“Oh, indeed, the cottage was simply alive with all manner of creaks, moans, and groans. I even thought I heard a shout.”
Isabel couldn’t seem to draw breath.
“The noises didn’t wake you?” Eva asked.
Isabel gave her head a mute shake, sound unable to pass her lips.
“They didn’t wake Ariel, either.” Eva’s face hadthelook, the one Isabel had known since girlhood. The one that said she was going to toy with you and there was nothing you could do about it. “I suppose I was the only witness to the haunting. It did go on for a while, I daresay.” Was that a smile playing about Eva’s mouth? “Rather impressive.”
Isabel understood what Eva had done. She didn’t want Isabel to press her about her intentions toward Montfort’s wife, so she’d turned the conversation around on her.Touché.Isabel would let Eva’s sleeping dogs lie, if she would only return the favor. For here was the thing: Isabel wouldn’t discuss, or even think about, last night.
Her body, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have much of a choice. It tingled and ached with a delicious lightness that hadn’t stopped rushing through her since last night.Alive, that was how she felt. Her body had never been so aware of how very alive it was. No wonder she was glowing.
But it wasn’t a feeling she could bask in and enjoy, no matter how her body tried to convince her otherwise, for it further complicated matters that were already entirely too complicated. In doing a correct thing, the thing she was supposed to do—lose her maidenhead to Lord Percival—she’d done a very wrong thing—lost her maidenhead to Lord Percival without Montfort’s permission.
How that sequence of thought disgusted her.
What should she do? Steal the sheets and present them to Montfort as afait accompli? She recoiled from the idea, body, mind, and soul.
Yet she couldn’t have it both ways. She couldn’t save her family, or what was left of it, and keep her integrity intact. After all, she’d only done what she was supposed to have done that first night in Number 9 with another man. But . . .
It felt so very different to have done it with Lord Percival.
“I can help you.”
How perilously close she’d come to accepting his offer. And the temptation of it still reached out to her, for she’d seen in his eyes that he’d meant every word.
But it was Montfort who held the keys to Papa’s freedom.
She couldn’t rely on the uncertain promises of Lord Percival. She must stay her course. Her first allegiance was to her family.
Now that Montfort was returned to Gardencourt, she had no excuse not to go to him and tell him all. But she simply couldn’t. To reveal what happened last night in Lord Percival’s bed to Montfort would feel like a betrayal of the lowest kind. This situation had formed into a Gordian knot that no amount of logic would untangle.
“Querida,” Eva began as they ventured to an unfamiliar portion of the estate, “you are so very quiet of a sudden. Has this glorious morning stroll quite cleared your mind of conversation?”
Isabel struggled to find a subject other than the one that occupied nearly all the space in her brain. “I’m happy to hear you speaking of our shop again, Eva.” A safe and reliable subject. “These last several months have been rather dull without your inspiration, and I believe our customers have noticed. Do you have plans to return to your duties?”
“Oh, I have plans.”
On the surface, Eva’s words might have allayed Isabel’s fears, but a cryptic quality wove through them that incited no small amount of anxiety. Before Isabel could quiz Eva about her “plans,” a series of muted, popping sounds carried toward them on a light breeze. The sisters’ eyes met, brows raised. A booming bellow, followed by a long groan, rent the air.
“Is that an animal?” Isabel whispered.
They slowed their pace to a standstill, their ears attuned to further outcry. The muted, popping sounds had a rhythm, but the animal sounds were less predictable.
“If I am remembering my animal sounds correctly,” Eva began, “I would say we are hearing a human male animal engaged in some manner of strenuous activity. Either that, or”—she cocked her head as if listening closely—“the ghost from Rosebud Cottage is haunting this part of the estate.”
The certainty set in that Eva was most definitely toying with her, possibly punishing her for not confiding in her about last night. Isabel simply couldn’t. She didn’t understand it herself. Except that she’dneededto have Percy, and, in the light of day, her mind was having trouble reasoning through that need, its sheer, unquantifiable force. It defied all logic.
“Sister?” Eve was staring at her expectantly.
“Yes?”
“I asked if we should investigate.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Down this path which wound through all manner of shrubbery bursting with a dozen shades of summer green, Isabel and Eva followed the muted pops and animal groans that grew louder with each step. At last, they left the bushes behind and entered a clearing. The sight before them stopped their feet mid-step.
