CHAPTER 2
“What a lovely evening.” Charlotte entered the study chamber off the main room of the library and settled into one of the leather armchairs by the hearth.
It was late, and while the others had all retired to their quarters in the guest wing of the manor house, Wrexford had chosen to stay up a little longer in order to continue sorting through some crates of books that had recently arrived from one of his minor estates in the north.
“Cordelia seemed pleased with the evening’s festivities,” said the earl absently. He turned the page of the book he was perusing without looking up.
“Relieved is perhaps a better word,” replied Charlotte. “Apparently her aunt can be prickly, but with both her parents gone, she wished very much to have her mother’s sister attend the wedding.”
He closed the book and picked up another from the worktable at which he was sitting. “Families are complicated.”
An understatement if ever there was one.
Charlotte reflected for a moment on her own tumultuous relationship with her parents.
The terrible rift in her family had been repaired now that her kindhearted brother was the pater familias.
But Wrexford was still struggling with recent revelations about his younger brother’s death in the Peninsular War, which had forced him to question certain assumptions about his own relationship with his father.
The books her husband was perusing had come from the late earl’s personal library, as he had chosen to live at the small family estate in the north rather than Wrexford Manor after his two sons had left home to pursue their own lives.
“Anything interesting?” she asked lightly.
Wrexford hesitated, his gaze on the printed page. “I hadn’t realized that my father read poetry—much less made annotations in the margins about his reactions to the sentiments.”
“Wrex—” she began, only to be distracted by the click-click of canine claws on the oak flooring.
Harper appeared a moment later in the doorway. Nose to the ground, the big hound ignored both her and the earl as he crossed the room and paused in front of the French doors leading out to the back terrace.
“If you need to piddle, you could have woken the Weasels,” said Wrexford, as he rose to undo the latch.
“He did wake us,” announced Raven as he and his brother padded in from the main room. “But not for a call of nature. He seems . . . unsettled.”
“Perhaps he ate too much this evening,” drawled Wrexford, “and his stomach is feeling bilious—”
A sudden growl cut him off.
“I don’t think it’s his stomach,” said Hawk. “Oiy, Harper! What’s wrong?”
In answer, the hound pricked up his ears. Another growl. Hackles rising, Harper turned abruptly and left the room.
Charlotte followed the others as they hurried to catch up with the hound. Wrexford, she saw, had grabbed Harper by the collar to keep him from bolting into the corridor that led from the back of the manor house to the guest wing.
“Hold your water, laddie. Let’s not wake the entire house,” murmured the earl, ruffling a calming caress to the hound’s shaggy head.
After a look up and down the unlit passageway, where there wasn’t a flutter of movement among the slumbering shadows, he shrugged.
“I daresay he’s not yet reacquainted with all the creaks and noises of the manor. ”
A rumble rose in Harper’s throat.
Hawk crouched down beside him. “Shall I fetch you a nice, meaty bone from the kitchen to gnaw—”
“Sshhh!” Raven edged halfway out the doorway and cocked an ear. “What was that?”
Charlotte had heard it, too. A faint scuffing sound coming from the first-floor landing of the West Wing staircase. Repressing a smile, she touched Wrexford’s arm. “It’s likely Kit paying a visit to Cordelia’s room,” she whispered. “Let us not embarrass—”
But in the same instant a shrill shout—it was Cordelia—shattered that surmise.
“Intruder! There’s an intruder in the house!”
Wrexford reacted in a flash. “Stay in the library and shut the door!”
Charlotte nearly tripped as he thrust the agitated hound at her and pushed the boys back through the doorway.
“And don’t let the Weasels and Harper follow me,” he added.
She nodded and managed to retreat just enough for him to slam the door shut.
In protest, Harper began barking, the throaty rumbling punctuated by indignant protests from the Weasels.
“Quiet!” she commanded.
The cacophony ceased.
“You’re right,” said Raven. “We need to make a plan.”
“We have one,” replied Charlotte. “You heard Wrex. He told us to remain here and stay out of trouble.” Though in all honesty, she was no happier about the order than they were.
“But he needs our help to ensure that the intruder doesn’t escape!” countered Raven. “There are any number of ways for the varlet to slip out of the house.”
That was true . . .
Charlotte drew in a measured breath and glanced back at the closed door, weighing her options.
A furtive scuff and click.
She spun around—just in time to see the tip of Harper’s tail disappear into the reading area.
“Wait!”
Too late. She heard the French doors open, and by the time she stepped out to the back terrace, the Weasels and the hound had disappeared into the midnight shadows.
“Drat,” muttered Charlotte, after stepping back inside and closing the doors. She hesitated for a long moment, then picked up the wrought-iron poker leaning against the hearth and hurried for the corridor.
* * *
Wrexford skidded through a sharp turn and sprinted down the darkened corridor leading to the West Wing, mentally gauging his chances of catching the intruder as he came down the main stairs.
The odds were good, decided the earl, thanks to Raven’s batlike hearing. Unless the intruder was unnaturally fleet of foot, the fellow was likely in for a rude surprise. No doubt he had expected everyone to be sound asleep, their slumber deepened by copious amounts of celebratory champagne.
However, the thud of racing steps descending the stairs urged Wrexford to quicken his pace.
Damnation, the fellow is faster than I thought.
He rounded the corner just as a dark-clad figure leapt over the two remaining treads and hit the floor running. With a well-timed swerve, the intruder narrowly avoided a potted palm and then headed for the back entrance by the mud room for riding boots and oilskins.
Intent on catching the fellow before he escaped from the house, Wrexford accelerated—only to collide with Cordelia as she came flying down the stairs. Her flapping wrapper tangled around his foot, causing him to stumble.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, grabbing his arm and somehow keeping both of them upright.
The earl regained his balance, just as the sound of more footsteps echoed in the corridor. He pulled free from Cordelia’s hold and spun around, shielding her with his body.
“Lower that damn poker,” he said to Charlotte. “The intruder has fled, and the house is safe.”
“What—” began Charlotte.
“Keep our guests calm if any of them have been awoken by the ruckus.” Wrexford was already moving. “I’m going after him.”
Given the fellow’s speed, he doubted there was any chance of catching up to him after the unfortunate delay. However, he was not yet ready to give up the chase.
The back door by the mud room was swinging in the breeze.
The earl barreled through the opening and jumped from the raised terrace down to the sloping lawns.
Catching sight of his quarry in the moonlight, he threaded his way through a narrow orchard of apple trees and scrambled over a low stone wall.
The intruder was halfway across the back pasture and heading for a swath of woodland.
Wrexford set off in pursuit, only to catch a glimpse of a four-footed shadow running through the meadow grass, followed by two wraithlike figures, pale as ghosts in their white nightshirts.
“Raven! Hawk! Stop at once!” he bellowed, hoping his words weren’t blown away in the wind.
The Weasels showed no sign of slowing. The intruder, however, came to halt just as he reached the trees and turned around. Spotting the boys, he fumbled with something in his pocket and then raised his arm.
A wordless cry tore from Wrexford’s throat as the Weasels, suddenly alert to the danger, dove for cover.
He saw a flash and a puff of silvery smoke, which was gone in the blink of an eye. An instant later, the crack of the gunshot swirled through the night, dulled to naught but a whisper by the fitful breeze.
Heart pounding hard enough to crack a rib, the earl abandoned the chase and ran as fast as he could to where he had seen the boys fall.
“Ouch.” Raven was on his knees, rubbing at his wrist. “There are nettles down here.”
“Oiy. And prickers.” answered his brother, gingerly plucking a thorn from his thumb.
Wrexford crouched down beside them. No sign of blood. Which drew a sigh of relief. “Hell’s bells, I ought to birch your bottoms for disobeying my orders.”
” We didn’t disobey, Wrex,” replied Raven. “It was m’lady you told to stay in the library.” A pause. “Nor did we follow you.”
“And besides, you don’t believe in corporal punishment,” pointed out Hawk.
“In this particular case I might make an exception.” He scowled . . . and then pulled them both into a fierce hug. “Don’t ever do that again. You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry.” Both boys apologized at once.
Harper, who was standing guard beside the earl, let out a low whuffle and butted his head against the earl’s arm.
“Harper is sorry, too,” said Hawk softly.
Wrexford helped the boys up. “You could have been killed.”
“Naw, he wasn’t aiming at us,” responded Raven. “I saw his arm rise at the last instant and heard the bullet whistle high overhead.”
“You were lucky,” replied the earl. “But we all know from our previous brushes with trouble that Lady Luck can be awfully fickle.”