‘Oh, if anyone should see us,’ Miss Prudhome lamented. ‘Drinking brandy at three in the morning with a man in the house.’

Guy unstoppered the decanter, sniffed, then reached for one of the glasses Hester put on the table. ‘It would be a crime to mix this with coffee.’ He poured five glasses and pushed them around the table. ‘Is the rest of your wine cellar up to this standard, Miss Lattimer?’

Off guard she replied, ‘Oh, yes, all of it is very good, although I have not dared look at the clarets yet after their jolting on the carrier’s cart.’

‘You must introduce me to your wine merchant.’ Guy took an appreciative sip. ‘I imagine we are too far from the sea here for it to be run brandy.’

‘I inherited it,’ Hester admitted. ‘Unusual, I know…’

‘Your father had excellent taste.’ Of course, that was the obvious conclusion, there was no need to fear he would guess the truth.

Hester smiled brightly. ‘Thank you. Maria, are you feeling a little recovered?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ In fact, Miss Prudhome was faintly flushed, and Hester noticed that she was taking rather more sips from the glass than from her cup. ‘This is very reviving, although naturally I do not approve of spirits except in a medicinal capacity.’

‘Good. Now, what are we going to do?’ Hester looked round the kitchen table at her supporters. One nervous lady’s companion one feisty maidservant, a boy with a damaged shoulder and a nobleman who most certainly shouldn’t be there. ‘We know whoever is doing this is flesh and blood; Lord Buckland hit him.’

‘Hard enough to bruise.’ Guy rubbed his knuckles.

‘So we must watch out for men with a bruised cheek or a black eye. We know they can get in and out of here without using the doors and windows.’

‘Which is strange, in a house of this age,’ Maria remarked. She was sitting up, looking much recovered, a faint flush on her cheeks. ‘I mean, it is not as though it is some ancient mansion where you might expect priest holes and secret passages, is it?’

‘The ghost has therefore taken time to prepare something before your arrival,’ Guy mused. ‘Or the secret entrance was built at the same time as the house. The latter, I imagine.’

Hester shot him a suspicious glance. There was something about the tone of his voice that made her suspect he was putting two and two together-and that the clues he was adding up were unknown to her.

‘And that entrance is in this kitchen, or the scullery,’ Susan added. ‘That would make sense-this is the back of the house and shielded from passers-by.’

‘And the only person, other than his lordship, who has expressed a desire to buy the house is Sir Lewis.’ Hester shook her head in disbelief. ‘He has not pressed me about it, only said that if I was alarmed he felt it was his duty to buy it back. I cannot imagine that would be easy for him, his own home is in poor repair.’

‘You think him short of funds?’ Guy twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. ‘If he does indeed want this house, then it must represent an investment of some kind to him, but what I cannot imagine.’

‘Someone was here at night, several times just before I arrived.’ Hester recounted the village gossip. ‘Lights were seen. But if they were searching, there was no trace of it. The Nugents could well have retained keys, of course-the back door was not bolted when we arrived. But why should they? It is only a short while since their father sold it to me; if there were some secret, something of value, surely both father and son would know about it, and it would have been removed before the house was sold.’

‘If Lewis did know. I wonder just how sudden his father’s death was.’

‘He was unwell-Miss Nugent would have it that he became so when he signed the bill of sale-but the end was sudden, following a fall, and, according to her, the moon was full and a dead rose was found.’

‘A nice piece of embroidery,’ Guy observed cynically. ‘Perhaps I am misjudging them and Sir Lewis is straightforward and Miss Nugent has a taste for melodrama, but I will call on them the day after tomorrow and see if Sir Lewis’s handsome features have become marred in any way. It will be as well to allow the bruise time to develop.’

‘Of course! That will settle it.’ Hester felt a flood of relief at the thought of such tangible proof. ‘It has just occurred to me,’ she added slowly. ‘Sir Lewis gave me the sleeping draught for Jethro. What better way of making sure that no one was sitting up with him.’

‘Hmm, you could well be right. I will send a footman over every night to sleep here in the kitchen, with a lantern lit. That should stop any attempt to enter.’ Guy raised an eyebrow at Hester, daring her to refuse his help again.

‘Thank you, Lord Buckland,’ she responded meekly. It seemed the most prudent thing, and the man would be in no danger if the ghost saw that the room was occupied.

‘Then I suggest you all make your way back to bed. The clock has just struck four; I will stay here another hour, which is probably as long as I can risk it without being seen leaving by some passing yokel on his way to the milking. Ackland, do you need helping to your room?’

Jethro got to his feet with a wince, but shook his head. ‘No, my lord, I’ll do if I go slowly.’

Hester watched as Susan and Maria left, fussing after the boy, then turned to Guy with a rueful smile. ‘Thank you. I am sorry I suspected you, and I am sorry I was so cavalier with your offers of help.’

He smiled. ‘So long as you trust me now. But you will be careful, Hester-promise me? That character was at the foot of the stairs, I am sure on his way up. I suspect you would have woken to find those roses on the threshold of your bedchamber.’

‘Yes, I promise.’ She got to her feet, bone weary now the excitement was all over. ‘May I come with you to Winterbourne Hall? Two of us may observe more than one, and I have the excuse of enquiring after Miss Nugent’s health.’

‘A good idea. I will collect you-I said the day after tomorrow, but it is already almost morning, so it will be tomorrow-about two, if that is convenient.’

Hester nodded her agreement, smothering a cracking yawn behind both hands. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon! I am so tired.’

‘Goodnight, Hester.’ Guy gathered her into his arms and bent his head to kiss her brow, smoothing back the tumbled hair with a gentle hand. She let herself rest against him within the circle of his arm, safe and warm. Her body, unfettered by stays or petticoats, fitted against his hard, lean frame as if it had been made to measure for his embrace. This was so right. Against her closed lids the darkness was velvety black and she was sinking.

‘Up you come, sweetheart.’ Hester was sleepily aware of being lifted and snuggled against Guy’s chest. She uttered a muffled mutter of protest. He should put her down, of course, this was outrageous, surely she was too heavy to he carried upstairs like this.

‘My lord!’ That was Maria, she thought dreamily with a smile, turning her face into the soft linen of his shirt. ‘You cannot go in there!’ It seemed Guy was taking no notice, for she was deposited on to her own bed and the covers pulled up snugly around her shoulders. ‘Out this minute!’ A hand brushed her hair with a light caress.

‘Go’night,’ she murmured, but the door closed with a click and sleep claimed her.


It was late when she woke that morning; the sun was streaming through the unshuttered window and the house was silent. In the road outside she heard the passing of a herd of cattle, their complaining lowing punctuated by the sharp barking of the dogs.

Hester pushed her hair out of her eyes, and sat up against the pillows. Distantly she heard the church clock strike nine.

Why did she feel so very happy? She let her mind wander over the events of the previous night. It should have been terrifying, but as she recalled it she was aware that her mouth was curved in a smile and her heart was warm with contentment.

Guy was innocent of the ingenious persecution that had so puzzled and frightened her. She had an ally, a friend. The smile deepened as she recalled those last, sleepy moments as he carried her up to bed so tenderly; the trust she had felt, curled up on the chaise in the dark room, talking with him in whispers.

But it was more than tenderness that Guy Westrope was capable of. Hester’s own hands fisted on the edge of the sheet as she remembered the strength with which he had disarmed her, the explosion of controlled force as he attacked the intruder.

Hester shivered, closed her eyes. If they had been alone in the house last night, alone as he had carried her up to her bed-would she have felt so very sleepy then? Or would she have pulled him down beside her? The bed seemed to dip, her hands unclenched and reached out. ‘Guy.’

‘Hester dear.’ The tapping at her door jerked her rudely out of the dream.

‘What? I mean, come in, Maria.’ Her companion peeped round the door and Hester, rubbing the sleep, and the disturbing dream, out of her eyes, reflected that she looked exactly like a nervous hen peering out of the coop to make sure the fox had gone. She came right into the room and Hester saw she was fully dressed, although she still wore her nightcap with curl papers protruding at the front.

‘Are you awake, dear?’

‘Yes, just. We have been lie-abeds, Maria, but I think we may be excused after last night’s excitement. Is Susan up yet?’

‘She has just gone down to make up the range and to see the drawing room is as it should be in case we get any morning callers. Jethro is still asleep, I am glad to say.’ She went to look out of the window at the ugly red bulk of the Old Manor opposite. ‘His lordship is a most determined gentleman, is he not? I do not feel I was firm enough with him last night, but what can one do?’