23. Chapter 23
“Oh, a surprise, is it?” Caroline’s cheerful query dripped with sarcasm.
Annabelle wanted to sink through the stone floor. What a sight she must make, standing in her night rail in Sterling’s bedchamber, inches from his massive bed, wearing no shoes and without the benefit of so much as a cap.
She could not begin to defend herself. She had no business being here—in such a state of dishabille, or otherwise.
Lady Caroline hastened inside, closing the door behind her. She sent them each a bland smile. “You don’t mind, do you? I could hear your voices all the way to the landing on the next floor down. I’d rather not continue to provide the servants fodder for gossip and scandal.”
Looking like a chastened schoolboy—a large one—Sterling linked his hands behind his back and gazed toward his stockinged toes. “No, no, that is probably…er…for the best.”
“As for my being here, it should come as no surprise. Lady Annabelle sent for me.”
Sterling’s thunderous gaze snapped to Annabelle. “You sent for her? When? Why?”
She saw no need to disclose “when,” but “why” was self-explanatory, surely?
“I told you, sir. I sent for the perfect chaperone. Don’t you see? One who solves both our problems.”
“No, I don’t see,” Sterling clipped out.
She shifted her focus to the pretty, dark-haired woman who’d joined them and found her staring back in clear bemusement, which seemed an improvement over the disapproval she’d worn seconds ago.
Annabelle started in her direction—which also happened to be the way out.
“Good morning, Lady Caroline.” She strove for a brisk tone. “May I say I am ever so gladdened by your arrival. Unlike your brother, I am certain you, upon reflection, will agree that no real harm has occurred.”
“I beg your pardon,” sister and brother said in unison.
Annabelle halted, steps from Caroline—and the door. She tightened her sash, mostly for something to do with her hands, and glanced between the two of them.
Sterling opened his mouth to speak, but Caroline sent him a quelling look.
“No real harm,” his sister echoed, tapping one finger to the very becoming cleft in her chin. “Hm. May I inquire as to why you are in need of a chaperone, dear? That is, how in the world did you find yourself a guest in my brother’s chateau without the benefit of one in the first place?”
Annabelle eyed Sterling, half-expecting him to answer for her.
He merely arched a dark brow.
“As to that, it’s rather a long and complicated story,” Annabelle began. “I traveled from London with one.”
“A fake one,” Sterling interjected.
“A…fake one?” Caroline asked, her delicate but equally dark brows furrowing.
Annabelle flicked a brief, annoyed glance at Sterling. “I never intended my stay at Holy Island to last more than a day, you see. For expedience’s sake I took my maid, disguised as a chaperone.”
“Your…maid?”
“And now she’s dead.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline murmured. “I begin to see what you mean about this being complicated. Perhaps I should simply ask how any of that explains why you sent for me.”
“Of course. I didn’t know she was dead when I sent the telegram. At that time, I assumed Lucy had ventured home without me as a result of the robbers who’d held me at gunpoint.”
Lady Caroline’s eyes bugged. “Robbers? Gunpoint? Sterling?” Her voice rose an octave with each word.
Sterling did not appear to hear her. His heated gaze was fixed on Annabelle.
“You little baggage. You conniving little minx. You sent for my sister, never once mentioning you’d done so, all the while presupposing she would not only see you safely home, but that she would not dream of holding my feet to the fire even after learning that you’d spent over a week under my roof without the benefit of a chaperone. Do I have that right?”
“Er…yes?”
Sterling did not look at all pleased. Indeed, he had never looked so forbidding.
“Your sister of all people would never compel you to marry against your will, just as she is the one person we can count on to believe us when we explain that nothing—well, nearly nothing—of a romantic nature happened between us.”
Sterling, cheeks flaming scarlet, jammed both hands into his hair at the precise moment that Caroline made a choking sound.
Annabelle had not chosen her words at all wisely. Her cheeks blazed with pulsing heat. Her coloring likely rivaled Sterling’s. Even the tips of her ears burned.
“Oh, dear. Oh my dear, dear girl,” Lady Caroline said, moving to take her hands between both of her own.
Relief washed through her.
Then, the woman who would have been her sister by marriage if not for Gaston’s death proffered a gentle smile. “You are most certainly getting married.”
With a snort of laughter that held no trace of humor, Sterling spun around and stalked to the window, facing out.
“But…”
“Now, now, Annabelle, no use trying to stuff the feathers back into the pillow,” Caroline said. “Out of curiosity, might you explain what brought you here in the first place?” As she spoke, she led Annabelle to the armchair she’d vacated moments ago.
Sterling turned to face them, his gaze sharp.
As Lady Caroline took the adjacent armchair, Annabelle reached for her abandoned brandy snifter and downed the remainder of the contents.
Then she fixed Caroline with a steady eye. “I came here seeking answers—about Gaston’s death.”
Caroline’s reassuring expression turned instantly alarmed. “Here? Why on earth would you come here? For that matter, how did you know where to find my brother?”
Annabelle cocked her head. Funny how that question seemed preeminent to both brother and sister.
Sterling cleared his throat. “Perhaps this conversation should wait ’til you have had a chance to get settled in, Caroline.”
“No, I think not,” his sister said, never taking her gaze off Annabelle.
“I guessed his whereabouts based upon a conversation I overheard between you and Gaston.”
Caroline only stared.
“You may or may not be aware your brother escorted my brother home the night of his death.”
One of Caroline’s hands fluttered to her throat. “Where did you hear that?”
“From Gaston’s neighbor, later confirmed by Scotland Yard.” Albeit with reluctance.
“I see. I still do not understand what brought you here.” The poor woman looked on the verge of fainting.
Remorse flickered through Annabelle. Caroline had been Gaston’s betrothed at the time of his death. Talking about that night was likely stirring up old grief.
She had no wish to hurt the woman. She had always liked her—as opposed to her disapproving older brother. She looked toward him now.
He watched her with a decidedly mulish expression, as if he stood ready to pounce at the least provocation. As if he prepared to defend his sister from an assault by Annabelle.
For some reason, the notion that he saw himself on opposing sides from her, after everything, hurt, which made absolutely no sense. After all, she had arrived a combatant. They were not friends in spite of the marriage license he’d shoved her way only a short time ago.
She tore her gaze away from him. “Suffice it to say, Lord Randall’s presence at my brother’s apartments on the very night of his death struck me as nothing short of suspicious, considering his low opinion of my brother. From the start, he made no secret of his dislike for Gaston.” Nor her.
Caroline ducked her head. “No. No, I don’t suppose he did.”
“Thus, I set out hoping to convince him to return to London with me for questioning.”
Her head came up. “Questioning? By whom? Never say Scotland Yard wishes to—”
“No,” Sterling cut in. “Annabelle alone has qualms over Gaston’s untimely death. Isn’t that right, Lady Annabelle?”
Without looking his way, she felt his hard stare locked on her.
Despite Lady Caroline having told her on more than one occasion of his protective streak where she and her younger brother were concerned—overprotective, she had more often stated—Annabelle had not nearly gleaned the depth of his brotherly devotion.
Jealousy, swift and completely unexpected, exploded through her. Her own brother had never defended her in such a way. No one had ever cared for her in the way Sterling obviously cared for his sister.
“Isn’t that right, Annabelle?” Sterling repeated.
She met his dark gaze. “I had qualms.” She broke off, licking her lips. She had not admitted aloud what, in her heart of hearts, she had come to believe. “I no longer suspect that he has culpability in Gaston’s death.”
“Thank heavens,” Caroline breathed.
Misery welled up inside her as a second thought crashed through her. If Lady Caroline and Lord Sterling Randall had their way and she agreed to marry him—and she could not see any way to avoid that now—she would always come second to his siblings, mayhap to his entire family.
She would never be fully loved.
A part of her, a silly part, no doubt, had always harbored a secret hope that the man she eventually married would esteem her above all others.
But marriage in the ton was about power, prestige—not love. Hadn’t her family impressed that on her from childhood? Hadn’t the list her brother drafted for her parents proved that? There was no gain to be had in a love match. Money, and the correct connections, were the goal.
“Lady Annabelle, are you quite all right?” Lady Caroline asked, reaching to cover her hands, now clenched tightly in her lap, with one of her own.
With effort, she managed a tight smile. “I am fine. Merely fatigued. I did not sleep for worry over…” She broke off. Dear God. She had nearly lost control of her tongue. Confessing her worry over Sterling’s safety was the very last thing she wanted to admit. “My maid,” she finished lamely.
“Of course,” Caroline murmured.
“I believe we have covered enough ground for the moment,” Sterling said, his tone…different.
Unable to resist the impulse, she glanced toward him.
He still studied her, but a softness had replaced the flint in his eyes. Why?