A greenhouse. Well. Nothing surprising or sinister about that.
Fortuitously, the place was deserted. No workers, no earl. With another furtive glance, Thea ran across the clearing to the greenhouse and edged along the glass walls until she came to a door. As she was about to ease it open, a movement made her freeze. The silhouette of a large man. Luxborough! Heart pounding, Thea ducked and, still hunched over, raced away from the greenhouse to the stone cottage, where she flattened herself against the wall. When no angry earl appeared to scold her, she assessed her options. There was nothing interesting here, so she needed to return to the house without him seeing her. Nearby was the entrance to another narrow path leading into the trees, and she dashed toward it, hoping it led back, sooner or later, to the house.
Where it led, however, was to another clearing, no bigger than a parlor, with two more paths leading away. It took Thea several ragged, relieved breaths until she was calm enough to notice what lay at the center of the clearing.
A grave.
The grass around the gray stone was carefully tended. A morning glory vine clambered exuberantly over the tomb and headstone, pink blooms winking among its glossy green leaves. A pair of little blue birds perched on the headstone, chattering at each other, before flying off to their next appointment.
Thea crouched beside the grave and she knew, even before she tenderly parted the vines covering the headstone, whose name she would see.
Katharine Jane Landcross.
She traced the engraved letters and then the dates: Katharine had been twenty-five years old when she died, nine years earlier. The only other words were from the Bible: “Come unto Me and I will give you rest.”
“What is your story?” she whispered. “What happened, Katharine?”
A sound: She spun and stood, shrinking into her cloak. Luxborough, coatless and hatless, was heading right for her, striding along one of the other paths so fast his hair bounced and his shirtsleeves billowed. His face… Oh, how awful and evident was the displeasure on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, though she knew he could not hear.
He had given her one rule—not to come into the woods—and she had broken it. The story of his late wife still haunted him, and she had barged right in. He was clearly upset and he had every right to be, and oh, she could not bear it! Before she even knew what she was doing, Thea had whirled about and was running back down the path she had come.
What a coward she was, to run like this! The right thing would be to face his anger and disappointment, but those two things had always made her weak, and now she was embarrassed and guilty too, and oh, she could not face him. So run she would, and keep on running. Run back to the house, where she would run to Gilbert and run away. Helen would surely be married, and Luxborough would not be sorry to see her go.
But back in the clearing, a glimpse of what she thought was another person had her shoving open the door to the stone cottage and dashing inside to hide. She shut the door and waited, struggling to listen over the rushing of her blood: nothing. Once her eyes had adjusted to the gloom and her lungs had recovered from her exertion, she turned.
And found herself nose to grin with a human skeleton.
With a cry, Thea leaped backward, slamming into the wooden door. A heartbeat later, she laughed at her own fright.
The skeleton hung from a hook and made no attempt to attack her, even as she sidled near. She poked one bony shoulder. It swayed and grinned. Well, it couldn’t help that, poor thing.
Fascinated, Thea looked around. The skeleton’s domain proved to be a single room, with a stove in one corner and dried herbs on the walls. Dominating the space was a huge battered table covered with glass receptacles and various items whose names Thea could not guess, let alone their purpose. Also on the table was a row of large jars in which floated strange shapes. She drew closer. Was that…? A snake with two heads! And a strange creature like a misshapen, half-formed baby, with thumbs on its feet and a long curling tail. And there— She lifted her eyes to a shelf holding a collection of invitingly fat books, whose spines bore the words “Materia Medica.”
Then the door slammed open. Rafe filled the doorway, a looming silhouette against the light.
Thea could not see his face, and she supposed he could not see hers in the gloom. Her fingers gripped the wooden edge of the table, and when he turned his head, the angle showed his clenched jaw, his tense shoulders. Sourness flooded her throat, the familiar taste of having been a disappointment.
Hands aching, she released the table, wiped her palms over her skirt, and straightened her spine. No more cowardice. That was not who she wanted to be.
“Have you found what you were looking for, then? Proof that what they say of me is true?” His voice was harsh, unlike the confused, gentle man whose embrace had calmed her the night before. “My evil sorcery? My poisons? My cruelty? How you must fear me now.”