Reaching the landing, he relaxed a little and loosened his grip on Lucy’s arm. He felt her tug against him and released his hold completely, allowing her to pull away. She’d looked preoccupied during luncheon, and he now lowered his gaze intending to judge her expression, but she’d already started toward the first guestroom, her face hidden from view.
Do you have any idea how much I love you? The words resonated in his head. He didn’t know—hadn’t even considered that she might care for him so strongly, although somewhere deep inside him, he’d secretly hoped. The thought that she did took his breath away. They’d already been through a lot together, and while she’d kept her guard up, it was impossible for him not to admire or respect her. There had been no ill intent on her part. On the contrary, the reasons behind her actions were most honorable, though perhaps a bit naïve.
But, she had needed his help, and she had consequently done what she’d thought necessary in order to get it, and it probably had been necessary, for there was no doubt in his mind that he would have married Lady Annabelle instead, leaving Lucy to chase after the assassin on her own. That the situation had changed in the meantime and that the assassin had found her was not something anyone could have predicted, but he was still thankful to be by her side now so he could protect her.
However, when she’d spoken of love in the parlor, he’d been stomped. He hadn’t taken the time to analyze his own feelings for her yet, so he’d paused momentarily in order to consider what they might be, and then his sister had interrupted, and he’d lost his chance to respond. Now was not the time either. A better moment would present itself as soon as all of this was over. He’d make damn sure of it.
He followed her without hesitation, stood behind her as she paused, watched her knock just in case the room wasn’t empty. No one responded from within, and she gently pushed down the door handle and eased the door open to peek inside. “This is Galensbury’s room, I believe,” she whispered, stepping gingerly over the threshold and moving sideways so he could follow.
Galensbury…He wasn’t a close friend of his, and William would never have thought to invite him had it not been for the letter he’d received. He’d wondered for some time now if the man had a more sinister reason for asking to attend the house party. His character was a bit difficult to judge, as if he always kept his guard up. Was it possible that he was the assassin?
Opening the top drawer of the dresser, William began to search while Lucy walked across to the wardrobe. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear that she was rummaging about, looking for clues. “I don’t see anything unusual,” she said a few minutes later.
William sighed. “No, me neither.” He’d looked through all the drawers and come up empty handed. “Have a look under the bed perhaps—under the pillows even.” He walked across to the window as she did so and pulled the curtains aside to look behind them. Nothing.
Looking to Lucy, he watched her shake her head. If Galensbury was their man, then he’d hidden the mask somewhere else. “No point in wasting any more time here,” he said as he gestured for Lucy to follow and headed for the door.
The next room was Andrew’s, and as they stepped inside, William felt his whole body tense. Andrew was his friend, and, like Charles, they’d known each other since Eton. There was a bond between them, forged from sharing the sting of a beating each time they’d gotten themselves into trouble, and they’d gotten into trouble a lot.
Opening drawers and searching through Andrew’s belongings, William pushed aside the memories of sneaking out of their dorm at night. They’d done it for the thrill in the beginning, but as they’d grown older, they’d done it to rendezvous with the local girls.
Spotting a large-sized box in the bottom drawer, William’s hands stilled as he touched the lid. It was just the right size to contain the sort of mask that Lucy had described. He hesitated, drew a deep breath, and quickly moved the lid aside. A gush of air escaped from his lungs at the site of a brand-new pair of shoes. He’d never felt more relieved. “Did you find anything?” he asked, closing the drawer back up and rising to look across at Lucy. Her expression was serious as she moved about the room in much the same way that she’d done in Galensbury’s.
“Not a thing,” she said, offering him a crooked little smile. “I didn’t think he was the one, but I’m glad to have it confirmed.”
William nodded. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her back out into the hallway. His eyes met with hers briefly before he turned to stare across at the two doors on the opposite side of the hallway. Well, they might as well get on with it, and with his suspicions beginning to lean toward Stanton, another man whom he did not know well enough to properly assess, he led Lucy across to his room and opened the door.
It looked the same as the rest, but while the other’s had been decorated in blue and green tones, this room was dominated by red. William scanned the space before stepping tentatively forward. Each of his senses seemed on alert, as if he half expected an attacker to leap from the wardrobe or from under the bed and cut them to ribbons. It had to be Stanton. He was sure of it now and moved to the dresser with more determination, confident of what he would find. But with each drawer he opened, he found nothing more than another stack of shirts or some other piece of clothing.
“Tell me you’ve found it,” he muttered, slamming the last drawer shut and spinning around to face Lucy. She was searching the wardrobe, the doors wide open on either side of her, but she straightened to the sound of his voice, turned her head to meet his gaze, and quietly shook her head. He marched forward and pushed her aside, determined to find her mistaken. “It has to be here!”
“It’s not,” she whispered, and he knew that she was right, even as he stood there hopelessly pushing Stanton’s jackets aside, as if the mask might somehow be hidden among them. It was not, and he had no choice but to acknowledge that the culprit was, indeed, one of his friends: Charles.
“It’s still possible that whoever wore the mask hid it somewhere else entirely like you suggested earlier. It would be the smartest thing to do,” Lucy said.
He stared at her, and he knew that, in spite of what she said, Charles was the man she suspected the most, and while he appreciated her attempt at trying to mollify him, there was little point in doing so. “We have to check, Lucy—no matter what we might risk finding.”
She nodded and took him by the hand, squeezing it gently as if she knew exactly how difficult this must be for him and hoped to offer some measure of comfort. Startling really—they were very likely about to uncover the man who’d killed her parents in cold blood, and here she was trying to assuage him because it might turn out to be one of his friends. She truly was a remarkable woman.
Once inside Charles’s room, they went through the same motions as before, and with each drawer William pulled open, he expected to find a mask staring back at him, but he didn’t. The wardrobe came up empty too, save for clothes and shoes of course. “I don’t get it,” he muttered, turning about as if hoping to spot something he’d missed, but the room seemed neat and sparse—nothing stuck out.
A scuffling sound caught his ear, and he realized that Lucy was nowhere to be seen. “Where are you?” he asked.
Her voice came from the other side of the bed, and stepping around it, he saw that she was lying with her stomach pressed against the floor and with most of her head and right arm under the heavy frame of the bed. “There’s a box,” she explained, her voice straining as she reached for it.
A moment later, she managed to bring it out and quickly stood, brushing a bit of dust from the lid. William could see that her hands were trembling and thought to help her, but before he managed to do so, she took a deep breath of air and lifted the lid just enough for her to glance inside.
William could scarcely comprehend what happened next, for it happened so fast: Lucy shrieked, then tossed the box from her hands as if she’d just been burned, her eyes closing firmly as if to block out what she’d seen, and as it landed with a thud on the floor, the lid flew off and a ghastly black mask fell out.
William couldn’t move. It was as if his feet had been nailed to the floor, his body frozen in time. Charles…it couldn’t be, and yet it was. He shook his head and closed his eyes against the evidence just as Lucy had done, but when he opened his eyes, it was still there, grinning back at him, and it was then that anger assailed him. Hot rage poured into his chest, slashing at his heart, and he felt himself begin to shake, felt the pressure build in his head until he thought it might explode. When he turned to look at Lucy, the black loathing that he felt for Charles in that instant must have shone in his eyes, for she immediately took a retreating step backward.
“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered, his voice a low growl that sounded foreign to his own ears, and Lucy’s eyes widened in response. He knew she was shaken, but he didn’t have it in him to offer comfort right now. Hell, he could barely even speak, he was so furious. And he’d meant what he’d said. Charles was about to find himself skewered.
With a swift swoop, he gathered up the mask and headed for the door, pausing only for a brief glance in Lucy’s direction, just to be sure that she was following. She was right behind him, for which he was grateful. The less he had to say the better, especially since he felt his control wavering. It wouldn’t be fair at all to unleash his wrath on her, but he feared he might not be able to help it if she forced him to speak. It was better—safer—to remain silent.
Returning to the parlor, the door almost flew off the hinges as he yanked it open, garnering a look of surprise from both his father and Uncle Henry. His father was the first to speak, his eyes narrowing as they settled upon the mask that he was gripping in his hand. “I trust you found what you were looking for?”
William felt his jaw clench and it was with sheer willpower that he managed to nod, his eyes scanning the room before he stepped forward and crossed the floor, tossing the mask onto his father’s lap.
“Christ!” Bryce flinched, and that just about said it all because William’s father was not the sort of man who was easily disturbed by anything. He raised his head and looked at Lucy. “I would have nightmares too if I were you.”
William didn’t have to look at his wife to know that she was trembling. He wished he could draw her against him, hug her, and kiss her to soothe away her pain, but all he could focus on was his anger. “Get them all back here,” he heard himself say, his voice growing to a near roar. “Get them all back here right now!”
His guests must have known that something was amiss, for they spoke in soft whispers as they returned to the parlor one by one, and with one look at William, they quickly averted their gazes and kept quiet. But William was interested in only one man, and when he stepped through the door with a cheerful demeanor, William was directly before him in two long strides. “You bloody bastard,” he flared, watching as the smile fell from Charles’s face. “You murdering scoundrel!”