Page 25 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 16

Tia lay on her bed, gazing at the shadowy ceiling, her thoughts prodding her awake, taxing her with the conundrum of Lord Ansford. He was so grim all the time and yet he knew how to be generous and kind. Polly’s doll had arrived later the same afternoon, and the child was entranced by it. It might mean less than a hug from her father, but it was a good distraction.

The kitten had been found safe and well in the nursery in its own basket, so Polly still had something to love and to be loved by.

Tia threw off her coverlet. It was so stuffy tonight, even with the window open. A finger of bright moonlight slanted into the room, turning all it touched to a magical silver. Well, if her mind insisted on buzzing around Lord Ansford, she may as well let it. Not that she hoped to draw any conclusions—

The man was such a contradiction.

Of the murder of his wife, she must exonerate him. Any man who put a bow on a kitten was unlikely to have killed his spouse. Nor was he likely to embalm her and secrete the body in the folly, to either gloat over or to remind him of his sin. Tia could no longer imagine the baroness alive in there, imprisoned and insane, hidden from the world so her husband wouldn’t have to live with the shame of it.

Yet there was definitely something suspect about the baroness’s death, a secret Ansford refused to divulge, a mystery hidden inside the folly. The only way to discover it was by stealth, but how was this to be done? Where did Ansford keep the key? Were there any copies of it?

The housekeeper had a huge ring of keys on a chatelaine, but did she ever leave it unattended? Where did it go when she slept? Did she keep it locked up at night, or beneath her pillow? Did his Lordship’s steward, Lynch, have a duplicate set, and how could Tia make inquiries without raising suspicion?

She groaned and sat upright. This was no good, no good at all. She was wide awake now and would think herself into a megrim before morning if she didn’t stop. With a sigh, she slipped out of bed, took off her nightgown and pulled on a serviceable cotton walking dress. She was unlikely to meet anyone as she roamed about the house at this hour and anyway, it was too dark for them to tell she wore no underclothes beneath.

Using the moonlight to guide her, Tia slipped out into the passageway and made her way to the main stairwell, with no real idea of where she was going or what she wanted to do.

The cold light cast stark shadows behind the furniture, weapons, and suits of armor adorning the walls of the old entrance hall. She ascended the stairs, her ears alert for every sound, aware of the faces of generations of Pelham ancestors frowning down at her.

Perhaps a perambulation around the old Great Hall would release the nervous energy she’d stored up during the day. She gazed at the terracotta statues of medieval saints and classical philosophers in their shadowy niches and shivered at the touch of their myriad hollow eyes upon her.

Perhaps not. An owl hooted outside, and a bat fluttered past the window. Maybe she would rather be out there with them, with other living creatures instead of in this tomblike, echoing hall.

Despite her swift retreat, she couldn’t quite shake the sensation of being watched. The front door stood before her, sturdy with its deep iron nails and heavy latch. It would awaken the entire household if she went out that way. There was nothing for it—she’d have to use the cloister. So long as she didn’t encounter the ghosts of its former inhabitants . . .

By the time she emerged onto the lawn beyond the archway, there was moisture on her upper lip. Lord, how easy it was to succumb to one’s imaginings. She mustn’t allow herself to be afraid of the supernatural—only the corporeal could do one actual harm.

Was Ansford in the folly? It was late, past midnight at a guess. No, there were no lamps shining from the tower. She was trying to decide where she might walk without setting all the dogs off when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

A tall figure was striding into the trees in the direction of the river.

Ansford. It had to be him. Wherever was he going at this hour of the night? The only way to answer the question would be to follow him.

Her nerves fizzed with the thrill of being the hunter, stalking its prey. What a heady sense of power it gave one, to be in pursuit of the unwary.

When she reached the belt of trees, however, her quarry was gone. The moonlight barely penetrated the burgeoning foliage, and she had to stand motionless while her eyes adjusted.

If he were still walking through the woods, should she not be able to hear his footsteps crackling amongst the twigs and last year’s fallen leaves? Yet she could hear nothing but the thundering of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears. Night descended about her like soft velvet, and when she began to go forward again, she imagined it was pushing gently against her, urging her to go back.

Gradually a new sound became audible, a sound like the wind soughing through branches. The rushing of the river.

She knew the stand of trees opened out before it reached the bank, so the moonlight would be able to penetrate. As she’d lost her quarry, she might as well walk down to the water and enjoy its soothing flow before attempting to go back to the house.

Suddenly she noticed something pale lying crumpled by the water’s edge and when she went closer to examine it, it turned out to be a pile of clothes.

Her heart thudded to a halt. Ansford must be here, bathing, as was his wont. He must be some way down the river though, for she couldn’t hear any splashing. It would probably be a good idea to remove herself immediately. The baron would be furious if he knew she’d penetrated his private swimming spot. But as she turned to go, she noticed something small glinting on top of the pile of clothing.

A key. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Could this be the key? The one to the folly? She’d seen what she thought was a key around Ansford’s neck when she’d first set eyes on him, when she’d believed him to be a hermit.

Temptation gnawed at her, mingled with curiosity and guilt. There might never be another opportunity like this one. She could take the key, unlock the folly and replace the key before the baron returned from his swim. As soon as he’d gone off to bed, she’d get a lantern and explore the tower.

She wouldn’t touch anything, only look. When Ansford arrived in the morning, he’d merely assume he’d forgotten to lock the door the previous day.

I must know what is in there, for Polly’s sake.

Hopefully, there would be absolutely nothing nefarious, and her own mind could find ease. And she might permit herself to like Ansford as much as she wanted to.

Buoyed up by this reasoning, Tia picked up the key with a trembling hand. She’d just turned away to creep back into the shadows when there was a great whoosh of water behind her.

“Stop.”

The familiar voice held a tone she dared not disobey.