She sighed. “I hope so.”
“May I escort you inside? I promise to behave in a more gentlemanlike manner than our wayward Mr. Tarvin.”
“Yes, you may.”
They strolled toward the hotel entrance. She stumbled over a clump of grass, and he quickly took her hand and tucked it under his arm.
“You went to the lodge again?” he asked.
“Yes, I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to discuss a few things with John.”
He looked down at her, close to his side, and all those feelings of protectiveness washed over him once more. “Can you tell me what you learned? I will help if I can.”
“I know you would try.” She sighed again.
He said, “I read theArabian Nightsstory you suggested.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t think—”
“May we talk about it tomorrow?” she said abruptly. “I am tired and need to think. I shall be more myself after a night’s rest.”
He hesitated. “Very well.”
At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, fearing tongues would wag when the two of them showed up together in the hall. Hopefully it would be quiet at this time of the night.
Instead, when they entered, they found the hall alive with candlelight and music.
Miss Newport sat at the pianoforte, playing and singing, while a few others stood or sat nearby, listening. Thomas turned the pages of music for her, watching in adoration.
Thankfully, with all eyes on the beautiful singer, no one paid them much heed.
Then Thomas looked up, just noticing them. “Is she not divine? Join us!”
Miss Lane smiled wanly back, then leaned closer to Frederick. “You stay. I am going upstairs.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I think it would be best.”
Probably wise, he realized. Tongues would definitely wag if they went upstairs together.
As tempting as that thought was, he pushed it from his mind.
———
Rebecca continued across the hall, through the passage, and out into the cold, dark cloisters, leaving the cheerful warmth and music behind. The cloisters were lit only by a few torches, flickering in the breeze and casting ethereal shadows on the medieval stone walls.
She hurried along, her slippers all but silent on the paving stones, when a figure darted into view between the pillars on the other side.
Rebecca stifled a gasp and stopped dead, leaning into the wall as though it might hide her. Robed in black from head to foot, even the figure’s face was concealed by a dark veil. It passed through the archway, then turned sharply, disappearing up the night stair.
Rebecca’s pulse pounded.There are no such things as ghosts, she told herself,except for the Holy Ghost. And religious habit or not, Rebecca sensed nothing holy about the being now hurrying up the stairs.
Over the sound of her thumping heart, she heard the padding of feet, followed by a scuffle-slap. The figure had ... tripped?Ghosts didn’t stumble, and this evidence of humanity gave her the courage to creep forward.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Rebecca craned her neck to look up and caught a glimpse of the fluttering black gown and booted feet. Boots? The hand on the railing seemed surprising large and ... masculine. Then the figure rounded the railing and slipped from view.
