Secluded with the Rogue

24. Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

C HRYSTABEL AND JOSEPH had lain wrapped in each other’s arms for a long while, sometimes kissing and sometimes just breathing. Then they’d risen and dressed, laughing softly as they felt around for their clothes on the floor. After that, exhausted, they had crawled back on the bed to rest, chatting in whispers while they waited for Arabel to return and tell them it was safe to come out. At some point they had fallen asleep.

Chrystabel woke when she heard a scraping sound overhead.

The wardrobe’s false bottom was being removed. For a moment, she panicked—her heart began beating double-time. But then she blinked herself more wakeful and chided herself, because surely it was just Arabel, coming to free them at last.

When the bottom was lifted, dim light filtered in first.

“Arabel?” she called softly.

Bright light flooded the chamber as a torch was thrust into the opening above. “I knew it!” Sir Leonard crowed as he descended, sounding disgustingly pleased with himself.

Chrystabel and Joseph bolted upright simultaneously.

She heard the third step snap, a loud crack like a cricket bat slamming a ball in the Grange’s village square. But Sir Leonard didn’t falter. He came closer, waving the torch before him in victory.

“I knew I’d find you hiding with this foul lot. Mark my words, girl, your great friend Trentingham will finally get what’s coming to him. And as for you, Creath—you will marry me today , or?—”

“Who is Beth?” Chrystabel squeaked.

“Who is…? Who the devil are you ?” he roared as he reached the bottom.

Apparently Joseph hadn’t completely reattached Chrystabel’s stomacher in the dark. Working the remaining tabs as surreptitiously as possible, she shakily rose. “I’m Lady Chrystabel Trevor,” she said with all the dignity she could muster—which was quite a bit. “Don’t you remember me from when you came by on Tuesday evening? I’m a guest of the Ashcrofts. I don’t know who this Beth is you’re speaking of, but I can assure you she’s not here.”

“Not Beth, you halfwit—Creath! It rhymes with breath !” He crisscrossed the room frantically, poking the torch into every corner in a fruitless search for his betrothed.

“Creath isn’t here, Sir Leonard,” Joseph growled, knotting his cravat from his seat on the bed. “It’s the second time you’ve made this mistake. If you leave now, perhaps we’ll pretend it was an honest one.”

“Do you take me for an idiot, boy? If you’re not harboring my bride, why the hell are you hiding in a priest hole?” he bellowed furiously, pulling a pistol from his wide boot top and brandishing it at Chrystabel.

Her heart jumped into her throat. She shrank back, falling onto the bed at the same time Joseph leapt up and shoved Sir Leonard hard in the chest with the heels of both of his hands.

Sir Leonard stumbled back.

“Leave her alone!” Joseph hollered. “You don’t point guns at ladies! And we’re down here because we have Christmas decorations, you witless worm! That’s right—you caught us celebrating Christmas,” he sneered. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to turn us in, Sir Justice of the Peace? Or are you going to shoot us? Is this what your life has come to, harassing neighbors for celebrating holidays?”

“Damn right I’m going to turn you in! Right after I find Creath!” Following one last look around that failed to reveal her, Sir Leonard turned on a heel and stormed back up the steep staircase, his torch in one hand and the pistol still in the other.

Joseph rushed up the stairs after him. “Wait! The third step!”

Sir Leonard half-turned, but it was too late.

One leg crashed through the ruined step. Terror flashed in his eyes. His pistol went off. As the bullet hit the wall behind her, Chrystabel screamed and saw the rest of him plunge through the staircase.

With a great thump , he landed on his back, followed by a hideous crack as his head hit the rock-hard ground. He lay there half behind the staircase, his neck at an odd angle, his arms spread out to the sides. The torch guttered against the stone floor, plunging the room back into darkness except for a sliver of dim light that filtered in from the opening above.

It took a few seconds for Chrystabel to find her voice.

“Oh, my God, Joseph! Oh, my God! I think he’s dead!”

“What? Did you say something?” Still halfway up the stairs, Joseph shook his head. “I can’t hear you. Did you say something?”

“I yelled something!” She was yelling now as she rushed toward him. “I said Sir Leonard is dead! What’s wrong with you?”

“My ears are ringing. They hurt.” He shook his head again, then clapped his hands over his ears with a grimace. “They feel all clogged up.”

She gasped when his fingers came away coated in blood. “Joseph!”

“The gun went off right by my head, Chrysanthemum, and now I cannot hear you!”