Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet by Patricia Veryan

night, but—like you—she
panicked and tried to get away…" He paused, and Sophia, paling, took a
step closer to him and whispered, "And then…?"
    He said nothing, staring down with sombre eyes. The silence grew
more intense, throbbing in her ears until it seemed to Sophia that she
heard the faintest of footsteps coming softly up the stairs. She felt
goosebumps break out on her flesh and all but jumped when Damon resumed
in a hushed tone. "They struggled here—just where we stand…" (She
stepped back hurriedly.) "She pushed him, but as he fell, he seized
her, and they both went over the rail…" He held the candles lower, and,
impelled by some morbid curiosity, she took two hesitant steps and saw
dimly, far below, the broken iron railings of the winding staircase,
sticking up like so many spears. Had their bodies broken the rail, she
wondered? Had that poor girl been impaled and—
    "Down through the centuries," breathed Damon, his lips at her ear,
"the monk has appeared often—on these very stairs. And sometimes the
girl's screams can be heard… all the way to—"
    A voice echoed distantly through the stillness: a woman's faint yet
piercing cry. Sophia gave a sob of horror. A weakness spread through
her, and she felt her knees buckle…
    Her face was against his cravat; his arm was about her, and she was
in the corridor. "Good gad, ma'am," he said scoffingly, "I'd not
thought you the type to become vaporish over such nonsense!"
    She took a deep breath, tore herself free, and stood straight
despite her wobbly knees, her eyes holding, she hoped, all the disgust
she felt.
    His expression changed subtly, and when he spoke again, his voice
was very gentle. "I am truly sorry. I had not meant to frighten you so."
    She knew that he'd had just such a thought, that his every intent
had been to so terrify her that she would leave his mouldering old ruin
by shanks' mare, if necessary. She was not accustomed to subterfuge. If
only she could say what she really thought! But to do so would be to
destroy her cousin's one hope. And, therefore, she managed a cool "Of
course you did not, my lord. How could you possibly intend such a
thing? No gentleman worthy of the name would be so loathesome."
    For an instant, he gazed at her in silence. And then, again, that
cry disturbed the awful quiet, and my lady's pride crumbled into dread;
her face grew deathly pale, and she fairly jumped for the safety of his
arm.
    He chuckled. "It is only Mrs. Hatters, calling us to dinner, ma'am."
He gestured politely for her to precede him and, with the candles held
high so that she might see, followed her to the stairs.
    Sophia was led in to dinner by the Earl. She made a determined
effort to appear lighthearted but was still unnerved and full of
forebodings that Clay, knowing her so well, would detect her emotional
state. Her cousin was a gentleman in the fullest sense of the word. He
would merely have to suspect that the Marquis had behaved toward her in
so despicable a fashion and they would leave the Priory at once if, in
fact, the two men did not come to cuffs. Anticipating his concern over
her distress, she prepared to allay it by revealing her increasing
anxiety about Whitthurst. Her fears proved unwarranted; Clay, escorting
the vivacious Genevieve, was so delighted by that young lady he
scarcely noticed his cousin's arrival. Sophia at once experienced a
perverse resentment of his neglect. Fortunately, Ridgley was an
excellent dinner partner and soon had her chattering merrily, her
dismals forgotten.
    Despite his extreme shortage of servants, the Marquis possessed a
most excellent chef, who had, however indignantly, contrived on short
notice to provide a superb meal. Sophia ate very little of the
asparagus soup, poached fish, roast game hens, and a magnificent mutton
pasty. She only began to feel renewed when Thompson carried in the
desserts. He was assisted by Nancy Hooper, Miss Hilby's abigail, a
ruddy cheeked, comely girl, pressed into service in