Moonlight And Mistletoe

Wishing she could take it straight to Guy, she got to her feet, blew out her lanterns and carried the frame and its fluttering tatters downstairs. Maria emerged from the unoccupied back bedroom, shaking her head. ‘I’ve had all the rugs up, pulled the shutters right out of their boxes-nothing. My goodness, what is that?’

‘Come downstairs and I will show you. Susan!’

Hester carried on down to the dining room where she lowered the frame on to the table. ‘Do you recall that sheet of glass we found in the shed? If you can fetch that, I will use it to lay out the canvas and we can see-’ She broke off at a cry of triumph from the kitchen. ‘Jethro?’

‘I’ve found it!’

They hurried in to see the lad standing triumphantly in the doorway of the unused cupboard. ‘Look-no wonder it was damp in here, there is a hidden doorway in the bricks at the side and it does not quite meet the ground. See?’

Susan and Maria squashed into the cupboard after Hester, exclaiming at the ingenuity of the secret door, ducking outside into the recess that had seemed blocked by the overflowing water butt and the pile of old hurdles. ‘No wonder Sir Lewis did not want you sending for a builder, Miss Hester.’ Jethro pushed the door closed and brushed up the dead weeds against it. ‘We’d never see this, but any craftsman checking the brickwork couldn’t help but find it.’

‘And his man came down, looked all round here and said nothing. More evidence for the magistrate,’ Hester said triumphantly. However much her head had told her there was a malevolent human agency behind the appearance of the roses, it was still a relief to see tangible proof of it. ‘Try and leave everything as it was, Jethro, we do not want to frighten off the Nugents. Not yet. Brr, I am cold, let us go in.’

‘Miss Lattimer? I knocked at the front door and could not make myself heard.’ It was Guy. Hester scrambled over the hurdles with more speed than grace and caught his hand, the cold forgotten in the comfort of feeling that strong, warm clasp.

‘We have found it! Come and see. I am so glad you are returned.’

He paused, closing his hand tight around hers, and looked down into her face. ‘So am I.’ Hester felt the yard go quiet around her. Somewhere behind her the voices of Maria and Susan were a faint twittering like birds in a distant tree. Her cold hands and feet ceased to have any feeling. All she was conscious of was the warmth in Guy’s eyes, the meaning in his voice, the sensual curve of his lips.

The edge of a hurdle cracked under her foot and the moment was gone. Feeling as though she had woken from a deep sleep, Hester blinked. ‘Jethro found the door. Look.’

Guy climbed over the barrier and helped her back. Together they examined the door, its carefully disguised hinges, the slight angle that the wall was set at which hid it utterly unless one was face-on to it. ‘As I suspected, this was built as part of the house, not added later.’

‘So it must be part of the original secret, the same secret as the treasure?’ Hester speculated as they regained the kitchen.

‘Yes. If there ever was a treasure. I am beginning to wonder about that. And you know, those old family books of legends make no mention of any dead roses or of this house at all.’

‘The Nugents think there is a treasure, or why else are they doing this? Oh, yes, and I forgot to tell you-Miss Nugent is our ghost, I caught a glimpse under her veil yesterday and she has the bruises of your knuckles on her cheek, plain as day. She is also a good actress, according to Jethro’s sources.’

‘Is she, indeed?’ Guy regarded his knuckles. ‘I have never hit a woman-I cannot say it gives me any great pleasure, whatever she has been about. As for the “treasure”, they may be misinterpreting some clue-that letter you glimpsed, for example.’ Guy leaned against the kitchen table and looked around the room. ‘This is a home, this place. I cannot see it as some kind of treasure house, can you?’ Hester shook her head, intrigued that he seemed to experience the same kind of feelings as she did for the Moon House. ‘It is feminine, warm. A house for a man to come to and relax, sit by the fire, enjoy a woman’s company.’

His gaze rested on Hester as he spoke and she found her lips curving into a smile of recognition at the picture he was painting. She could see herself seated by the fire, or curled upon the chaise in her bedchamber, holding out a hand to Guy as he came through the door in the candlelight. She would pull him down beside her in the firelight while the snow swirled against the window panes…

‘Why, then, would he need to sneak in through a secret opening?’ Hester wondered aloud. ‘An assignation?’ Jethro, Susan and Maria had all vanished from the kitchen. She wondered why, then supposed they had all gone to wash hands and faces after their dusty explorations.

Guy shifted position suddenly as though to snap himself out of his flight of fancy. ‘Perhaps. I need to read that box of documents.’

‘But how?’ Hester felt she could watch the play of expression on his face for hours. In company he shielded his thoughts and emotions and one saw only what he wanted you to see. But lately she felt he let his guard down with her-or perhaps, being in love with him, she could read him more clearly.

‘What is it, Hester?’ Guy reached out a

hand across the table and she put hers into it with a smile, surprised once more at how right his touch seemed.

She must have looked startled at his question, for he added, ‘You were staring at me. Have I a smudge on my face?’

‘No, no… I was wool-gathering.’

‘Well, you have-a smudge, I mean. And cobwebs in your hair. In fact, I think you are even grubbier than the first time I saw you.’

Guy watched the emotions chase across Hester’s face, then mischief won over indignation. ‘Wretch! To remind me of that is most unfair.’

‘I thought you made a very fetching parlourmaid,’ he commented, wondering how much longer he could hold her hand before she became self-conscious and snatched it away.

He very much wanted to do more than hold her hand. If he was honest with himself, the thought of kissing her again, holding her in his arms, making love to her, was beginning to obsess him. Up there on the chilly downs he had thought for a dizzy moment that she returned his feelings, but it seemed that all she felt was friendship-and attraction. In the tone she had used, that was the sort of word which was usually preceded by unfortunate.

The vehemence with which she rejected the idea of a carte blanche puzzled him. Of course any well-bred young lady would be appalled at the thought, but her reaction was more intense, more personal. And the fact that it had occurred to her at all, significant. Had someone tried to force his attentions on her in the period after her father’s death when she had been alone and not yet safely employed?

Whatever her secret was, he did not intend cajoling or tricking it out of her. If she trusted him, she would tell him when she was ready, and if she did not trust him, then this was pointless anyway. A patient man, Guy settled himself to play a long game, but for the first time he found himself apprehensive about whether he would win it.