His Christmas Countess

‘And that is only half the story,’ Kate said when she could speak again. ‘I know there is more to it than that, there has to be. Tell me.’

‘I came home one night from dinner at a neighbour’s house. Grandfather was beginning to fret because it was late and Madeleine had Charlie with her and when the nursemaid went to take him to bed she wouldn’t let the girl in. I knew then there was something very wrong, because she hardly ever kept him with her or spent any time playing with him. The door was locked. I could hear him crying, so I broke it open.’

Grant walked into the room, towards the cold, empty hearth, where Kate waited, silent. ‘It was hot, the fire was roaring in the chimney. Charlie was crying on the sofa that was over there, but it was angled away from me so I couldn’t see him.’ He gestured towards the side of the room away from the chimney. ‘He sounded fretful and hungry, but not frightened.

‘Madeleine was standing there, just where you are. The tray with the spirits was turned over at her feet, the liquid soaking the carpet. She had a cut-glass decanter in her hand.’ He closed his eyes again and spoke without opening them. ‘I think she had been drinking directly from it. She was certainly drunk. I walked across.’ He moved as he spoke, blind, lost in the memory. ‘I tried to take the decanter from her and she swung it at me. It hit the side of my head and smashed.’ His left hand, fingers spread, speared into his hair. ‘And then she must have panicked, I think. I tried not to hurt her, to take it from her gently, but I was half stunned. She swung it again and it hit my shoulder, cut down through my coat to the skin, and I fell.’

Kate glanced at the dark patch on the boards that endless scrubbing had not removed. She had been right. It was blood. Grant was still speaking, eyes still closed.

‘I think I was knocked out for a moment. When I came to there was blood everywhere and there was screaming and Charlie crying. For a moment I was back on the battlefield with the noise and the smoke and the dreadful smells...’ He stopped and opened his eyes. ‘You do not need to hear it all. The brandy had splashed all down Madeleine’s muslin gown, the carpet was already soaked. She must have staggered back towards the fire and her skirts caught. The carpet was ablaze. I crawled across, got Charlie and dragged him back. The door burst open and help was there, but it was too late for her.’

What to say? How terrible. How tragic. Poor woman. All so obvious and so meaningless. She would say what she thought, what concerned her, even if it was not the comforting platitudes that convention expected. ‘You know you did the right thing, don’t you? To go to Charlie and not to try to save Madeleine?’

‘Yes.’ Grant almost smiled at her. ‘Yes, I know. I only had so much strength, I was bleeding like a stuck pig and she was probably beyond saving, even if I had gone directly to her. I had to get the child to safety.’

‘Then, if you know that, accept it—’

‘What is the problem? The problem, my dear, is that while my rational brain accepts it while I’m awake, my dreaming mind does not, it seems. A policy of out of sight, out of mind has worked to an extent so far, but you are right, I cannot continue like that, ignoring the existence of this room, ignoring that night.’

He stood up and held out his hand to her. ‘Come, sweetheart. Let us go to bed, lock this door on the horrors of this room for another night.’

Chapter Sixteen

Grant kissed her, gently, sweetly, when they reached his bedchamber again. They shed their night robes and Kate climbed into bed beside him and lay on her stomach, her chin propped on her hands as she frowned at the harmless stack of pillows. ‘So, what do you want to do? Leave the door locked for ever?’

‘No. You are right, I cannot risk Charlie becoming curious.’ He began to play with the ends of her hair as it spilled across the sheets. ‘He is growing up and I need to deal with this for all our sakes.’

‘Let us be practical, then,’ Kate said, lifting her chin to look at him. He was stretched out, hands behind his head, the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders in strong relief. A wave of desire washed over her and she suppressed it. They could make love when this was decided. ‘Pull the house down?’ she suggested to shock him into suggesting a counter-solution.

‘Demolish it? Rather an extreme solution—besides, I am fond of all the rest of the old place, so is Charlie.’