Page 16 of To Dance with a Devil

By the time he’d ransacked the linen cupboard and found what he was after, Bonnie had long gone, and it took him some considerable time to track her down. She’d picked up a candle somewhere along the way and now crept about with it, peering into rooms and starting every time a floorboard creaked. Jerome padded after her and opened a door which gave a shrill squeak of protest. Cursing softly he propelled himself out of the corridor before Bonnie caught sight of him.

He heard her cursing and telling herself not to be such a scaredy cat as she regarded the empty corridor and had been hard pressed to smother his laughter. Yet, she’d come to the west wing—which everyone knew was supposed to be haunted—with the express purpose of scaring herself witless. He’d not be much of a friend if he didn’t help her out.

Jerome, like his brother, had spent many, many wet afternoons exploring all the secret passages and hidey holes that such a huge and ancient building possessed, and so it was not such a hard thing to get ahead of Bonnie and set a trap.

He heard the faint tread of footsteps farther along the corridor and held his breath, lying in wait in the alcove until the dim glow of a candle touched the surrounding gloom. With a bloodcurdling howl, he leapt out at her, the sheet he’d thrown over himself billowing out in the darkness.

The scream nearly deafened him and was closely followed by a crash as Bonnie flung the nearest thing to hand in his direction. By the sound of the smash as it hit the wall, it had missed his head by a hair.

“Bonnie, Bonnie, it’s me!” he exclaimed, fighting his way out of the sheet and flinging it to the ground. By some miracle, she was still holding the candle, and he had a brief glimpse of wild eyes before she flung herself at him, hitting him with her free hand.

“You beast!” she cried. “You stupid, stupid, horrible boy!”

Jerome ducked away and backed off, grinning. “Sorry. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw you skulking about like you were in some lunatic Gothic novel. It was too delicious to resist.”

“Oh, I could kill you,” she said with feeling, still breathless as she leaned back against the wall and put a hand to her heart. She slid to the floor and put her head against her knees. When she spoke again, her skirts muffled her voice. “I thought I would die, swear to God.”

Jerome snickered and, as she looked up again, he saw her lips twitch.

“I hate you.” She glared at him, but there was an upwards turn to her mouth, and he could tell she wasn’t cross any more.

“I wish I could have seen your face,” he said, shaking his head with regret as he moved to sit beside her. “I couldn’t enjoy your expression of terror from behind the sheet.” She snorted then, and he chuckled. “My ears are still ringing, mind you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t have something heavier to hand,” she muttered. “I’d have knocked your brains out, what little you have of them. Then you’d be sorry.”

“Ah, come on, Bonnie,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. “You’d be sorry too, wouldn’t you? Just a little bit?”

She shrugged. “A very little bit,” she allowed with a huff. “I hope whatever I threw at you wasn’t some priceless antique.”

“If it was, it was my fault for scaring you to death. Don’t fret about it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the candlelight flickering on the floor beside them.

“I’ll be going back to stay with Ruth for a bit,” she said, her pale fingers pleating and smoothing the skirts of her gown as she spoke. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Jerome frowned, turning to look at her. “So soon?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes. Just think how relieved your mama will be to be rid of me.” Her voice was just a little too bright to be convincing.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He reached out and took her hand, entwining their fingers together, and Bonnie put her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, well. It’s for the best,” she said, her voice soft. “We both know it. Besides, I must go back to Scotland soon.”

“To marry Gordon Anderson?”

Jerome felt an odd, uncomfortable sensation flicker in his chest at the idea. It was unsettling, but of course he would be unsettled. Bonnie was his friend, and she’d gone on at some length about how awful this Anderson fellow was. It troubled him to think of her married to a man she disliked so much, that was all. It was perfectly normal that he should worry for her.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He turned to look at her then. “Maybe? I thought it was a foregone conclusion, that Morven would make you marry.”

There was a long silence, and he studied her face as she stared into some distant place. “I don’t want to marry him, and he only wants me for the dowry. He badly needs the money to repair his home. It’s falling down around his ears. He’s a man, though, and a proud one. Once he knows I’m no longer a virgin bride… well, he might change his mind.” She turned towards him then and flashed a smile which revealed the dimples in her cheeks. It always gave him the urge to touch the little divots whenever he saw them, though this time he was too struck by her next words. “I can only hope.”

A cold sensation rolled over him and he frowned, that odd feeling flickering inside him again.

“What?” she asked, shifting around to study his face.