An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 21.3. A Veritable Devil

   Benedic walked as quietly as a ghost into the darkened bedchamber of his own home. He did not have a moment to lose. A quarter hour at most, to be on the safe side. He had taken a detour home from the dance. The servants had retired to their hall. He knew their habits down to the exact minute his footmen extinguished the candles in the candles in the long gallery before turning in for the night.

   Aleister would do what was required to keep his eye on Edward, but Benedic's uncle was no fool. For a week he had been questioning the servants about Benedic's friendship with Aleister, when they had last met, what they had discussed. It was clear that Edward viewed Aleister's stop in Chistlebury with suspicion. Yet for tonight Aleister's primary function was to ensure that no harm came to Charlotte. Fortunately, while Benedic's beloved might be a little rash in matters of romance, she did show good sense when it came to her survival.

   Edward's mysterious acquaintance had not shown up at the ball, after all.  Perhaps Benedic's hunch had been wrong. Perhaps the dance was not private enough for their meeting. Or perhaps Edward knew he was under suspicion and wanted to appear as normal as possible by attending a social affair. It seemed likely he had warned his contact to stay away.

   Benedic would leave that matter to the agents of the Crown who dealt in subterfuge.

   He laid his brother's bloodied and torn military jacket across Edward's pristine white pillow. From the small turn in his hand he sprinkled a trail of white sand out into the gallery, all the way up to the portrait of himself on the wall. It was sand that had come from Nepal, sent by Sebastian's faithful servant for the memorial service that had been held. He wondered if Edward would know what it represented. A gauntlet thrown down in challenge.

   He propped the empty urn on the in floor of the secret passageway leading to the stygian vault that had hidden him for over a month.

   If fate was kinder than it had been in the past, this would be his last night of being entombed in darkness. If fate proved unkind, it would simply be his last night.

   He slipped between the crevice in the wall and waited for his senses to become accustomed to the grainy dark. In this he had the advantage over Edward. Benedic could orient himself to the gloom within seconds now. He knew the exact depth of each stair, the twists and turns of the old smugglers' tunnels. Where the mortar and dirt would collapse if disturbed. Where to duck his head.

   Indeed, Benedic had become quite intimate with all the appointments of his secret hell. He had looked evil in the eye and survived, as one who'd walked through flames might emerge scarred but stronger.

  Until he had met Charlotte, he had not even taken time to analyze what he had become, and she had been the bridge between the man he had been in the past and the one he hoped to be in their future.

   A man who could approach her brothers and convince them why he was worthy of her hand. He grimaced inwardly at the thought of presenting his case and explaining their courtship. No matter how he phrased it, he would come out looking like a veritable devil. Henry would poke holes through his defense, if not literally through Benedic himself.

   No, the Strathmere Ghost was hardly the type of man one would choose to give one's sister to in marriage. Of course, it would be claimed, quite accurately, that he had ruined Charlotte. Well, she had ruined him, too. She had ruined him for any other woman, and when he was free, he would move mountains if necessary to claim her. The blood in his veins still burned from their coupling. She had held nothing back tonight. How he wished there had been more time for them.

   He peeled off his black velvet cloak and tossed it over the skeleton propped up against the tunnel wall. The leering skull and bleached remains had been his silent if not agreeable companion for most of Benedic's concealment.

   "Here, my friend, you looked a little cold."

   Dressed only in the ruffled white lawn shirt, knee breeches, and jack boots of a dashing highwayman, Benedic did not feel the cool of his hiding place tonight. Making love to Charlotte had invigorated him and poured energy into his very marrow. The bright warmth of her being had stayed with him.

   He picked up his sword and bowed deeply before the cloaked skeleton. "Dear Baron Bones, this will either be the last time we practice together, or I shall soon be joining you in your unclad state. Help me if you can. If I survive, I give my word to lay your remains to rest in a place of honor."