Forsaking the Prize (The Wild Randalls 2)

“Nothing much, but I did almost drown once.”

She moved on to the next painting quickly. It was unremarkable. Plain even. A tidy country house with a spotted dog trotting across the front lawn toward the distant trees. She didn’t recognize the property. She moved on to the next. The market place scene featured what looked to be an Englishman bartering with a brown skinned peddler. Leopold?

She glanced back at the ship. Was that small desperate figure supposed to be Tobias? Or was it what the duke hoped would be his fate one day. She stepped back from the wall and looked up.

Tobias came to stand close behind her and she could feel his heat radiating against her back. “What has you so fascinated, B?”

“Did you have trouble going into the water again? I’ve heard many do.”

“Yes. For a time.”

Blythe spun around. “I’ve always thought these paintings were an odd choice for a duke’s drawing room. They face his portrait and the chair he used to sit in most often. Mercy hasn’t changed the arrangement of the seats or anything else since he died so these scenes were hung here at his order.”

Tobias caught her hand in his. “I’ve given up trying to fathom that man. I suggest you do, too. He’s not worth the headache his actions bring on.”

“I think we’ve been looking in the wrong place.” Blythe pointed to the man clinging to the ship’s rigging. “You.” She gestured to the market place scene. “Leopold.”

Tobias squinted at both. When he drew back, his jaw was clenched. Blythe shifted to another painting; a large squat building set in featureless grounds. However the scene was too high for her to view easily. She looked about, spied a sturdy looking chair and dragged it across the chamber. As she lifted her skirts higher and put her foot upon the padded seat, Tobias grabbed her ankle and held her in place. “I could have just lifted the painting down if you wanted a better view.”

She shook her head. “No, we don’t want to draw Wilcox’s attention by moving it.”

He eyed her skeptically. “And a countess standing upon a chair like a hoyden isn’t head-turning enough?” His hand slid up and down her stocking. Despite the impropriety and the risk of getting caught, the sensation was quite lovely after so long without his touch.

Blythe hopped up on the chair and placed her hands on the wall to steady herself. “Quiet, Wilcox may be listening. I don’t trust him not to have his ear to the door.”

The painting was lit harshly; a cloudy day bathed the building in feeble light. She peered at the distant features, tying to determine if she knew the location of the place. It did remind her of somewhere, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. When she peered at the building itself—a dark shape loomed in an upstairs window. The other windows held similar forms, but the one in the left corner chamber was the most distinct. A man?

She glanced down. Tobias still held her leg, his warm palm slid up and down her calf to her knee in a slow caress. His hand stilled. “What did you discover?”

She scowled at the painting. “More questions.”

He caught her about the waist and slowly lowered her to the floor. His hands lingered as she stared at him, but before she could gather her wits he jumped onto the chair himself. The chair creaked and she grabbed for his leg.

He chuckled. “Just a bit of give, B. It won’t break and drop me on my backside.”

Easy for him to say. Blythe waited impatiently for him to finish and get down again.

When he stepped down, he was frowning. “I don’t know that place and hope never to.”

“Why is that? Do you recognize it?”

Tobias shook his head sadly. “Looks like a mad house. There was one some miles from Whitsbury when I was a boy. People whispered about the goings on of the place all the time when they thought I couldn’t hear. May still be there now for all I know. I’d have to ask Wilcox or Murphy if Skepington still stands.”

She caught his arm tightly. “No, don’t ask them. Skepington Hall still functions as a home for the mad. I hadn’t considered the place in years, but I suppose I would have seen it again if matters here had unfolded very differently.”

Tobias frowned as his hand rose to cup her face. “Did you fear you’d be committed there when I came home?”

She gulped and nodded quickly.

“Mercy wouldn’t have allowed that to happen, and neither would I. No one as good as you deserves such ill treatment.”

His words soothed her as much as his touch, but his fingers slipped away. She glanced up at the painting again, thinking hard. The house was painted somewhat larger than it actually was, but that could certainly be Skepington. “Why would the duke have a painting of a mad house in his drawing room unless he had a connection or an interest in someone who might be residing there?”

“You think he’d be that obvious?”

“It is a possibility. The current Lord Merrow’s father was a friend of the duke’s. If I’ve learned anything about the duke this last month it was that he had a vast need to control the family and prove his cleverness. Leopold stood in this chamber whenever he was summoned to Romsey. Hanging those paintings here, where he’d meet with Leopold, would have given him a peculiar thrill.”

Tobias looked at the other paintings and then tapped on the one containing the spotted dog. “If memory serves, Rosemary possessed a dog of that breed. Evil tempered beast, much like its owner. I wonder what happened to it.”