She held his gaze, direct and determined, then inclined her head and turned away. “Good night. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He watched her walk away through the shifting shadows, and debated whether, despite her chilly dismissal, despite—or even because of—that wall, he should follow. Her “not until you’ve found Justin” still rang in his brain; regardless, he doubted she’d deny him. Refuse him. When it came to what flared between them, she was as caught, as addicted, as he.
And it wasn’t as if she was promiscuous. No lovers, not a one, yet she’d accepted him back as her lover with neither resistance nor hesitation. She still felt something for him; he was still special to her.
Yet…
After his visit to the abbey, he was no longer certain just what he wanted of her. More, yes, but how much more?
While he didn’t know the answer, he’d be wise to tread carefully with her. The Vaux had tempers; they also had long memories.
Sinking his hands in his pockets, he turned to look out of one of the long gallery windows, waiting for the impulse to follow her—still pricking like a spur—to fade.
Frustration dragged at him, taunted him, on levels too numerous to count.
Minutes ticked by. He was about to turn and head for his room when he saw a light—a pinprick, no more—bobbing through the trees.
He leaned closer to the glass, watched for long enough to confirm that the light was moving s
teadily away from the house.
Purposefully away from the house.
He told himself it would be a maid out on a tryst.
“But if it isn’t?”
He glanced to left and right, noting landmarks in the gardens to fix the direction, then left the window and ran silently downstairs.
The gardens of Nunchance Priory were extensive and, as Christian discovered that night, if not precisely overgrown, then distinctly mature. The trees were old, large and full-canopied; they cast inky black shadows that swallowed what little light the quarter moon shed. Pounding through the formal gardens, he’d plunged into the ornamental shrubberies beyond. Thick bushes abounded; paths meandered, garden beds unexpectedly forcing them this way, then that.
He considered himself lucky when he finally glimpsed the bobbing light still moving away some distance ahead of him. Keeping it in sight wasn’t easy; in the dark, over unpredictable terrain, he couldn’t keep his eyes glued to it without risking a fall.
Mentally cursing—the constantly changing landscape no doubt looked lovely on a warm summer’s day—he forged on. Luckily, whoever was carrying the light wasn’t moving fast.
Once he reached the park proper, long stretches of sward shaded by well-spaced large trees, his way became easier. He managed to close the distance between himself and the light bearer. Eventually he made out that the light came from a lantern, partially screened, its bearer a small, dapper individual he hadn’t previously seen.
Justin’s man, perhaps. He was carrying a large tray, the lantern dangling from one hand.
They were well away from the house when the light suddenly disappeared. On a silent oath, Christian rushed forward—and only just stopped himself from falling over the edge of a bank.
The area beyond looked like a large scoop had been taken out of the side of a rise; within it, a wooden hunting lodge, small, discreet, lay bathed in the faint light of the moon.
Smoke drifted from its chimney.
He watched as the lantern bearer approached the door, halted before it, juggled the tray, knocked once, then entered.
Slowly, intently, Christian smiled, then turned and circled the bank, dropping onto the downward slope. He found the path that led through the rough grass to the lodge’s door. Silently, he circled the small building, checking for other exits. Other than shuttered windows, he saw none.
Satisfied, he stepped up to the narrow covered porch, rapped once on the door, then opened it and entered.
He stepped into the lodge’s main room—sitting room, dining room, kitchen combined. Justin Vaux sat at the main table, his hand poised above his fork, about to eat the dinner his man had just delivered.
Closing the door, Christian walked in. He nodded at Justin’s plate. “The roast beef’s excellent.”
Justin, who’d been staring, increasingly nonplussed, frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table, Christian dropped into it. “Looking for you.”