Secluded with the Rogue

7. Seven

Seven

T HE MOMENT THE heavy front door thudded to a close behind the Justice of the Peace, everyone in the great room audibly released their breaths.

“I’ll get her,” Joseph said.

He strode toward the same doorway Creath had disappeared through. Inexorably curious, Chrystabel trailed him. To her great surprise, no one tried to stop her. She assumed they were too stunned by the news of an imminent attack on the castle to bother themselves over a girl’s inappropriate prowling.

But after passing through a drawing room and into another corridor, she looked back and realized everyone else was coming along, too.

They all turned a corner to find a maidservant standing there—standing guard, it would appear. She acknowledged Joseph with a nod, then pulled a crowbar out of a nearby cupboard and handed it to him.

Chrystabel followed Joseph into a bedchamber and across it, where he unlatched the double doors of a wardrobe cabinet that looked exceedingly large and heavy. Fitting the crowbar into one end of the base, he used it to pry up the bottom. The panel of wood came loose, revealing an opening in the floor that had been hidden.

Chrystabel gasped when she saw Creath ascending what looked to be a very steep staircase that led down into a dark space below.

“Watch out for the third step,” Joseph said, reaching a hand to help her up and out.

“I remember.” As she stepped out of the cabinet, Creath’s legs were trembling and her breathing looked labored. She let Joseph support her over to sit on the bed.

Despite the grave circumstances, Chrystabel couldn’t help disliking the sight of his hands on another woman. It reminded her of how it had felt to have his hands on her a little while ago. She didn’t want to share that feeling with anyone else.

Creath drew deep, calming breaths. “I’d forgotten quite how dark it is down there.”

“We never closed the entrance before,” Joseph said, sounding concerned.

“I cannot believe we used to play in there for fun .” Creath held a hand to her chest, as if to slow her heartbeat. “Has he left?”

“For now.” Joseph’s fists clenched. “He said he’d bring men to search the castle if he hasn’t found you by Saturday.”

All the color drained from her face. “Oh, God.”

Lady Trentingham moved closer. “We’ll make sure you’re gone by Saturday, dear.” She reached to pat Creath’s shoulder. “That’s four days from now. Surely the weather will improve by then.”

Creath just nodded, as if she hadn’t really heard.

Chrystabel had to sympathize with the girl, even if Joseph had just been touching her. “Are you really betrothed to that awful man?” she blurted out.

“Yes.” The girl choked back a sob. “I hadn’t any choice in the matter. Believe me, if I did…”

Chrystabel’s heart squeezed. How devastated would she feel at being forced to marry a man she didn’t love—let alone one as odious as Sir Leonard?

Lady Trentingham sat and wrapped an arm around the anguished young woman. “Our dear Creath grew up on the neighboring estate,” she told Chrystabel and her siblings. “Her parents and only brother died of smallpox last year, and her father’s brother was killed in the war, so a distant cousin of her father’s inherited the baronetcy. And Sir Leonard Moore assumed Creath’s guardianship, as well.”

“ And he was made a Justice of the Peace,” Joseph put in with a look of disgust. “A post awarded to him by his Parliamentarian cronies. He boasts that he has the ear of Cromwell himself.”

“The man enjoys power,” Matthew said softly.

Lord Trentingham grunted. “And he wields a fair bit of it in these parts.”

“So do you,” his wife reminded him. “You’re the most prominent lord in the county.”

He snorted. “Once swords and pistols are drawn, I think you’ll find my prominence offers little in the way of physical protection.”

“Pray pardon,” Chrystabel said, “but won’t the castle provide physical protection? Are not castles built for the purpose of defense?”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “We live in modern times, Chrys, not the Middle Ages. Lord Trentingham cannot simply sound the trumpets and summon his knight-vassals to the battlements.”

Chrystabel’s face heated. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Besides which,” Arabel chimed in, “given its large windows and lack of proper fortification, Tremayne is plainly not a true castle. Isn’t that so?” She glanced up at Joseph expectantly.

“Quite so,” he replied, looking impressed.

“Tremayne was intended to be a palace within a defensive castle,” Lord Trentingham added. “But the outermost walls were never finished, the bastions and turrets never furnished with cannon armament.”

“Very interesting,” Chrystabel told him distractedly. She was still focused on her own blunder, followed by Joseph’s reaction to her sister’s astute observations. Did Joseph admire Arabel’s intelligence? Did he find her more clever than Chrystabel?

Did he like her better than Chrystabel?

That couldn’t be, she assured herself. All of Arabel’s knowledge came from books. Chrystabel had knowledge of a different sort—she knew how to read people.

Kneeling beside Creath with an air of tender concern, Matthew offered her his handkerchief. “Fear not, Mistress Moore, we won’t let that old blackguard anywhere near you.”

She accepted the square of linen, gazing up at him with leaking green eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered reverentially—then looked away. “But please don’t put yourself at risk. I’ve brought enough trouble upon this household already. I couldn’t bear it if you—that is, if any of you came to harm.”

“It’s not your fault the bastard is determined to have you,” Joseph said, beginning to pace. His short patience suggested they’d had this argument before.

Sighing, Matthew straightened. “Then I gather Sir Leonard knows his bride is unwilling?”

“Oh, I believe I’ve made my feelings more than clear,” Creath said with a grim edge. “But he doesn’t care. It isn’t me he’s after, anyway, it’s the rest of my family’s holdings. The baronetcy’s entail carried a little land, but the bulk of the estate came through my mother to me.”

Matthew’s brow furrowed. “Whatever his motivation, he cannot lawfully force your consent.”

“Actually, he can.” Joseph’s agitated pacing continued unabated. “As her guardian, he has the right to decide whom she marries—at least until she reaches eighteen next month.”

“Then we must hide her until next month,” Matthew persisted.

Joseph stopped and looked at him. “That’s exactly what we ”—he gestured to indicate his family—“are doing, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“But Saturday?—”

“By Saturday, she’ll be far from here and safe. We have the situation under control, Lord Grosmont.” Joseph’s words were polite, but firm.

Matthew’s lips thinned. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well.”

When nobody said anything else for a while, Chrystabel took a deep breath. “Since Mistress Moore is safe for now, shall we resume dancing?”

“I think not,” Lord Trentingham said. “I believe we’ve had enough excitement for one night. I suggest we seek our beds.”

This time his wife didn’t disagree, so everyone said their goodnights and went off.

The Ashcrofts went one direction, while the Trevors went another. Chrystabel wondered where Joseph slept. All but floating up the grand staircase, she remembered the feel of him pulling her close during the volta. His warm hands holding her securely. The effortless way he’d lifted her.

She released a blissful sigh.

“Is something amiss?” Arabel asked as they walked down the well appointed corridor.

“Nothing’s amiss,” Chrystabel assured her. “Absolutely nothing.” Glancing at their brother over her shoulder, she pulled her sister into her chamber. “Goodnight, Matthew,” she called merrily before shutting the door.

Arabel stared at her. “What has got into you?”

“I’m happy.” Humming to herself, Chrystabel drifted over to the oriel windows. It was too dark to see out, but she knew the lovely Tudor gardens were just below. “I know poor Creath is distressed, but am I not allowed to be happy? I’m in love.”

Arabel plopped onto one of the stuffed chairs. “You still believe that?”

“Of course. I’m even more in love than I was earlier.” Feeling light-hearted like never before, Chrystabel twirled around the spacious room, her dull brown skirts billowing around her as she pretended she was still dancing with Joseph. “It’s a pity Lord Trentingham is such a fust-cudgel. I wanted to dance some more.”

The second time she twirled by, Arabel grabbed her arm. “Stop!” she said with a giggle. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Chrystabel was breathless. “I’m dizzy in love. I thought I was overtired when we arrived, but I think I could have danced all night. Touching Joseph felt like a dream. And he felt something when he touched me too, I’m sure of it. I’m going to wear a beautiful gown tomorrow, and he’s going to fall in love with me.”

Arabel looked skeptical. “But the two of you argued at supper. And he seemed awfully upset over Creath’s trouble…”

“They’re old friends, is all. He’s worried about her, and now she has to go far away to escape that nasty old brute. Although…” At first, Chrystabel had been relieved by the news of Creath’s impending departure, since the girl’s troubles were distracting Joseph. But now she had a better idea. “Did you see the way Creath and Matthew danced together, gazing into each other’s eyes?”

Her sister shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

“Well, I did. There’s something between them, I’m sure of it. I think they belong together.”

Laughing, Arabel shook her head. “You’re seeing love everywhere today. Did you drink too much wine?”

“I drank exactly the right amount of wine, and I’m telling you Matthew and Creath belong together. And don’t you see?” Chrystabel plopped onto the chair opposite her sister’s. “If Matthew marries her before Sir Leonard returns on Saturday, Creath will be safe.”

Arabel’s mouth fell open. “You’re out of your mind.”

“But it’s the perfect solution!” Chrystabel couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Sir Leonard won’t be able to force Creath to marry him if she’s already wed to Matthew.”

“But the two of them barely know each other. Besides, they can’t be married by Saturday. They’d have to wait three weeks for the banns to be called?—”

“No, they wouldn’t. Cromwell made marriage a civil matter, remember? A Justice of the Peace could wed them tomorrow, if they wanted.”

“That’s absurd—they only met today! And Matthew’s never talked of wanting to get married.”

“But he will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Ah, now you fancy yourself a matchmaker? Chrystabel, you’ve gone mad.” Arabel leaned over the hexagonal table to place a palm on her sister’s forehead. “I think you must be ill.”

Chrystabel batted her hand away. “I’m far from ill. I’ve never felt better in my life. And yes, I think I must be a matchmaker, because I seem to know when people belong together. Matthew and Creath belong together, and I’m going to help them get together.”

Arabel dropped back onto her chair with an exasperated groan. “You cannot make them fall in love.”

“You think not?” Chrystabel smiled. She’d show her sister what she was capable of. “Watch me.”