Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

father’s first wife had been unfaithful to him. Indeed, she had borne a child before her marriage to him. Had the Trécassis family bribed her father with some fantastic sum to marry Magdalaine to save themselves from scandal? She looked down again at the letter. If only she could make out those yellowed blurred lines. She read once again.

“We shall be rich, my darling, rich from his greed.” She sat silently for a long while, sorting through what she knew and what she could only guess at. She looked back at the skeleton, her eyes fastening on the bullet hole in his chest. She thought of the times her father had expressly forbidden her to explore the ruins. Was it simply because he had feared for her safety?

No.

Her father must have killed this man, Charles. A duel of honor—yes, it must have been a duel of honor. Her father was no murderer, no matter what, no.

She suddenly remembered that Magdalaine had died suddenly after her return from France. She felt her blood freeze in her veins. A hoarse sob broke from her throat. “No, God, please no. He did not kill her, too. He would not have. No, please.”

Yet the faded passionate words from so long ago were damning. Hate, pain, and suffering clutched at her from every word. Her only thought now was to protect her father’s name, to destroy this wretched letter. She jerked it up and with quivering fingers drew it near to the slender candle flame. She was not certain what stopped her, but she pulled the paper back, folded it again into a small square, and slipped it into the sole of her shoe.

The candle was burning low. It could not be much longer now. Gervaise said he would fetch help. Gervaise. An impostor, a liar. She remembered the strange thudding sound just before the stones over the doorway collapsed. Had he trapped her in here on purpose? Had he tried to kill her? If so, why? What in heaven’s name did he want?

The candle sputtered and died. Her voice caught on a sob as she was plunged into darkness, her only companion a long-dead man who had betrayed her father.

As Gervaise jerked open the great front doors of Evesham Abbey and burst into the entrance hall, he yelled, “Crupper, quickly, fetch his lordship.

Her ladyship is trapped by fallen rock in the old abbey ruins. Be quick, man, quick, before it is too late.” He was panting hard from his run from the ruins, he could barely catch his breath.

What had the Frenchman said? “Her ladyship? Trapped?” he repeated slowly, staring at the foreigner he wanted so very much to leave.

“Damn it, man, we must be quick. The rocks may collapse on her at any moment. She could already be dead! Hurry, hurry, fetch the earl.” At that moment, the earl appeared at the top of the stairs. “What is this about Arabella being trapped? In the old abbey ruins, you say?” He bounded down the stairs.

“We were exploring the subterranean chambers in the old abbey ruins. One of the chambers caved in and she is trapped. It is all my fault. Oh please, my lord, we must hurry.”

“She is still alive?” The earl’s voice was as hard and cold as granite.

“Yes, yes, I called to her. She is unharmed, but I fear there will be more falling stone. It is all unstable.” The earl threw back his head, and bellowed, “Giles!” When the second footman came running into the entrance hall, the earl said, “Go quickly, Giles, and fetch James and all the stable hands. Tell them to gather their shovels and picks. Her ladyship is trapped beneath the ruins of the old abbey. Go, man, I shall meet you there.” The earl turned to Crupper. “Inform Lady Ann and Elsbeth. I shall be at the ruins.” He turned to follow Giles, then stopped abruptly and looked back to see Gervaise quickly mounting the staircase.

“Monsieur.” His voice was soft, yet it cut through the air with the sharpness of a rapier.

Gervaise spun on his heel and turned to face the cold set features of the earl.

“Do you not wish to assist in rescuing my wife? Did you not say it was your fault? Are you not concerned?”

Ah, the earl’s voice was so soft, so quiet—it scared the comte to his toes. “I—certainly, my lord. I merely intended to go to my room for but an instant.” Damnation, what was he to do now? “Please, my lord, you must hurry. I shall join you in a moment.”

The earl said very quietly, “I do not think so, monsieur. You will not join me in a moment. You will not go to your bedchamber. You see, I require your presence at once. Now, not a minute from now.” What to do? Gervaise cursed with silent fluency. All this and he would gain nothing at all. It was very hard to clamp down on his rage, but he managed it, shrugging. “As you will, my lord.” The earl turned to the now astonished Crupper and said in a loud, clear voice, “You will remain here, Crupper, and, if you will, guard Evesham Abbey. No one—I repeat, no one—is allowed beyond the entrance hall until my return. Do you understand?”

The old man felt mired in confusion. He heard the earl’s words and, of course, understood them, though their intent was quite lost on him. It was what his lordship required of him. It was enough that he could obey.

“Yes, my lord. I will remain here. No one will enter.”

“Excellent, Crupper. Monsieur? Let us go.” The earl stepped back and waited for Gervaise to precede him through the front doors.

Arabella drew her legs up close to her chest and hugged herself for warmth. The dust and sand had settled and she could breathe more easily.

She tried not to think of the skeleton but an arm’s reach away, and of the terrible truth that she had discovered. Surely Justin