Chapter Thirteen
Cassandra rose the following morning with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. She had to admit, waking in Reuben’s warm embrace proved even more enjoyable than sex. An immediate sense of calm washed over her in such a protective and intimate moment.
He woke when she placed a tender kiss on his forehead. Then he pulled her down onto the bed and slowly ravished her until she fell apart in his arms. Blissful domesticity. A woman could get used to this unfettered life.
But there was still a host of unanswered questions casting a shadow over her blossoming romance.
Once they’d retrieved new garments from their trunks, they dressed and descended to the main floor.
Reuben pulled her into what she had now dubbed the trophy room, as it bore many of the taxidermized remains of the animals her husband had hunted over the years.
She shivered at the glass gazes settling on her when she entered the room, convinced someone was watching.
“I abhor this room.” Cassandra wrapped her arms around her torso, wishing she had her woolen wrap.
“Why?” he asked. “It is a lovely parlor of death.” Reuben chuckled before encircling her with his warmth.
“I shall never understand it.” She leaned against him, grateful for his grounding presence.
“Understand what?”
“The desire to hunt something with such majestic beauty, only to stuff it and mount it on the wall.” She frowned at the handsome stag hanging over the mantel. “No one will see it. No one cares.”
“Some crave the thrill of the hunt. Stalking their prey, securing the killing blow.” Reuben stilled behind her, his voice steady and haunting. “These trophies are mementos.”
“Well, if I had my say, I would burn the lot. All they do is remind me of a man I wish to forget.”
Reuben spun her around to face him. “I would move the heavens and earth to remove the painful scars he left, Cassandra.”
“If you did that, I would not be the woman before you.” She cupped his cheek in her palm. “I cannot change the past, but I can adapt and grow.”
His hand covered hers. “I do not deserve you.”
Her heart constricted at his words. Why would he believe such a lie? Because of his birth, her rank, the disparity between them? Before she could formulate the question, he kissed her, and all thoughts fled from her mind.
A discreet cough shook them from the pleasurable interlude. Reuben drew away, facing the intruder and tucking Cassandra behind him to allow her a moment of composure.
“Pardon my intrusion, Your Grace.” Mrs. Mackenzie bustled into the room, her eyes diverted and a hint of blush on her cheeks.
“Quite all right, Mrs. Mackenzie.” Cassandra rounded her stalwart protector and smiled at the caretaker.
“After our conversation last evening, I got to thinking.” Her lilting accent surrounded every word.
“Not long after the duke, your son, left, I happened across this key tucked in the late duke’s personal effects.
I intended to give it to the new duke when he returned, but something tells me it would be best in your care. ”
Cassandra retrieved the key from Mrs. Mackenzie’s open palm. “What does it open?”
“I have tried every lock in the house, madam.” The older woman shrugged. “It remains a mystery. Perhaps you can solve it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mackenzie.” Cassandra made a fist around the key.
“Did you require anything? Tea, perhaps? Or a hearty breakfast?” the caretaker asked, her smile warm and a bit teasing.
“Both would be lovely.” Cassandra nodded.
“I shall prepare it directly and place it in the dining room.” She paused. “Will Mr. Evans be joining you again?”
“Yes, he will. Thank you.”
With a polite curtsy, the caretaker retreated, leaving Cassandra and Reuben alone once more. Cassandra turned to her lover and held the key up to the light. There was nothing special about the plain iron skeleton key. No markings. No indication as to what it unlocked.
“Have you ever seen this before?” Cassandra handed Reuben the key.
He turned it over, inspecting it closely. Brow furrowed, he shook his head. “I have not.”
“What could it possibly open?” she asked. “A lockbox? A door?”
Reuben strode to the window, allowing the filtered sunlight to illuminate it.
“It looks similar to a door key.” He stroked his thumb across the metal.
“I did not accompany him on that trip, as I was not yet in his employ. I remember the duke mentioning something about a missing key after he returned from Scotland. But this was when I first took the post as his valet. He never mentioned it again.”
“What did he say specifically?” Cassandra asked, her heart pounding with anticipation.
“He was distraught over the absent key to the point of physical violence,” Reuben murmured, lost in the memory. “He lashed out and shattered a crystal glass in the fireplace, cursing.”
A shiver of unease shook Cassandra at the image that appeared unbidden in her mind of her late husband in a drunken rage looming over her in the darkness, taking what he wanted without—she shook her head, stopping the thought from coalescing into a full vision.
Keeping her eyes closed, she took several steadying breaths in an attempt to ground herself.
“Cassandra.” Reuben’s gentle voice called down the long, dark corridor of her mind. “Cassandra, you’re safe. Breathe, love. Breathe.”
She opened her eyes to find herself in Reuben’s firm embrace. His hand moved in circles over her back, slowly reviving her from the stupor. With a final trembling exhale, she slipped free from the chaotic spiral into madness.
“I—I’m well.” Cassandra offered a hesitant smile after meeting his concerned gaze. “Just—lost in a memory.”
Reuben cursed beneath his breath. “How can I help?”
“I—I wish I knew.” She clung to him, leaning on his strength. Her gaze shifted to the mounted trophies on the wall, sliding over them one by one before dropping to the glass cases along the wall beneath them.
She slowly disentangled herself from Reuben and took a tentative step toward the barrister’s bookcase. Inside lay a variety of weapons, knives, pistols, and medieval instruments of mayhem and torture. A macabre hobby, but certainly not uncommon among members of the aristocracy.
Her gaze drifted to the wall behind the case. Leaning closer, she examined the gap between the wall and the bookcase.
“What is it?” Reuben asked, coming alongside her.
“There is a door behind this bookcase.” She pointed to the thin seam that nearly blended in with the raised wooden paneling.
Without prompting, Reuben pushed against the bookcase, grunting with effort at the sheer mass of the object. When he managed to shift it out of the way, they stepped back in awe at what they had uncovered.
There was a door built into the wall, carefully hidden with intricate details to hide the seams.
“Reuben, the key.” Cassandra extended her hand, and he placed the skeleton key in her palm. Her hand trembled as she placed it in the lock and turned. The mechanism clicked, and the door popped free.
At her sharp inhale, she exchanged a knowing look with Reuben.
Part of her longed to open the door and uncover this strange secret, but there was also the possibility that something horrid lay beyond that hidden door.
She swallowed her fear, suppressing the desire to abandon her pursuit of the truth.
Reuben retrieved a small lantern and lit it. “Shall I go first?” he asked, as if sensing her hesitation.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Cassandra remained by his side as he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold. The flicker of lantern light danced over the darkness, slowly revealing the contents of the room.
It was no bigger than a wardrobe, barely fitting the two of them side by side. A wall rose up before them with shelves stretching from the floor to the ceiling, heavily laden with glass jars. The light danced over the glass, revealing liquid inside them with the shifting reflection.
“What in the devil—?” Cassandra leaned closer, examining the contents of a large jar.
Someone stared back at her. A face, eyes wide and vacant, mouth open, twisted in pain, surrounded by thin hair suspended in the viscous liquid. It was a head. A severed human head.
Cassandra screamed.
Reuben wrapped his arms around her, offering the comfort of his shoulder against which she could bury her face. But it was too late. The image was seared into her brain. The horror almost too much to bear.
“Come, you do not need to see this.” Reuben steered her toward the sunlit room behind them.
“No.” She pushed against his hold. “I need to know.”
He relinquished his hold but stood beside her, his hand resting on her waist.
Cassandra took the lantern from his hand and lifted it. Her gaze skimmed the jars. One by one. Noting the contents of each. A head. A hand. An ear. An eye. A finger. A toe. Each contained human remains.
“Wh-What is this?” she asked in horror, even though she knew the answer deep in her soul.
“Trophies.”
Her stomach churned and she retreated, pushing past him and racing for the window.
She pressed her face against the cool glass, allowing the sunlight to chase away the horror.
For once, she was glad she had nothing in her stomach, for she would have spilled it.
Her body heaved, and she closed her eyes, willing her heart to calm and the tension in her chest to ease.
When she’d finally managed to regain control, Cassandra pressed her hand to her stomach and turned.
Reuben stood in the center of the room, watching her. He made no move to console her.
“James—he collected those—” She could not bring herself to finish the statement.
Reuben nodded.
“You knew.” Cassandra leaned on the chair beside her as the truth took root in her brain. “How long have you known?”