telltale dust marked it. Considering the state of housekeeping in the rest of the house, he wondered just how this area seemed to be so clean. Reason told him that the unused parts of the house would be even more dirty than the rest of the place, but that was not the case here.
Interesting.
He came to his feet just as the colonel’s loud voice erupted nearby. “My lord?” Christian turned to see white mustaches bobbing around the fretwork.
“Ah! There you are! Thought for a moment you’d disappeared into thin air!” the man said a bit nervously. Christian wondered if the old fellow perhaps wasn’t quite as sanguine about the spirit as he claimed to be. Or maybe he had other reasons for his odd behavior.
“Do you know where these doors lead?” Christian asked. He tried the first one, but it was locked just as tightly as the night before.
“ To the old kitchens, I presume, long gone now, of course,” the colonel answered. “And to the cellars, perhaps. I’ve never had cause to go down there.”
Christian turned toward the older man with a questioning look.
“Well, not really my house, you see,” the colonel explained gruffly.
Christian checked the other door, but it wouldn’t budge either. He swung round to the colonel again. “I’d like to have a look behind them. Do you know where the keys are?”
“Well, I seem to recall a set hanging in the kitchen— housekeeper’s, I imagine, but she’s no longer with us. Complained that she kept hearing noises after Bascomb died. Thought he’d come back to haunt her. Handed over some pilfered silver and fled, without even asking for her references!”
A search of the kitchens didn’t turn up any keys, nor did the young maids who were all that remained of the staff admit to any knowledge of them. The colonel frowned at such negligence, but a slow smile stole over Christian’s face as anticipation stirred his sluggish blood.
“Miss Parkinson must have them,” he said.
The Governess, he suspected, was totally organized. She probably had every key labeled and tucked away in careful order. And the thought of getting his hands on them was what made Christian grin, surely not the prospect of seeing his hostess again.
Nonetheless, his pace quickened, taking him swiftly to the entrance to the drawing room, where, for one brief moment, he was able to watch his quarry without her knowledge. Now that he had hints of the form beneath her gown, he knew just where to look to search out each curve and dip, and he was just tracing the slim column of her throat when the colonel called out a greeting from behind him.
Christian bit back a curse as Miss Parkinson, Abigail, immediately glanced toward them. Her mouth tightened, and she adopted a guarded expression that seemed to convey some sort of displeasure at the mere sight of him, which he found positively baffling. After all, he was here at her request, wasn’t he?
“Back so soon?” she asked.
Christian frowned in surprise at the rebuke implicit in her words. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she didn’t want him around. He did know better, didn’t he? Why wouldn’t she want him around?
“Looking for some keys, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose you have a set?” the colonel asked in an apologetic tone.
“I assume you have keys to all the rooms?” Christian said more pointedly.
The Governess stood, and Christian tried not to admire her utter grace in doing so. How could a woman so seemingly severe move with that certain tantalizing sensuality? He tore his gaze from her hips and decided he was imagining things. He’d been cooped up too long in the ghost house, no doubt. Obviously it was affecting him. Adversely.
“I was given a ring of keys by the solicitor,” Miss Parkinson acknowledged rather warily. “Why do you need it?”
“There are a couple of doors in the hall that seem to be locked. Thought we’d take a look,” the colonel answered rather sheepishly.
Christian said
Interesting.
He came to his feet just as the colonel’s loud voice erupted nearby. “My lord?” Christian turned to see white mustaches bobbing around the fretwork.
“Ah! There you are! Thought for a moment you’d disappeared into thin air!” the man said a bit nervously. Christian wondered if the old fellow perhaps wasn’t quite as sanguine about the spirit as he claimed to be. Or maybe he had other reasons for his odd behavior.
“Do you know where these doors lead?” Christian asked. He tried the first one, but it was locked just as tightly as the night before.
“ To the old kitchens, I presume, long gone now, of course,” the colonel answered. “And to the cellars, perhaps. I’ve never had cause to go down there.”
Christian turned toward the older man with a questioning look.
“Well, not really my house, you see,” the colonel explained gruffly.
Christian checked the other door, but it wouldn’t budge either. He swung round to the colonel again. “I’d like to have a look behind them. Do you know where the keys are?”
“Well, I seem to recall a set hanging in the kitchen— housekeeper’s, I imagine, but she’s no longer with us. Complained that she kept hearing noises after Bascomb died. Thought he’d come back to haunt her. Handed over some pilfered silver and fled, without even asking for her references!”
A search of the kitchens didn’t turn up any keys, nor did the young maids who were all that remained of the staff admit to any knowledge of them. The colonel frowned at such negligence, but a slow smile stole over Christian’s face as anticipation stirred his sluggish blood.
“Miss Parkinson must have them,” he said.
The Governess, he suspected, was totally organized. She probably had every key labeled and tucked away in careful order. And the thought of getting his hands on them was what made Christian grin, surely not the prospect of seeing his hostess again.
Nonetheless, his pace quickened, taking him swiftly to the entrance to the drawing room, where, for one brief moment, he was able to watch his quarry without her knowledge. Now that he had hints of the form beneath her gown, he knew just where to look to search out each curve and dip, and he was just tracing the slim column of her throat when the colonel called out a greeting from behind him.
Christian bit back a curse as Miss Parkinson, Abigail, immediately glanced toward them. Her mouth tightened, and she adopted a guarded expression that seemed to convey some sort of displeasure at the mere sight of him, which he found positively baffling. After all, he was here at her request, wasn’t he?
“Back so soon?” she asked.
Christian frowned in surprise at the rebuke implicit in her words. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she didn’t want him around. He did know better, didn’t he? Why wouldn’t she want him around?
“Looking for some keys, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose you have a set?” the colonel asked in an apologetic tone.
“I assume you have keys to all the rooms?” Christian said more pointedly.
The Governess stood, and Christian tried not to admire her utter grace in doing so. How could a woman so seemingly severe move with that certain tantalizing sensuality? He tore his gaze from her hips and decided he was imagining things. He’d been cooped up too long in the ghost house, no doubt. Obviously it was affecting him. Adversely.
“I was given a ring of keys by the solicitor,” Miss Parkinson acknowledged rather warily. “Why do you need it?”
“There are a couple of doors in the hall that seem to be locked. Thought we’d take a look,” the colonel answered rather sheepishly.
Christian said
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