn’t truly dire. It was also the risk of discovery. Even the creaking of a step could give them away.
When, at long last, they reached the corridor that contained the rooms belonging to the Denworthy siblings, he raised his finger to his lips, indicating that they should remain quiet. Miss Fortune simply nodded, clearly understanding why discretion was so important.
And then they began to search, moving methodically along the corridor, listening outside every door for even the slightest noise, the slightest hint that perhaps Miss Burnham was held within. But when they neared the end of the corridor, panic struck.
At the far end—well away from them, but given how brightly lit that corridor was, still well within sight—a door opened.
Felix didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think. He turned out the lamp, casting them in shadow, and pulled Miss Fortune with him into a small alcove. An ancient bust of some unknown ancestor wobbled precariously on its pedestal, but he steadied it.
And there they stood, huddled together in that small space, far closer to one another than was appropriate.
He could smell the soft scent of lilacs that clung to her skin, something with a faint hint of lemon.
She smelled delectable, alluring, enticing.
And he was forced to face the uncomfortable fact that he found her more than just attractive.
He found her seductive. Without guile, without artifice, without effort, she had lured him like a siren, and he very much feared that he was lost.
*
Caris wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. One moment, they’d been standing in the middle of the corridor. The next, he’d grasped her hand and pulled her into the alcove. And now they stood, huddled together in the dark—disturbingly close to one another.
She could feel the heat from his large frame, even through the layers of clothing that separated them. And it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation—not at all. In fact, she found herself fighting the urge to step closer still, to lean into the warmth and strength of him.
What had happened to her? What, in the name of God, had gotten into her?
She knew better than to behave in such a manner.
And then she looked up. Instantly, she knew it was a mistake—because he was looking at her in a way that left her breathless.
In a way that built anticipation within her, as if something truly momentous was about to occur.
“My lord,” she said, not certain how to even address what was happening between them.
And then he looked at her and said, “My name is Felix. I would prefer very much if you called me by my name. In fact, I can’t think of anything I desire more right now than to hear it falling from your lips.”
Caris made a small sound of equal parts pleasure and dismay. “What is this?”
“I believe,” he said, “it is attraction. I knew the moment I saw you that you were lovely. This is more than simply appreciating your appearance. This is more than simply admiring the symmetry of your features. This is something more instinctive, more primal than that. There are times when you meet someone and there’s simply a spark between you—a connection that cannot be denied.
And I felt that, but I didn’t expect you to feel it in return. But you do. Don’t you, Caris?”
In that moment, when he whispered her own name to her, she understood why he wished for her to say his.
It created a kind of intimacy, a connection between them that went far beyond the polite, stilted conversation that happened while in the company of others.
Using their given names implied a closeness that was undeniable—and far too tempting.
He leaned in, dipping his head until there was hardly a breath of space between them. And there was a question in his gaze, because he didn’t move any further—and he wouldn’t until she gave some indication that she wished for him to.
It was instinct, impulse, possibly insanity. But Caris rose on her tiptoes, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, and with no small amount of nervousness, pressed her lips to his.
And the sensation—the physical sensation of that kiss, of having his lips moving against hers, of tasting the brandy that he had had earlier that night, of being enveloped by the heat of him as his arms closed around her—was not at all what she had expected.
Kissing, she had thought, was something that would be nice. But this wasn’t nice. This was hungry and demanding. That very first touch, and it felt as though it would never be enough.
And then, in a split second, that sensual spell was broken. A scream split the night—loud, filled with terror—and all too familiar.
Grace.
It was Grace. And wherever she was, she was terrified.
*
His heart raced as they sprinted along the corridor in the direction of the scream.
And doors opened along the corridor, others emerging with curiosity but no real concern.
Likely because they were used to the sound of women screaming in the night when sharing a residence with Alistair.
Even in his frenetic rush, Felix was aware of the stares being directed at them.
When he reached the room that had been assigned to Alistair, he didn’t knock. Instead, he kicked the door open and found absolutely nothing. Alistair was there, a smirk on his face, but Miss Burnham was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she?”
“I’ve no idea what you mean, Grimsleigh,” Alistair replied. “There is no one here but me… or rather there wasn’t until you forced your way in. A better question might be what you and Miss Fortune are doing skulking about together in the dark.”
Felix didn’t take the bait. Instead, he turned and walked from the room.
Making his way along the corridor, he threw open the door of every room they passed, but they were all undeniably empty, the air of desolation evident.
And then they reached the end of the corridor, and the room there was locked.
He pounded on it and heard a muffled cry from behind it.
“Help me kick it down,” he snapped at the other men present.
“No. These keys are all identical,” Caris said, pulling one from a neighboring door.
Thankful for her quick thinking, Felix took the key and unlocked the door. Inside, Miss Burnham was curled up on the floor, shivering and crying. Her face was positively ashen.
Caris stepped forward. “Grace? Grace, what happened?”
“It was dreadful!” She exclaimed, “I’ve never seen anything so terrifying. We must leave this place. Immediately!”
“It’s the middle of the night, Grace,” Caris said reasonably. “But how did you get down here?”
“I ran,” she said. “When I stepped out of the water closet above, I saw someone at the end of the corridor, just dark skirts swishing around the corner. I thought it was you, but I had no notion why you’d be out of our room.
And when I went around the corner, it wasn’t you…
she was gray. From head to toe, she was gray.
And she looked at me with these great, dark, hollow eyes. ”
Felix felt his gut tighten with fear. “She will not hurt you. She cannot,” he told her. “But I’ve seen her. I saw her here whenever I would visit when I was younger. And Edith saw her too. That’s why she resisted coming here.”
“Who is she?” Caris asked. “Because I saw her earlier today… only a glimpse from the corner of my eye, but it was terrifying.”
“She was the wife of Severne Hayton.”
The voice came from the open doorway. Mr. Fitzsimmons stood there, his expression grim and somber. Then he continued. “He killed her. And since then, she has appeared anytime someone of the Hayton bloodline is about to be married.”
“And when I was here as a child was on the eve of my father’s wedding to my stepmother,” Felix said, understanding dawning. “And now, with the contingencies of Edith’s will…?”
“Precisely so,” Mr. Fitzsimmons said. “Once the wedding has been completed, the marriage sanctified by the church, she will retreat once more.”
“Until the next time someone is set to marry,” Caris said.
Mr. Fitzsimmons sighed sadly. “If it is any consolation, her appearance has actually been a portent of happy marriages. No one, in the family’s recorded history, who has seen her has suffered a bad marriage.
But those to whom she has not appeared… they have not done so well.
And she only ever shows herself to those who are of Hayton blood or who are destined to marry into the Hayton family. ”
“Then why did I see her?” Miss Burnham demanded.
Mr. Fitzsimmons’ face took on an inscrutable expression.
“That is something we will discuss further, Miss Burnham, once we have the viscount and Miss Fortune settled. Mrs. Denworthy’s service is set to begin at ten.
And I have in my possession a common license under your names.
St. Michael’s Highgate is close enough that we can see the pair of you wed and attend the burial afterward. ”
Felix looked to Caris and waited. After a moment, she gave a slight nod. And their plan was set.