But that was mad. Wasn't it?
She pressed her fingers to her temples. The headache was real now, a dull throb that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. And beneath it, that familiar ache in her joints. The one that had plagued her at Haventon.
And he tells me that he gave me poppy juice. Accused my Aunt and Uncle of drugging me! A convenient lie to justify his attempting to do just that! But why? So that he can take advantage of me? Whatever does he aim to gain from that?
Suddenly resolved to action, she swept the linen from about her shoulders and stood, skin still damp. She went to her bedchamber and withdrew her thick dressing robe from her wardrobe, swathing herself in it. If Aaron was out of the house, dining at his club, perhaps, then there was an opportunity to obtain some answers for herself.
She went towards his private rooms, not knowing exactly where they were within the house.
I believe they are somewhere above the guest rooms, but where in this maze I do not know. Heavens, I ought to get my hand on that bizarre little map!
She could ask Sally, but did not trust that the maid would not report the question to Mr. McKay. Who would promptly refuse her any entry. No. She couldn’t trust Sally. Couldn’t trust anyone in this house.
The thought should have frightened her. Instead, it sharpened her resolve.
She pulled on her dressing gown tighter and stepped into the corridor. The house was quiet; the servants retired or occupied elsewhere. She climbed the main staircase, then a narrower one. The air grew mustier. Dust motes danced in the lamplight.
She tried doors at random. A linen closet. A servants’ room. Another narrow stair leading up.
With each empty room, her certainty grew. He was hiding something. Something that required locked doors and dusty corridors and a house so large you could lose yourself in it. This was all a plan by Aaron to have everything his own way. To have Catherine as a wife of convenience in order to remain free himself. But still be able to enjoy her body. Using poppy juice to weaken her resolve through it all.
He did not say how much he had given me. What effects on the mind does such a substance have? I must discover the secrets he is hiding!
That he was hiding secrets, she had no doubt. Something monumental and terrible.
She came to a double door with ornate brass handles and elaborate carvings on each panel. The dust was thickest here. She tried the handles, which screeched gratingly into her ears. Wincing, the heavy door opened, scraping across the floor as though the hinges had relaxed their hold. Within was a large graveyard of furniture.
The windows bore no curtains, and pale moonlight spilled through in all its evening glory. Every inch of the room was taken up with shapes beneath dustcovers.
She peeked beneath a few. A chaise, a piano forte, a bookcase, a tea chest. She made a disgusted sound. This wasn’t Aaron’s private study but simply a storeroom, filled to the gunnels and abandoned.
She turned to leave—when something caught her eye. A portrait, leaning against the far wall.
The dust sheet had slipped, revealing two boys in formal dress. They had the same raven hair, the same strong jaw. One of them was undoubtedly Aaron. She recognized him immediately. She had known him when he was older, but she could see the foreshadowing of the older boy in the younger face.
Catherine found herself smiling at the somber countenance that gazed out of the painting.
“You always were so earnest, weren't you, Aaron?”
Her finger traced the younger boy’s face in the portrait. So serious, even then. But it was the other boy who held her attention now.
They were dressed identically, their hair painted the same pale gold. The second boy was standing, his hand resting on Aaron’s shoulder in a gesture that seemed both protective and possessive. The longer she studied them, the more similarities emerged. The shape of their jaws. The set of their eyes.
A brother?
But Aaron had never mentioned a brother. Not once, in all their childhood summers together. Not once since she’d found him again.
A sudden bang made her fumble the portrait. It slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor before slamming with athwackagainst the wall. The sound had come from beyond the doors and along the dusty hallway.
Catherine froze.
Another sound reached her. Heavy footsteps approaching, uneven and punctuated by thuds. As of someone colliding with walls. A low groan, then a laugh—bitter and mirthless.
Her pulse hammered now. She remembered Aaron telling her stories of Caerleon being haunted by his great-grandfather’sghost. She’d accused him of scaring her cheaply back then. What if it was true?
She crept, silent on bare feet, to the doors and peered out.
Aaron was steadying himself with a hand against the wall, head down, hair hanging over his face. He gave a sudden laugh and muttered something inaudible.
