“That you have a fear of those you love going into the woods because your wife died there. That another woman died there too, and so you keep watch, waiting for something to happen, but you don’t know what.”
Christian jumped to his feet and placed his glass on the mantel. “How do you know Cassandra died in the woods?” He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Did Mrs Hibbet tell you?”
“Jacob told me.”
Christian stepped back and perched on the edge of the desk. “That poor boy.”
“He didn’t mention the details.” Rose turned to face him. “Though he believes the deaths are connected in some way. He must have overheard a conversation to assume such a thing. Does it have anything to do with this mysterious illness?”
God, how he wished it was something as simple.
“The woman Jacob is referring to escaped from the asylum. No one knows how Miss Stoneway died. Another woman escaped too, Miss Turner, but to date, no one has found her.”
A frown marred Rose’s brow. “Do you suspect foul play?”
Christian shrugged. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Methods could be quite brutal when it came to ridding the insane of their demons. “The consensus is that Miss Stoneway’s mental imbalance somehow contributed to her death.”
“I see.”
She fell silent.
“Just say what is on your mind, Rose.”
She cleared her throat. “If Morton Manor is as horrendous as some suggest, perhaps Miss Stoneway took her own life.”
He considered Rose’s pursed lips, could almost hear the questions, the suspicions bouncing back and forth in her mind. “And so you’re wondering if that’s how Cassandra died. Well, it’s not. Would you like me to tell you about that fateful night? Would it surprise you to learn that my wife died in the arms of her lover?”
Rose gasped. But instead of stepping back in shock, she moved closer. Of course, she’d read the letters, and probably knew every sordid detail of the affair.
Christian grasped the edge of the desk. “Her lover, Mr Watson, died, too.”
“Mr Watson?” The colour drained from Rose’s face. “Is that not the name of the warden at Morton Manor?”
“Indeed.”
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“But … but I heard the warden died in a fire.”
She seemed well informed for someone who’d recently arrived in the area. But then servants enjoyed gossiping below stairs.
“He did.” Christian stared into Rose’s blue eyes, hoping to prevent the horrid vision he’d encountered that night replaying in his mind. “They died together in a cottage in the woods.”
Recognition dawned. Her head shot around to the window.
“The property was north of the boundary between Morton Manor and Everleigh,” Christian clarified.
The cottage once housed the gamekeeper, when poaching was rife, and the woods provided the perfect place to move about undetected. Now just a few stones remained — the headstones of adulterers.
Rose turned back to face him. “It must have been dreadful,” she whispered. Wide blue eyes searched his face, journeyed over his hair. Slowly, and with some hesitance, she cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to experience such a tragedy.”
Christian closed his eyes as the warmth of her skin broke through his ice-cold barrier. He couldn’t open them for fear of what he’d do if he caught even a hint of affection in her eyes. How was it possible for so gentle a touch to soothe him and ignite a fire in his belly at the same time? He wanted her. More than he’d wanted anything his whole damn life.
“You … you deserve to be happy,” she continued breathlessly. “And you look so … so handsome when you smile.”
His ragged breath echoed in his ears. He sensed her drawing near, felt her sweet breath breeze across his skin. When her hand slipped away, and her soft lips touched his cheek, his heart almost leapt from his chest.
“Forgive me, my lord.” She broke contact almost immediately. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”